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#like small towns wrap you in this bubble of smallness and it suffocates you and you're so terrified and ashamed of every little mistake

spiderrrling · 2 years

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Living After Midnight (Eddie Munson X F!Reader)

Pairing - Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Summary - Late night cuddles with Eddie before having to leave

Word count - 1992

Warnings - None, literally pure fluff with just a hint of bitter sweetness

A/N - Soooooo this is weird but hope yall enjoy this

“You kiss me like its everything to you.” She almost had to forcefully pull him away from her with how tight he was holding her. Her words were soft in the dark room, the window to his trailer bedroom was wide open and the sweet late night spring air was slowly coming through the window. The sun had just set, and the dark night sky was slowly pulling its cover over Hawkins.

In Eddie’s bedroom the two of them laid tangled in each other's limbs completely indulged in each other. Laying on his back, his arms were wrapped around her, pulling her closer towards him. Whilst her hands were tangled in the soft mess of his brown curls, gently letting the hair run between her fingers.

Eddie smiled and placed a chaste kiss to her jaw. “You say it like its not.” Eddie pulled away slightly so he could fully look at her. Her hair was tangled in front of her face, barely letting her flushed cheeks peek out and her eyes were gently glinting in the dim evening light.

However, Eddie could not stop looking at her lips, swollen from what seemed like hours spent laying in his bed together. He reached up a hand to brush some of the stray hairs out of her face, cupping her cheek gently with his palm so he could fully admire her, and she could feel the rough pads of his fingers against her smooth skin.

He just couldn’t help but smile as he looked at her, having her in his room, never mind his arms, felt like a far fetched dream not that long ago. “Maybe it is.” She whispered.

In that moment nothing else mattered, it was just the two of them, hiding away in the space they had carved out for themselves in a small town that sometimes felt suffocating. Nothing else mattered but the two of them.

“It is.” Eddie confirmed, sighing happily as he laid there admiring her for a second. “You are everything.” And with that he leaned back in and captured her lips with his, tasting the sweet tang of her chap stick on his tongue.

The moments they shared like this were the moments few and far in between where it felt as if they could both finally breathe. With no pressure to be who everyone else had boxed them in to be. They could just be themselves with each other.

“Tell me you love me.” Eddie mumbled into their shared kiss, his words were slow and dragged out. “I love you.” She responded in between kisses. Eddie’s arms settled back around her waist, pulling her closer and into a sitting position, letting her legs rest on either side of his lap, but he was careful to not let their lips separate.

Her hands lay flush against his chest, feeling each breath he took, the soft material of his shirt running beneath her fingers as she explored more of him. Even though this was far from the first time they had found themselves in a situation such a this, every time she kissed Eddie it felt new, exciting. Every time she was allowed to explore him a little bit further, she found something new to adore about him. No two kisses were ever the same and it thrilled her.

“Do you have to go?” Eddie asked her, his voice was low and quiet, because he knew what the answer would be. She grabbed onto his arm and read the watch strapped to his wrist. “Fifteen minutes.” She sighed and could see the disappointment in his big brown eyes. Its not like she wanted to go, more than anything she wished to stay here with him forever.

But reality was always bound to hit them eventually, even in their little bubble hidden away from the rest of the world. “Stay.” Eddie pleaded with her and kissed her again before she could respond, his grip on her waist tightening desperate not to let her go, his fingertips firmly digging into her soft skin. “Eds-“ the use of the nickname always made him perk up a little but, however, he was too preoccupied kissing her.

His lips leaving hers for a moment as he placed chaste, soft, open mouthed kisses against the underside of her jaw, inching further towards her neck. “Stay.” He whispered against her skin, and it made her break out in goosebumps. “Eddie.” The use of his full name made him pull away a couple of inches, hearing the seriousness in her tone. “I can’t.”

This is what their nights always concluded with, long drawn out goodbyes and kisses that echoed of future longing and needing to savour the feeling until the next time they found themselves like this. With giggly conversations of Eddie offering to drive her back home, knowing she would decline like always. Her bike was sitting locked up outside waiting to take her home, and away from him. Eddie wanted to burn that bike.

Hopefully with school letting out for spring break soon, sneaking around wouldn’t be so difficult, they would have more time to stay just like this, to spend days and nights together.

But for now, reality was that she had parents who would be checking her room at home, and they both had classes in the early hours of the next morning. And she was not about to let Eddie stay in high school as she graduated.

Eddie's back was pushed up against the wall, his hair was messy and tangled from hours of her playing with it and his cheeks were slightly flushed. He looked so peaceful like this, she thought, one of the few moments where his mind seemed to be completely still and he could just be there in the moment with her then and there.

She could have sat there and examined his face for hours, admiring every detail and part of him. Reaching up her hand, she rested it against the side of his face, her thumb attempting to smooth out one of his eyebrows. Eddie placed his hand over hers, holding it tight to his face and nuzzling into her palm, and she couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

It was puzzling, just how different he could be, how he could stand on the tables in the cafeteria just to loudly and proudly declare the jocks to be assholes, and how now in the dark corner of the world they’d mad, he was quiet and calm. She struggled to find the words to rationalise it, and he did too.

When they were together there was no need to live up to the labels the rest of the school and Hawkins had given them, he didn’t have to be Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, the seemingly fearless leader of the Hellfire Club, the school's very own D&D group. And she didn’t have to be Jason Carver's younger twin sister, the supposed golden child of Hawkins High.

Which is why the devastating blow of leaving always brought fourth that pit of dread in her stomach. Leaving meant she would be leaving a piece of herself safely tucked away in Eddie Munson’s disorganised bedroom, in the little trailer park off Curley.

“One day.” Eddie said, and she knew he could tell what she was thinking. It wasn’t like they had never talked about it, it was always there nagging in the back of the minds of both of them. She nodded in response and looked into his eyes. “One day.” She whispered back.

Eddie pressed another couple of kisses to her lips, making her giggle. “There is that smile I like to see.” She rested her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. Eddie always smelled like a little bit of weed and old spice. He swore that old spice was the best way to cover up the smell of weed, the verdict on the theory was still out according to her.

“Need me to drive you home?” Which only made her laugh more, she didn’t have to answer, he already knew. But at this point it was tradition for him to ask. She could feel his hands moving into her hair, his strong rough fingers so delicately running through her soft hair as he cradled her head against his chest. “I love you pretty girl.” He said into the room, not just to her, he said it like it was a declaration, and she nuzzled her face into his shirt, desperate to be close to him.

“I love you too.” She mumbled from where she was sitting, and Eddie pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Ready to go?” Eddie moved his hands to move her head, forcing her to look at him. She only closed her eyes and shook her head in response. “I know sweetheart, I know.” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper as they sat there.

And for a moment they just allowed themselves to sit there in comfortable silence, soaking up the last bit of each other’s company before she inevitably had to leave. She didn’t even have to say anything, she just started moving and he followed her off his bed, his hands still finding some way to be in contact with her, on her hip, on her shoulder, laced with her fingers.

He was desperate to hang onto her for as long as he possibly could, until the very last second, he would not be letting her go, clinging to her as if she was his only lifeline. And maybe she actually was.

Eddie reached for a discarded sweatshirt which had been hanging over the back of his chair. Guiding her arms over her head and helping her pull it on, before pushing her loose hair away from her face and pressing his lips against her forehead in a lingering kiss. “I can’t have you getting cold.” He whispered against her skin.

“And besides, now you have something that smells like me.” Eddie laughed, disregarding the heap of his clothes which he knew had found their way into her bedroom over the past few months.

He held her hand all the way out the front door, lacing their fingers together and rubbing gentle circles onto the back of her hand. “And you’re sure you’ll be fine going home? You know I don’t mind driving right?” He asked for what felt like the millionth time, but he couldn’t help but be slightly protective, and it wasn’t like she minded it either.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, especially now that I have this to protect me.” She said referencing the sweatshirt, and Eddie couldn’t help but smile. “Your own personal good luck charm.” He concurred.

Walking outside she was immediately happy she had accepted his sweatshirt; the early summer air had shifted and the temperature had dripped just enough to make her feel a slight chill. But his hoodie was big enough on her that the sleeves almost reached to her fingertips.

Quickly unlocking her bike, and pulling on her helmet they had finally arrived at the worst point of the night, when she was actually leaving. Eddie pressed another kiss to her lips, cupping her face in his hands. If it was going to be the last kiss of the night, he was going to make it count. And she couldn’t help but feel the same way.

Her hands looped around the back of his neck and pulled him as close as she could while wearing a helmet, which made them both laugh into the shared kiss. “Be safe, ok?” He told her and she hummed and nodded in response, taking one last look into his dark chocolate brown eyes, and smiling.

“Good night.” She smiled at him as she got on her bike and adjusted her helmet. “Sweet dreams princess.” Eddie said with a final kiss to her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~~~~~

Mutuals aka my beta readers + grey @uglypastels @catparkers @hey-its-grey

Huzzahh and there it is my return to posting fanfic, please tell me how I did and maybe idk I might post more so throw me a follow or ask to be on the tag list? idk?

This is the weirdest thing I’ve done all year seriously who expected my return to tumblr to happen?

CREDITS TO Z FOR THE FIC NAME SHE SAVED MY BUTT

What can I say I’m just in love with this man

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mathiwrites · 2 months

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the lighthouse, an au fanfic where orm is raised alongside arthur on the surface

Chapter 1

This place is suffocating.

Though there is no air, she craves the crisp feeling of it in her lungs and the warmth of the sun against her face. The surface—the surface is what she longs for with its simple pleasures and its anonymity. She looks upon the great city of Atlantis, dreaming of a little lighthouse in a small town. She grew up here, and yet, this place has become her prison.

I should have been Queen.

Her eyes flutter shut. Images flood her mind of a happy little boy whose heart is bigger than his body, and of a man who’s tender eyes always see right through her. They are so different from her with their sun-loved skin of deep ochre and bright, bright smiles it’s almost blinding. At first, Atlanna could not believe a boy like Arthur could come from her.

I want to be anywhere else, she laments quietly to herself, but she does not cry. Tears and sorrow are beneath her.

A tiny cry cuts through her thoughts. She spares not a second, gathering the little bundle out of his coddling clam and holding him close. Atlanna hushes the child, a perfect blonde baby—her little fry. He quiets at her touch, his blue eyes opening to look at her. He smiles, blowing happy little bubbles at the sight of her. He is so small and so innocent; he is the only thing that makes her happy here.

But if he stays here, he will not know happiness.

Neither of them will.

It happens in a split second; Atlanna tucks her son against her chest and wraps him tightly with supple fabrics. He will not fit beneath her armour, but she will die before letting any harm come to him. She returned to this place in hopes of protecting those she loved, and she had not wanted another child. She had wanted no offspring for the Kingdom was her child. She had plans to nurture it and help her people flourish. Her presence here meant Arthur would be safe, but who would protect this little one?

Atlanna has had enough.

She has had enough of her husband’s ambition and his betrayal.

She has had enough of the roiling feelings in her chest.

“Your Highness, what are you doing?”

“You know exactly what I am doing, Vulko.”

The High Councillor has been with her since she was born, and now, he has lived to see the birth of her sons. Both of them. His expression is grave as he watches her prepare, but he does not stop her. He never will, for the heart and soul of Atlantis has always been with her. He raised her to be the Queen she always dreamed of being, one that ruled with no male by her side, but he could not sway her father’s hand. Ever since the marriage, he atones for being unable to save her from this lesser life. The bruises Orvax leaves on her skin are his trespasses as much as they are his King’s.

“He will not let you take his son.”

“My son. Orm is my son, just as much as Arthur is, and I will not let Orvax taint him!”

Vulko hangs his head, shaking it in thought. “Perhaps you should consider challenging him, for the sake of your children.” He has been encouraging it since the first time he noticed Orvax has been laying hands on her. “You are the stronger combattant.”

“And the Council?”

She breezes past the guards outside her room, knowing that Vulko would have them stand down. He follows closely behind her, speaking quietly. He motions for them to give them room.

“We will face the Council if it comes to that, but you have their favour. They know you, your Majesty.”

“Their favour? What good did their favour do when my husband went back on his word and took my crown in the name of tradition? I will not wait for him to change his mind, and I will not wait for someone to save me.”

Atlanna stops at the armory. She tips her head up, waiting for the doors to slide open and welcome her in. Nothing happens. She presses her fingers against the door, testing its integrity.

Access denied, speaks a robotic voice.

She tries again.

Access denied.

Her entire life has been spent in this palace exploring different rooms to her delight, yet now that she is grown, she is not trusted with sharp objects. Atlanna was born with a trident in her hand, and she would often pluck the crown off her father’s head when he held her. This is unacceptable. She bangs her fist against it, denting the door. Vulko cannot help her without compromising his alliance.

“Go,” she tells him. “Warn your king.”

It doesn’t occur to her to take Vulko with her. His place is here. He would rot on the surface. People like him—like her —were made for war. He can still save himself, but her life belongs to the little one curled against her chest with his little fists balled in errant strands of her pale hair.

“Atlanna,” her old friend starts, his voice rough with an unfamiliar emotion.

“Do not .”

Apologies are not his to give. She would refuse them anyway, so he might as well save his breath.

Vulko bows to her, one last time, and swims off to warn Orvax of his betrayal. It is his duty; his Queen has ordered it of him.

There is no hesitation in the way she swims through the halls of her childhood. Memories haunt her with every stride. Children playing—a little girl, and a little boy who could have been the love of her life instead of her greatest enemy—and laughing about dreams of princesses and karathens. She turns her back on the man he could have been, finally seeing Orvax for the king that he is.

At the entrance of the throne room, the last statue of her youth stands, tall and proud with an old claymore of human making. The two of them had found it at the bottom of the North Sea and she had been so fascinated with its abnormally large blade. They had carried it together, snuck it back through the same pocket underneath the Gates, and hit it in a wreckage that only nobles could access, but none ever dared. Orvax had been proud to gift it to her upon their betrothal, a perfect addition to honour her statue—a perfect way to mark the end of their childish dreams.

Atlanna rips the weapon out of her coral-kissed hands, testing its weight. It fits her better now that she is older, wiser and angry enough to wield a dull blade against an enemy. Her rage will be her strength. She needs nothing more than that.

The throne room is a massive auditorium. Her people are welcome to attend any official rulings and its size accommodates not only for Atlanteans, but its neighbouring Kingdoms of the Wrights and the Bright Lights. She had stood upon the dais, thinking of all the good she could do with Orvax at her side. He had stood with her, dreaming just as loudly and just as fervently. When the crown had been within reach, when he had snatched it right from under her with laws and technicalities, she no longer bothered to visit this damned place.

“Atlanna,” Orvax purrs, floating towards her with his arms spread wide as if to welcome her home. “My darling son.”

She stops out of reach, just as his eyes flicker to her sword.

“Vulko informed me that you were going to run. Here, I thought he was overreacting.”

Once more, he approaches her. Atlanna steps back. She is not here to posture, she is here to fight and there is no need to let him anywhere near them.

“My love, come .” Anger simmers beneath his kind words.

His hand darts out to grab her arm. Atlanna parries the attempt with the blade of her sword. It only serves to draw up mocking laughter.

“That blade is dull.”

She draws the blade quickly, adding pressure to it. Though it does not cut on its initial contact, by the time she has run the length of it against his offending palm, blood wafts in the water between them.

“But my intent is not. You will let me leave with my son and you will not follow.” The request is simple and clear, but her husband has made a habit of not listening. “Every guard, assassin or man you send after me will die with my name on their lips and their regrets for not pledging allegiance to me . Send an army and I will answer in kind.”

“Ha! You and what army? The surface dwellers?” Orvax’s lips curl. “Ever since my coronation, you have been a hook in my side. I am sick of it, Atlanna. You could have been a great Queen, but you insist on whoring around on the surface and raising that abomination . He will bring about our ruin.” When he tries to bridge the distance, to tower over her like he has done time and time again, Altanna points the tip of her claymore in the center of his chest, where his heart would have been, if he had one.

“If you are so curious, try me and find out.” Her voice does not waiver and her grip does not tire. Orm fusses against her, but her eyes do not leave Orvax as she runs a comforting hand through his soft hair. “You are not Atlantis, and he will is not a threat. I am.”

Orvax opens his mouth to speak and she shifts her aim towards his throat, the metal testing the yield of his skin.

“I am giving you one chance. You love Atlantis, as do I, but I have found something I love more. Leave me be. We will not disturb you.”

In his eyes, Atlanna can see the anger and the pride. She knows he will not let her swim out of this Kingdom without a fight. She also knows that he will not raise his sword against her, not yet. She is too rational to justify such public violence, and he respects tradition too much to act without a public trial. He will chase her until the ends of the earth. What a shame.

“Go, but leave the boy.”

“No.”

“He is my heir.”

“And he is my son.” On that, she refuses to yield.

“You did not want him,” Orvax grits through his teeth.

“And I thought I wanted you. Things change, Orvax. If you come for him, or me, or anyone else in my family, whether it is here or on the surface, I will kill you. Slow. You are not a crown. You are made of flesh, bone and many soft things. You will not touch me again. Do you hear me?”

For a brief moment, fear flickers behind the King’s eyes. He hesitates, considering the merit of a fight.

“You are mine, Atlanna. The Widowhood gave you to me.”

“I was never theirs to give.” The Queen turns to her former counselor. “Tell any guard you send after me that they will be slaughtered. Indiscriminately.”

“Do not command—”

Atlanna moves quickly, closing the distance between them. She shifts the sword’s trajectory, aiming the butt of the hilt towards his stomach. The feint works in her favour as he moves to block it. Her target was never something so obvious. She slams her forehead into his and a burst of blood clouds his face. She doesn’t dare wait for his retaliation; she swims as fast as she can.

“What are you doing?!” Orvax roars at his high counselor. “Go after her!”

“I am waiting for your command, your highness.” Is that not what Orvax wanted?

The delay of getting the orders to the soldiers gives Atlanna enough time to escape. The guards she encounters are reluctant to face their beloved princess turned hostage. No one speaks of Orvax’s firm hand, but they know. They always have.

This time, with her baby strapped against her chest, she does not look back.

Atlantis is not her home.

The journey from the Kingdom to Amnesty Bay is a long one. She can only ride her mighty shark so far before she sends it back on a journey back towards the only home it knows; she has no choice but to swim in long and roundabout ways to preserve the safety of her family. Travelling by land is safer, but the shift in environment is too difficult for her little one who wails at the strange new sensations and the dry, dry air.

“I know, my fry, I know,” she soothes, wading back into smaller bodies of water. Rivers and lakes are better, but they are not as accessible as she would like. There are brief periods where she has to travel by foot. Orm cries for the most part; she soaks him in birdbaths and forgotten kiddie pools. A family nearly calls the authorities on her. To them, she is a madwoman who has kidnapped a distressed child.

With the lighthouse in view, Atlanna’s strength is renewed. She lights up and kisses the top of her son’s head.

“Look, we are home.”

#dc fanfic #fanfiction #my fics #dccomics #aquaman #aquaman and the lost kingdom #arthur curry #atlanna #orm marius #ocean master #the lighthouse

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rainbowxocs · 11 months

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Name: Hana Seta (花瀬田)

Special Titles: Kōgō Hana, Princess Consort of Hell. (皇后花、地獄の王妃)

Age: 20

Pronouns: They/She (In English.)

I Pronoun: Ware (吾) (A very formal almost literary form of I.)

Sexuality: Asexual, Lily (Yuri, 百合, Lesbian.)

Gender: X-Gender (Ryosei) (Xジェンダ,共生), Tiredcatgender,

Species: Human Born Demon (Sloth). (Yurei) (Witch)

Disorders: Autism, ADHD, CPTSD, Bipolar 1, Somniphobia, Arfid, Anorexia, Perfection OCD.

Physical Conditions: Chronic Pain, Ambulatory Wheelchair User, Feeding Tube User, Hard of hearing.

Active Addictions: Hoarding, Self Harm.

Religion: Satanism, Paganism.

Job: Playwright.

Lives in: Okutama, Tokyo, Japan, 2024. (Also, Hell.)

Languages: Japanese, English, Demonic, JSL.

Height: 5'3”

Race: Asian.

Ethnicity: Japanese.

Accent: Shitamachi.

Vehicle: Purple and Black Rollerskates w Bat Wings.

Animal Form: Cat.

Spirit Form: Just her, very calm, a little floaty.

Spirit Level: Acceptance.

Powers: Divination, Immortality, Regeneration, Ceremonial Magic, Shapeshifting, Can uses sigils to summon certain things, Can manipulate Technology.

Weapon: Butterfly Knife, Sacrificial Knives.

Wand: Writes her spells and such on Tanzaku.

Alignment: Chaotic Good.

Text Color: Purple.

Main Hobbies: Writing, Singing, Sewing, Prop Making, Plays almost every instrument you can think of.

Favorite Drinks: Peach Ramune, Ultra Violet Monster Energy, Hot Chocolate, Green Mountain Dew, Red Mountain Dew, Grape Slushies.

Favorite Fruit: Pomegranate, Raspberries, Apples.

Favorite Meal: Miso Soup.

Favorite Snacks: Jiffy Pop, Corn Nuts.

Favorite Dessert: Strawberry Lemonade Italian Ice, Cherry Pie.

Favorite Flower: Wisteria.

Scent: Ink, Alcohol Markers, Paint.

Awareness: Aware (Effect: Positive.)

Birthday: June 13th 2003 (Gemini, Sheep, B.)

Theme:

Playlist:

Fun Facts: Was the leader of her Occult Club at school, but switched to the drama club after yknow, literally summoning the Princess of hell.

Has a whole room full of stuffed animals that she is put in to calm down.

Special Interests: America, Musical Theatre.

Stims: Dancing, Lots of Vocal Stims, Rocking, Balancing, Has one of those fidget pens, and uses her knife to stim, Stuffed Animals and Soft Things.

Stimboard: LINK

Moodboard: LINK

Fashionboard: LINK

Family:

Iwata Seta, Oka Seta. (Parents.)

Takano Seta (Sister.)

Lucifer Morningstar, Lilith Morningstar + The Morningstar Family. (In-Laws.)

Friends: Kagayaki, Keh, Atsu.

Romance: Lucy Ferr (Wife, Bonded)

Enemies: Hwan.

Pet: Spot (スポット) (Cereberus Puppy.)

Brief Personality: Hana is very excitable, she loves to talk people’s ear off about musical theaters and whether or not trees have feelings. She tends to march to the beat of her own drum, even if that means forgetting to do things like, eat, or take care of herself. She’s genuinely trying her best despite being a little bit of a klutz.

Brief Backstory: Hana was the second born to her family. Her family were small town religious folk and Her sister had a childhood illness that left her bedridden, so her parents often wrapped Hana in bubble wrap. Hana was homeschooled and wasn’t really allowed to go outside and make friends. Her sister eventually passed away, and her parents control got tighter. Hana often felt suffocated in her own home. Constantly being watched and constantly being supervised. Most of her education was just learning religious passages and Hana was bored out of her mind. She often dreamed about the outside world.

She finally convinced her parents to let her go to high school. And they reluctantly agreed. And oh my god Hana was so happy. She read every single book in the library, She made friends with everyone in school. And then she found out about MUSICAL THEATRE. The shows the lights the drama of it all! She was mesmerized.

She watched from afar, all the drama club kids and their pretty costumes. Hana however was committed to the occult club. A club she chose mostly to piss her parents off. She didn’t take it that seriously, a little candle here, a sacrificial knife here, some chanting ya da ya-

Wait a minute Hana just summoned a demon… a real demon.. she didn’t realize she could do that. Um this is awkward..

The demon was beautiful. And she took a liking to Hana. So Hana attached herself to the demon and hung out with her all the time. Little did she know that would be her future wife.

Hana eventually ran away from home and moved in with her demon friend. Living half in hell and half in okutama. And she couldn’t ask for a better life.

#Hana #oc #ocs #rp #rps #roleplay #oc reference #my art #art #original character #Spotify

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angelaiswriting · 2 years

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Sunlight | Reiner Braun

✏️ Pairing: Reiner Braun x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: The smile that stretches on your lips is another one of those genuine smiles you’ve grown unaccustomed to, and as you crouch down to sit next to him, you realize you haven’t been this happy in a long time. It’s not just the here-and-now with Reiner, it’s more of a general feeling. Being home. Hanging out with your old friends. Finally letting yourself open up and move forward, as Zeke put it.

✏️ A/N: I haven’t written a word in forever, so this is me experimenting, both with a new fandom and with 2nd POV writing lol the idea for this story has been in the making for literally a year, I can’t believe I’m finally posting it.

✏️ Content Warnings: modern!AU + fluff, angst, and smut, so 18+ only. Mentions of death (reader’s mother and (briefly, in passing) Reiner’s mother + Armin’s parents) and funeral. Mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption. Vaginal fingering. Thigh riding. Protected vaginal sex. Oral sex (f/r and m/r). Hand job. Multiple orgasms (both m/r and f/r). Mentions of shower sex. Idk, suggestive stuff I guess. A whole lot of feelings. [If I missed anything, just lmk.]

✏️ Word Count: 23,8k

SUNLIGHT

It’s surprising, the way everything seems to lead back to this coastal town. All the choices you made before leaving everything behind, and then the way life went after venturing off in search of a new path. Of new people. Maybe even better chances than what this place has to offer aside from the salty breeze blowing in from the ocean, or the white, polished pieces of wood and shells that wash up on the shore. The smell of fish. The calls of the fishermen on their boats.

You left because home started feeling like it was closing in on you, suffocating, asphyxiating, and then you realized life in the city can also make you feel the same way. Small, and alone. Insignificant. Like you never belong. Like you’re standing on the sidelines, watching everyone else go on, do things, become different versions of themselves.

It’s a fist in the gut, to come back with the mid-spring torrential rains, and to have this feeling bubble up from deep inside, some recondite corner of your soul you haven’t felt in forever – or maybe you have, and it was just a too-hard pill to swallow all along.

I’m home.

Which is a random, almost out-of-place feeling to have. You’re going back – not home – for your mother’s funeral, after all, that same mother you always blamed just to find out way too late in life that it was never her fault. That it was the other way around. That you put yourself on a pedestal and looked down on the only person that didn’t leave. The only person that stayed by your side.

The house is still the same. A little run down, maybe, with overgrown ivy wrapping around the two middle columns of the porch and the right side of the house. What’s changed is the way you feel as you sit there, behind the wheel of your car, with the windshield wipers rushing back and forth against the onslaught of the downpour. There’s an abyss between you and the house, like that’s someone else’s place. Like that’s not where you spent the first seventeen years of your life before you had enough of it. Before you blamed her for the last time, took your stuff, and left in search of someone who never gave you love in the obtuse illusion that he finally would.

You think that maybe you shouldn’t be back. That maybe you should have stayed in the city, despite that not feeling like home either. You weren’t there for her for the last ten years, so what gives you the right to be here now?

The lights inside are on. There are silhouettes moving behind the white curtains every now and then. Probably the same curtains you hung up a week before leaving, all those years ago, both you and your mother fighting with each other because of who knows what – because of a boy, because of your father, because of you wanting a life far away, a real life, someplace else that won’t chain me down to an existence in some small-ass hole in the boonies, Mom! I’ve had enough of this place! I don’t want to-

“-end up in a miserable life like yours.” The words leave your lips in a whisper, eyes trained on the three steps that lead up to the porch, the screeching of the wipers fighting against the hum of the heater and the rage of Mother Nature. You don’t remember what the reason for that fight was, but you do remember those words. You remember the venom in them. The way they burned on your tongue. The way the sunlight shone into the living room – hot on your face, and blinding, spitting fuel into the fire of your headache.

It’s late for a lot of things now – you tell yourself – but it’s not too late to leave. To put the car in reverse, and hightail your way out of there. Your hand is already on the stick when the front door opens and a young woman walks out, arms wrapped tightly around her waist to keep the lapels of her sweater in place when the wind picks up. A heartbeat later, she’s waving an arm in the air, and the heartbeat after that, she’s beckoning you forward.

It’s a weird feeling, that of your heart beating in the back of your throat. You don’t even remember when the last time you felt like that was. Life away from home – or what you realized too late was home – did end up feeling miserable. Or like a chain around your neck, allowing you some freedom but never enough, like an old dog tied up to a pole in the yard.

You park the car right where your mother used to park hers, and you try to convince yourself that it’s fine. Everything’s fine. Death is a part of life, and mistakes are, too. Even when you’ve made so many – too blinded by the heartache and the anger of a stubborn teenager you barely recognize now when you look back.

One deep breath in. One deep breath out.

The rain is strangely warm on your face when you get out of the car. It tastes like tears. Or maybe it’s just the sea. You wonder when tears will come, however – you still haven’t shed one since Historia phoned you last night to inform you about your mother’s passing.

“Y/N!”

She wraps you in her arms, and you have to bend down a little to give her an automatic hug back. An embrace halfway between a hug back and something along the lines of ‘just pull away, just let me go’. Historia – you recognize her only when she calls your name again, this time not fighting against the howl of the wind. You haven’t seen her in forever. She’s changed. You can use that as an excuse if she mentions anything about you not recognizing her straight away.

“Dear, I’m so sorry,” she whispers in your ear.

She’s warm. She faintly and vaguely smells like your mother, and her hair tickles your cheek. The saltiness on your lips makes you wonder whether that’s due to the ocean so close by, or whether you’ve finally started crying.

“It was so sudden,” she goes on, breaking the hug to grab your hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “She never wanted you to know she was sick, and you know, I… I tried telling you, but she stopped me every time. It was almost like she knew what I was about to do one minute before I even thought of doing it. I know you left all those years ago and n-” She cuts herself off.

And never came back. You want to tell her to just say it. That it’s okay. That there’s no shame in the truth. Because that? That is true. You never came back, not even once. You cut everyone off – your mother, Annie, Bertolt, Zeke, even Reiner. You did look back, however – after finding your father, after confronting him, after getting your own one-bedroom, starting a new job a million times over – but they don’t know because you never reached out. Never called. Never texted. Life went on for everyone – your old friends in this old town, and you in your new city.

“I had to call you when she…”

When she passed away. That’s something else she can’t say out loud. Tears well up in her eyes and you’re just left standing there, feeling like a stranger out of place. Why’s she on the verge of tears for someone else’s mother? Why aren’t your roles reversed? Why aren’t you the one sniffling into your sleeve, eyes drifting down to the age- and sun-bleached wooden planks of the porch?

The tears come much later, though. You’re left to your own devices when your old friends leave to go home for the night. Zeke pinned his number to the fridge, just in case you need anything. Reiner gave you one last one-arm hug, and Historia squeezed your hand one more time before leaving in silence with Mikasa and Ymir.

The rage of the storm has passed, and now the rain is simply pitter-pattering outside instead of washing over the windows of the house almost as a way to scold you.

You haven’t looked at your mother yet. She’s lying there, in her open casket, surrounded by flowers – the same flowers she’s spent her whole life selling in her shop – and you just… can’t walk up and look at her. The very last millimeter of the tip of her nose is the only part of her you can see from where you’re sitting, on the other side of the living room. The furniture has been moved around to make space for her, and now the room feels a lot bigger than it ever did when you used to live here. It feels bigger and, at the same time, so very small, the walls closing in on you like in some Indiana Jones adventure, a trap designed to not let you get out of there alive.

Is it the house? Or is it your sense of guilt? Of shame?

“I didn’t know better.” Your voice seems to boom in the room, even though it shivers like the leaves on the trees outside.

And how could you have known better? When she never spoke up? When she never said anything? When she let you believe she was the one to blame for your father leaving?

I’m sorry – sorry for leaving. Sorry for being a bad daughter. Sorry for never coming back. Sorry for putting my pride before anything else. Sorry for never apologizing, and only coming back when it’s too late. But the words don’t come. Your tongue is lead in your mouth, and you can’t spit them out.

You’re out on the porch before you even feel your feet moving. Your heart is a loud thump-thump everywhere in your body – your ears, your skull, your throat, your fingertips. It deafens you; it’s suffocating. It’s the same feeling you had when you were seventeen and dreaming of running away, but at the same time everything’s different now. You still do want to run away, however – from this house, from your mother, from this town. The same things that grew too tight around you in the past are what’s choking you again right now, ten years later. But this time there’s nothing you want to run towards. All you want to escape is death.

You wonder what everyone might think of you. After all, you never showed up at your sick mother’s door to check in on her. You couldn’t have known, of course – Historia must have told you that at least three times today, at a loss of other topics of conversation, before Ymir pulled her out of the kitchen for a breath of fresh air before she had the chance to start bawling her eyes out again.

“You’re gonna catch a cold.”

The unexpected voice makes you jump.

You hadn’t seen him standing there, his elbows resting on the balustrade of the porch.

“I thought you had gone home.” The words struggle to get around the lump in your throat. Maybe now you will cry, you think. Even if it’s in front of Reiner, which is the last thing you want to do. Not because it’s Reiner, but just… You feel like it’s not right. Like you lost the right to cry over your dead mother a long time ago – many, many words ago. Which is a stupid thought, really, but you’ve been living with this sense of guilt gnawing at you from the inside for so long now that this is the kind of shit you convinced yourself of.

“I almost did, but my bike wouldn’t start,” he says, pointing a thumb towards the willow in the garden. He’s still riding his old dirt bike, you notice, the one he gave you lifts on countless times when you still lived here and you had no clue how to deal with the fat crush you had on him. “I’m glad it didn’t, though,” he continues, smoking the last of his cigarette before stomping it out in the pot of an already dead plant. “I don’t care what ‘Toria says, you shouldn’t be alone.”

He looks tired, like something’s carved its claws into his flesh and made him fight for too long. That’s why you say, “It’s alright, I’m okay.” It’s the same lie you’ve been telling yourself a million and one times, every time some new or old struggle comes up to open new or old wounds. Because it is alright and you will be okay – maybe not now, but definitely one day, whenever that is. You’re proof enough of that.

“Are you really, though?” His eyes bore into yours and even though you do your best, you can’t help but look away – first at your car, standing lonely in front of the house, and then at the street that leads back to the rest of the town. Maybe if you focus on the street lights hard enough, he won’t hear how loud your heart is beating. “You looked like you were on the verge of a panic attack a minute ago.”

Maybe he can hear your heart. He’s always been able to read you like an open book, after all – minus the crush-on-him part, of course, which he either never really realized or simply decided to ignore for your own sake, so as not to break your heart when he’d eventually turn you down.

“I’m fine.”

“Your mother’s dead, though.” He tilts his head to the side, and the movement makes light glint on the piercings in his left ear.

You feel your eyebrows furrow the same way you’d notice them on someone else’s face. With your heart hammering in your chest, and the breeze blowing in from the coast, and your dead mother in the living room, you wonder if this is what it feels like, to finally let the ache you have carried inside for so long free. To unleash it and let it wreak havoc, because what else have you got to lose?

“I’ve known you long enough,” he continues, “to know when you’re about to lose it.”

Suddenly the overhead light keeping darkness away from the porch is the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. You notice the yellowed glass, the two dead flies lying inside, the way an old spider web waves in the breeze. Annie made you spend too many nights to count on this same porch when you were kids – camping out during the hot summer nights she used to spend at your house when her father went out at sea. If only you could rewind time… Go back to those days, to the horror stories you told each other to scare each other just enough to make the night thrilling…

She didn’t show up to see your mom. Or maybe she did, just not today. She’s never dealt well with death, so it doesn’t surprise you, although she did text you a couple of hours ago.

You look at the overhead light keeping darkness away from the porch, and you still feel sunlight on your face. The same sunlight that had warmed you up on that day, when you had hung those goddamn curtains up because your mother had sprained her wrist, and so you were fighting like cats because you didn’t want to do it and she just couldn’t ask nicely and a billion other things at the same time.

You look at that fucking light and you feel them – spiky, treacherous tears poking at your eyes, welling up so much that your vision gets blurred, and your throat closes up, and you can feel the trembling start off in your fingers.

There’s this rip, inside of you, and it gets deeper with each passing second as it tears you at the seams, pulls you into two different directions. I want to cry. And please don’t let me cry. I want to feel it. And I want to run away again.

Is that the only thing you can do? Run away? – you hear your mother’s voice on that day, as she stood on the second of those three steps of the porch, staring at your backpack as you walked away. Then do! Run away! You’ve only ever been good at that! Go find him, and then run away a little further!

“I just-” You just, what? The words don’t come. Your brain can’t think them up, and your tongue can’t vomit them out.

I just- You’re just seventeen, running away in search of your father’s love, not knowing you won’t find anything there. The well wasn’t dry, just- not full for you. The well wasn’t dry, just- not willing to give to you.

You see yourself walking away, and it’s not under a bright, mid-June sun, barely a week before your eighteenth birthday, but under today’s rain. You, and your red backpack with some clothes and all the money you managed to save over the years, no plan in mind, just- an old picture you found in the basement. Mom and Dad, barely nineteen, smiling at the camera while holding beers.

You want to tell yourself Stop! Come back! We don’t have to go! but the past is the past, it cannot be changed. So you let yourself go, standing in your mother’s shoes, watching helplessly as life unfolds the way it’s always been meant to.

“‘He left us because of you and I hate you for that’.” You have no clue why you’re telling Reiner this, nor where you find the strength to speak, although your voice trembles and dies out into nothing in the end. Swallowing feels like choking. Like trying to push down a rock that just won’t budge, and you have no clue how to breathe when your lungs are made of fiberglass.

He takes a few steps forward. Slow. Tentative. Like you’re some wild animal he’s trying his best not to scare away. You’re already scared shitless, however – not because of him, of course, just- life, you guess. Life and death. Life, death, and anything in-between. All those tiny dots that create a picture between the two extremes. Paper flowers on Mother’s Day when you’re five. A school trip out at sea to watch the dolphins when you’re seven. Trying to complete a puzzle in candlelight during a storm, when the power goes out and you’re too afraid to go to bed. Annie on the porch. Watching Zeke try and teach Bertolt how to play baseball. Making flat pebbles skip on the water with Reiner. Kissing your mother’s cheek. Playing with your mother’s make-up, walking around the house in your mother’s too-big heeled shoes. And then all those fights, black stain after black stain, and that void tearing you apart from the inside.

You wonder how many of those dots have been painted on your canvas between the moment you were born and now. You wonder how many of those dots have been painted on your mother’s canvas between the moment she was born and the day she died. You wonder how many of those dots have torn her canvas one word at a time because of you. Did she notice? Did it hurt? What did it make her feel like? Unloved? Alone?

He smells like the cigarette he’s just smoked, Reiner. Like that cigarette and then like the sea, and like some cologne you never smelled on him before, when everything was alright. He’s standing two steps in front of you, and yet you cannot look at him. You struggle to breathe, and you can’t even call for help.

You think about your mother, who’s definitely not breathing in that casket of hers, surrounded by flowers and all the love you never managed to fully give her and that she had to look for in someone else while her sickness ate away at her.

“I told her I hated her.” You whisper because that feels like the smartest thing at this moment. Your voice won’t come, but it’s also for the best – if you speak out loud, you know your voice will break. And then you will. It’s happened countless times before, so it for sure will happen again. “I told her I hated her, and then I left.”

It’s quiet. There’s only the pitter-patter of the dying rain – again, dying. Reiner’s breathing feels just as loud as he braces for impact.

“I told her I hated her, and then never spoke to her again.”

You don’t think you’ve ever cried in front of Reiner until you do now, and all those past times come back crashing in like the waves onto the shore.

You’re four and crying over a scraped knee.

You’re six and crying because an older boy in school tore up your drawing.

You’re eight and crying after Father’s Day, because everyone at school brought a Dad or a Grandpa to class and you had no one to call your own.

You were crying, and crying, and crying.

It feels like all you ever did was cry, and maybe that’s why you fell for him in the first place. Why you fell for Reiner. Because you felt safe with him. Because you could be vulnerable and open yourself up like one of your mother’s flowers. Because you needed someone to hold you and stuff that void inside you with illusions as soft as cotton so that it wouldn’t feel as cold for a while. Because his hugs would shield you from the rest of the world and you could finally breathe again.

And you’re crying now. And when he simply puts both hands on your shoulders, you cry even harder because he’s not hugging you. Because he’s not keeping the rest of the world at bay. Because you can’t breathe. Because you have no right to wish for him to hold you now, after you tore yourself from his life. From your friends’ lives.

“I spent my whole life being wrong and now I can’t even apologize.” One word at a time, the confession comes out in-between sobs, your teeth clattering together because of the cold and the exhaustion and the tears and that fucking hole in your chest opening up some more, until all you can feel is it. It feels like being chewed alive and then spat out again onto that stupid porch, in front of that stupid house standing in that stupid town.

Or maybe you are the one who feels stupid. Stupid for wearing blacked-out glasses, for never looking back. For never calling, never texting, never writing. You live your whole life thinking you have time, but then, suddenly, it’s too late. The door closes, locks behind your back, and there’s no way for you to open it again. Like an intercom with no one else on the other end of the line.

That’s when Reiner closes the distance and wraps his arms around you. He’s grown and buffed out, and he dwarfs you out. It should feel like choking, but he still has that effect on you. He still makes you breathe.

His left hand is soothing on your back, moving up and down, up and down, slowly, grounding you. His right hand is on the back of your head, tilting it up, forcing you to breathe, to stare at the overhead light and at those two dead flies resting forever inside the glass covering without Reiner knowing.

You don’t know what it is about today. Your dead mother. Those dead flies. The dead pot plant in the corner of the porch. Something cracks and dies inside you – a part of yourself or the part of your mother that’s always lived in your heart, you don’t know, you have no strength to find out.

“There’s not one thing I did right in my life.” Your tears stain his cheek, and his stubble prickles yours. You whisper those words against his skin, into his ear – or maybe not. You don’t know anymore. All you can hear is your last exchange with your mother, and then your father’s words drown out the rest of the world. “And I was too much of a coward to make right by her.”

He’s silent, Reiner. You want him to say something, anything, to lie to you and reassure you it’s fine, everything’s fine, everything will be alright. But it’s not his job – it never was and probably never should be.

“You should get back inside,” he simply says after endless minutes. It takes you fifteen minutes to calm down to a point where tears are still trailing down your cheeks, but at least you’re breathing right. “You will catch a cold.”

It makes you want to cry again. The way he speaks. The things he says.

You want to hear it’s alright, or you’re fine, or I’m sure she knows you’re sorry, but all you’re met with is silence. He looks at you, but at the same time, not really. It’s something you don’t know how to explain, but it’s true nonetheless.

Maybe you did lose him, too. Maybe you did open up a fracture between you and him when you left, when you didn’t come back.

“You should rest.”

He’s guiding you up the stairs before you even know it, always standing one step behind you. His gaze on the back of your head makes the baby hairs at the back of your neck stand to their ends, and the ten-year feeling of having fucked up deepens that tad bit more.

Your room is still exactly how you left it, save for some cardboard boxes piled up in a corner. There’s no bedspread to cover your mattress, but all the pictures you hung up on the walls once upon a time are still there. A sunrise over the ocean. A picture with Annie, Reiner, and Bertolt. Your childhood cat. The stars at night. A reproduction of Van Gogh’s vase of sunflowers. One of those random pictures you used to take, a candid polaroid of Reiner reading a book on your porch, sunlight kissing the side of his face. You remember staring at that picture for long, endless minutes every night, before falling asleep, asking yourself whether tomorrow would be the day you told him you had it real bad for him – you never did, of course.

He drops your duffel bag onto the mattress and stands next to you in silence for a while as you take everything in.

“How long are you staying?” he asks as you’re staring into the lifeless eyes of the tattered teddy bear sitting on your old desk by the window.

Just what is strictly necessary.

I’m not leaving again.

I don’t know.

He must see the reflection of it in your eyes, of the struggle you have inside, because he gives your shoulder a light squeeze and then smiles. “Hey, Y/N, breathe.”

You want to tell him you are breathing. That he’s always had that effect on you. But you realize you are, indeed, not breathing, that you’re starting to cramp up again, and your lungs hurt, and you know you’ll spend the night sobbing into your pillow until you either run out of tears or exhaustion overtakes you.

“What matters is that you’re here. Right now.” He pulls you in again, even though it feels forced – although it might also just be in your head. He has an arm around your waist and one hand on the back of your head, your face pressed into his chest as he leans his chin against the side of your face. You swear you can almost feel his heart beat against his ribs, but that for sure is just inside your head. “Being here now is the only thing you can do, and you’re doing it.”

He doesn’t stay the night. He tells you Annie won’t come, not until your dead mother is in the house – and probably a while after that, until any trace of her death will leave these rooms. What he does is call Historia, who you’ve never been super close with but who’s always been nice to you – she’s also taken care of your mother for years, after you left and she got sick. And Historia comes, helps you make the bed, and then sleeps by your side – or at least lies there, having the mercy of pretending she doesn’t hear you quietly cry into the pillow case until well past three in the morning.

You find him in the kitchen, however, when you wake up at half past one and walk downstairs with red eyes and tousled hair. He’s reading a book sitting at the table, and it brings you back to the polaroid picture in your room, and then to the day you took it.

“What are you photographing?” He’s smiling, doing his best not to chuckle, and you feel so at peace and excited at the same time that you have no clue what’s wrong with you. Maybe it’s just your stupid, first crush, you tell yourself, and smile some more.

“Just the butterflies on Mom’s flowers.” But the butterflies are in your stomach, as strong as albatrosses, making you giddy as you stare at the way his left iris looks golden with the sunlight hitting the side of his face.

In the spur of the moment, you think that if you’re ever to give love to someone, then it’s going to be him.

He takes you back home after the function. After lingering behind for an hour, while you cry your last tears kneeling on your mother’s grave. After you tell her you’re sorry, that you were wrong all along. That she was never the reason. He just didn’t want you. That you shouldn’t have left, but also that you’re glad you did – glad that you went after him, that you made peace with that part of your past, that you tried to give yourself what this town never could. But also that you’re sorry you left her behind, and never did anything to remain a part of her life.

He takes you back home after the function, and everyone’s already there. You don’t want them there – you just want to wallow alone with your sorrow – but you can’t kick them out. They’re not there for you, after all. They’re there for your mother.

The realization that they were definitely nicer to her than you were during your last years here makes you panicky. It digs its claws into the flesh of your back and bites down, and you feel them piercing your lungs, making your throat constrict, your breath come out short.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Reiner’s the one to unbuckle your seatbelt, right after turning off the engine of your car and unbuckling himself. He doesn’t make a move toward the door handle; he just sits there, next to you, and lays his hand above your cold, clammy one. “What’s going on inside you?”

You want to tell him, but at the same time you have no clue what to tell him. What words to use, or whether they’d even make sense in the first place. How do you put a groan and tears, the demon clawing inside you, all those feelings and emotions into words when you can barely process them yourself?

“I can’t breathe,” you reply instead, eyes too dry to cry, head pounding too much to even think. You’re just there, struggling to breathe, and it’s raining again. Not the biblical downpour, but enough to force Reiner to make the windshield wipers work almost at full speed. And you’re cold, so very cold, wet from the rain after you categorically and stupidly refused his umbrella, despite the blanket on your legs and the heat he cranked up to the max until he cut the engine off. “I can’t breathe.”

There’s a stain on the rooftop of your car, you notice when he tilts your head slightly up and draws circles with his thumb into the base of your head as he cradles it with one hand. One of your exes had this bad habit of smoking inside, and he put out a cigarette against the fabric of the rooftop during one of your usual fights before calling you names, breaking up things with you, and finally stepping the fuck out of your car and out of your life. You thought you had erased every trace of him, you think as a giggle almost bubbles up in your throat, but you guess you were wrong.

“You know,” he starts at some point, after shaking his head when Zeke comes out onto the porch, probably to call the two of you inside. He retreats, brows furrowed – in confusion or worry, you don’t know, you were never the best at reading Zeke Yeager and his emotions. “She never held a grudge.”

She – your mother.

It should make you feel better, but it somehow doesn’t. It would have probably been better if she had been angry at you all along, but hearing she wasn’t somehow throws you off. Maybe you really just were a piece of shit of a daughter. Maybe your father saw right from the very beginning, before his already very lacking presence in your life stopped being there altogether a few months before you turned four.

“I was so mad at you,” he continues. “I was so mad when you left. And then when you didn’t pick up the phone, or didn’t text back.” His sigh is deep and tired, and you feel that solitary tear trail down the side of your face. But you can’t wipe it away – his hand is still on yours, and you just want to be held, for once, even though your pieces feel scattered everywhere. “I thought I was in love.”

“With me?”

Your heart is in your throat.

Someone sneaks a peek from the kitchen window, but it’s so quick, the curtain is back into place before you can see who it was. Then, it’s just you and Reiner. And the rain outside.

He shrugs his shoulders. His thumb is still drawing soothing circles into the base of your head, the rest of his fingers splayed out on your cheek and your jaw. “Yeah. It passed, eventually, but back then I was just mad. I thought I had all the time in the world to find out what I was feeling. You were always there, following me around, at school and then outside. Until one day you weren’t anymore. I don’t know, maybe I was more mad at myself than I was at you.”

Breathing comes easier now, despite his words making you want to curl up under the blankets, praying for this to be just some nightmare. Praying to wake up and find out you’re still seventeen, and that you still have time to make all the right choices.

“I helped your mom out with some leaking pipes one day, a few months after you left. I think it was around Christmas, I don’t know. I guess I was still mad,” he chuckles. You can feel him looking at you, but you don’t have the strength or courage to look back at him. You just stare ahead, at the chipped paint of the front side of your childhood home that feels so small compared to how huge and empty your one-bedroom in the city feels. “And so I asked her, and she explained.”

“I’m sorry.” You’re not exactly sure what you’re apologizing for. Leaving him? Leaving her? Just, leaving? Being a mess now? Being a burden when he could be inside with his friends, drinking beer to commemorate your mother’s life?

“She said she was proud of you for confronting your father for disappearing. Or at least attempting to do so. Said she never could and that she regretted it her whole life. She regretted her words to you as well.” Your eyes meet his when he says that, and he must sense something going off inside of you, for his thumb picks up its movements once again, and he gives a small smile. He looks pretty, and tired, his eyes light and the circles underneath them dark. “She was just sad you never called.”

His words feel so comforting, but then also like salt being poured into the wound. Like a ‘but’ slapping you square in the face when you least expect it. I love you, but. We think you’re perfect for this job, but. I wanted to invite you, but. But, but, but. You just want an ‘and’ for once, but you guess you deserve it, this time. One day you’re sure there will be a you did some wrong things, but. And you’re waiting for that moment – ‘but’ and ‘and’ combined into one, and then maybe you’ll be able to start letting go of some of the weight you’ve been dragging behind all along.

“I wanted to, but…”

I wanted to, but. You also have ‘but’s.

“I know.”

He’s there when you take a quick shower to warm up after standing in the rain, after sitting soaked in the car, and he’s there when you walk back downstairs, hair still damp, and join your old friends. Maybe it shouldn’t, or maybe it’s right just the way it is, but it makes you feel safe. Like no matter what they all think about you, at least he’s been honest with you, back there in the car.

The kitchen is cramped, but the beer is cold, at least. It distracts you from how clumsy the conversation feels at the beginning. It’s been ten years, after all: they have no clue who you are now, and you have no clue who they grew up into. But then, somehow, Zeke manages to make everything flow smoothly.

You don’t talk much, you let them do the talking. You’re not exactly ‘out of it’, but you’re also not exactly fully there. Reiner’s the person your gaze is set on, and you look at him like he’s your anchor – he’s always been, after all, and you can pretend he still is, standing with his back against the counter of the sink.

“Hey, huh…” The blond man sitting next to you catches your attention timidly. He’s also been quiet all afternoon, letting everyone else do the talking for him, too. If it wasn’t for Eren, who’s somehow tagged along with his older brother, you wouldn’t have recognized Armin with how much he’s grown. “Ellen’s– I mean, your mom’s shop– I work– Ah, I’m Armin, by the way. Arlert. You used to help me out with science when we were kids.”

It’s probably the beer, but you’re smiling at him. He’s still shy around you. You think it’s cute. Yeah, it’s definitely the beer. “I remember you. What’s up?”

What a dumb ass question, you scold yourself. You cringe, but, eh. At least you can brush it up to reality slapping you in the face, to today’s funeral, or the breakdown you had in the graveyard, even to the beers someone bought and stocked up in the fridge. Well, your mother’s fridge. But your mother’s dead and the house has been passed down to you, since she didn’t write her own will, apparently. So yeah, does it even matter whose fridge it is?

“I’m–” He looks conflicted, but then again he’s looking at you like you’re some ticking bomb ready to go off. “Okay, I guess. A bit shaken up, but we were… I mean, we were sorta expecting it, y’know?” Not exactly, but you don’t say it. “What with the sickness and all… She stopped coming to the shop months ago. I used to– I mean, I still do. I work at her shop.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Polite small talk. You wonder whether you’re being fake. Whether it’s obvious. Whether he can see right through you and knows how clumsy you still are, that you don’t know how to approach any of them. Whether the rest of them are looking at you. Listening. Judging. You have no clue why you’re so afraid of being judged, but deep down you know. You’ve never been good at facing up to your shit, but – and this is a positive ‘but’, you reckon – you still have time to make amends for that. Well, now you know you don’t have all the time in the world, but maybe you still have enough to look back the way you didn’t when you should have. “You’ve always had an eye for nice compositions. She always praised you. I sucked at that, I still only barely know the names of basic flowers.”

He chuckles at that, but then tones it down by sipping on his beer. “Eh, there’s still time to learn if you want,” he smiles. He smiles like you really have all the time in the world, and the lie reassures you for a moment. It feels like ‘it’s okay, everything will be alright in the end’, and probably no one knows how much you need to hear that better than you do. “But I mean, you should– I mean, if you want to, of course– and when you’re ready– come down to the shop. Decide whether you should keep it open or what. I can keep the business running until you’re ready, but just– let me know.”

“I–” You meet Reiner’s gaze, looking at you while Eren is talking his ear off about some football game they must have placed bets on. Reiner’s never really liked Zeke’s younger brother that much, but it’s still sort of amusing, to see how they still hang out after all these years, despite their differences. “Yeah, I will, I– I just–”

“You take your time.” Armin’s hand is burning hot when it wraps around yours on the table. Either that, or yours is cold. It’s a weird thing, to feel your body but also not at the same time. To still be in that graveyard despite sitting in your childhood home’s kitchen, surrounded by childhood friends. “I know it’s not easy. I don’t remember much about my parents, but I still miss them terribly.”

Right. You tend to forget they also have their own struggles.

They leave at around midnight, and when they do, the house gets terribly quiet.

Historia insisted on staying, while she was helping you carry the take-out pizza cardboard boxes to the trashcan in the storage cabin outside, but you told her it’s alright. That you gotta learn to do this. That you’ll have to go back to your life, and she won’t always be there. It’s okay, really, don’t worry. You’ve been taking care of her for years now. You should go home, rest. If anything, I should be the one offering you comfort.

When you walk back inside, Reiner’s just getting out from underneath the kitchen sink, a wrench in hand. He hits his head against the cabinet when he’s caught by surprise by the sight of you standing there, and he curses underneath his breath, rough fingers coming up to rub the sore spot on his forehead.

“It should work now,” he grunts when he stands up to put the wrench back into the toolbox. But you don’t move, taken aback by the domesticity of him standing there, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, knowing his way around your old house, fixing broken things without a second thought almost as though he’s been doing that his whole life. He kind of has, actually. You don’t move, so he smiles. “Try the faucet, I’ll put this back in the utility closet.”

He finds you staring at the running water when he comes back, freshly washed glasses resting on the rack to dry. You know he’s standing there in the doorframe, looking at you, checking your breathing, trying to understand where your mind is, what you’re thinking, but you don’t move. You don’t turn back to look at him the way you would have done ten years ago, and you don’t move to turn the tap off.

It’s peaceful, really. The rain has stopped pouring outside, but the sound of the water in the sink puts every single one of your thoughts to rest. All the excuses for not coming back. All the self-accusations that have come after leaving, and all the misdirected accusations that came before that. All the second-thoughts, all the fears, all the self-guilt.

“Don’t they teach you to save water in the city?” Reiner jokes, managing to pull a chuckle from your lips as you watch his hand turn off the tap.

He stands there, right behind you, and although he’s not even hugging you, you feel like you can breathe a little better. Like the light hanging from the ceiling is a little brighter. The room a little bigger.

“I’m sorry,” you say instead, but admitting it is now a little easier. Reconnecting with your old friends wasn’t as bad as you had thought it would be, and even getting to officially know a new face – Ymir’s – wasn’t as hard as you had feared. “For leaving,” you add. “And never coming back or reaching out. I realized too late this is not how I wanted things to go, but then I let my pride and my fears get into the way of doing anything to make amends.”

He’s a little closer now, you can feel his body heat from where he’s standing, hands on either side of you on the counter.

“I wanted to,” you admit. “Come back, apologize for hurting any of you. Especially– especially Mom. And– you.” You whisper that last word, your fingers trembling. “You– I…” A sigh escapes you, and your eyes close for a moment as you take a deep breath in. “I crushed on you so bad, Reiner… And when I left you that letter, I– I thought I’d come back. I thought I’d text you, I really did. But then I found my father, and I thought, ‘If I wasn’t enough for him–’”

Swallowing is hard once again, even more so when Reiner rests his forehead against your shoulder as he waits for you to continue. If there’s something about him that hasn’t changed, it’s the fact that he waits for you to go on. To say what’s on your mind, speak your truth. He either doesn’t realize how hard some things are to admit, or he doesn’t care – and it’s not in a bad way, he just wants you to open up.

“‘If I wasn’t enough for my father, what makes me think I’ll ever be enough for someone else?’ And I desperately wanted to be enough for you. So I–” You swallow around nothing, that stupid lump forming in the back of your throat all over again. Maybe if you had managed to cry when Historia called, then doing things now wouldn’t be as hard. “I guess I let that fear eat away at me.”

He groans, deep in his throat and right against you. It’s hard to say what’s on his mind, especially when he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t do anything aside from standing there, behind you, as you stare out the window at the muddy garden in front of the house.

“To think that we could’ve had it so much different…” he mutters in the end, lips barely brushing against the cotton of your shirt, the thumb of his right hand barely brushing against the pinky of yours. “It makes me even more mad.”

Then, his phone rings and he’s gone.

The few days you originally planned to spend at home quickly turn into a week, which turns into two. It’s like a whole one-eighty: you’ve gone from wanting to run away from the town, to wanting to run away from the city. The city, where you’ve lived for so long now, feels gray in your memories. Your hometown is blue and green and all colorful, pretty flowers everywhere – even the steely gray of a storm on the sea feels much more comforting than you remember it ever being in the past.

But it’s the people that make it a warm place to stay.

Annie, despite the initial fight over the way you left all those years ago upon first meeting her now, feels like the same Annie you used to be buddy-buddy with when growing up. You’ve already met up with her for breakfast for ten days in a row, now, and catching up with her feels like coming back home every single time.

Zeke has stopped by the house quite a few times already, either with Marcel or Porco or even his younger brother and his friends in tow, to help you move around the furniture of the living room despite you insisting you could do it yourself, that they really didn’t have to take the time of their day just to do this for you. Nonsense, Zeke said on the first day as he sat at your kitchen table. Plus, I quite enjoy bossing the kids around.

Your mother’s old shop – now, somehow, your shop, although you’re constantly thinking of changing that – has unexpectedly become a safe nest to hide out at. There’s always just Armin there, aside from the times customers walk in and make the bell above the door jingle, and Armin loves what he does. You see it on his face, in the way he lights up every time someone asks for a recommendation – flowers to gift to a lover, or to take to the hospital, or to liven up the rooms of someone’s house. He tells you what each flower means, he teaches you their names, and you don’t even listen because you want to learn or because you’re that interested in flowers and herbs and plants. You listen because his eyes spark with the passion he carries inside as he forgets about the fact that he’s recently lost a friend. Your mother, of course – you tell yourself she was important to a lot of people, and you’re still trying to come to terms with the fact that you never gave her the importance she probably deserved.

Historia has also become an unexpected friend. She’s shy and bubbly all at the same time, always moving around, always tending to her patients in the elderly home she works at, and she sometimes tells you about them. She’s also passionate about what she does, and takes both the ups and downs of her job in stride. Most importantly, she tells you about your mother. Fills in the ten-year gap you weren’t there to witness. She shows you pictures, even a home-made video of that one time she won the town’s florist competition for the fourth year in a row. It’s through her stories that the ghost of your mother becomes fainter and lighter, the very last millimeter of the tip of her nose no more staring at you in the darkness of your old room when you lie awake at night, unable to close your eyes.

She stops by with Ymir sometimes, when she comes over with Armin with the excuse to take care of the flowerbeds, although you know it’s just because they want to keep you company. Ymir is quiet and reserved – she hasn’t opened up to you yet. It was the same with me at the beginning, Mikasa told you once. Ymir sits with you on the porch and looks at her girlfriend with a smile on her face, and sometimes tells you about the random things she’s done abroad. Skinny dipping in a freezing river. Fishing for prawns at night. A particularly beautiful painting she’s seen in a museum once – Lovers in the Rain –, seven years ago, or a poem that still makes her tear up when she remembers it.

Her company is nice, it puts you at ease. It makes you forget everything about the way you left, and about your life far away from the coast. It makes you want to come back here, time and time again.

It’s Reiner that makes you want to stay, however. Reiner and his eyes. Reiner and his smile. Reiner in your bathroom, humming a tune while fixing the hand spray of your shower after it spat water everywhere a week ago. Reiner in your car, behind the wheel, as you sip on cold coffee while staring out at the moon reflecting on the water.

Reiner, and the way he makes you breathe.

He has a hand thrown absentmindedly over your shoulders as you huddle around the fire in the back of Zeke’s property and roast marshmallows. It’s just the three of you, plus Annie, Porco, and Pieck. Bertolt couldn’t come, and Marcel is sick.

“You start singing, and I’ll bite your head off,” Annie warns in a grunt, punching Porco’s arm, when Pieck walks out with a homemade birthday cake.

“Party pooper,” but Porco’s smiling, sitting right opposite you at the other side of the bonfire as he looks down at her.

“They’re cute,” you mutter under your breath, careful not to let the others hear you, but then Zeke’s tone-deaf singing Happy Birthday with Pieck, so the volume of your voice doesn’t even matter.

Reiner hums next to you, his fingers digging deeper into the side of your arm when he leans forward to fetch the stick with your marshmallow before it burns black. “They dated for a while– I don’t know, five, six years ago?” He shrugs his shoulders as he hands you your sugary treat. “It didn’t last long, and we don’t talk about it. Bert is still salty about it, so…”

He shoves his own marshmallow into his mouth, and you stare as he chews on it. The flames of the bonfire dance in his eyes and on his face, and the sound of your breath catching in the back of your throat makes him turn to face you.

He’s smiling. And damn – every time he smiles you realize how badly you missed him. “I’m sure that has to do with the reason why he couldn’t come, but don’t tell him I said that.”

The others are staring at the both of you when you turn back towards the quiet party, amused and knowing smirks on their lips. Annie moves to sit next to you with the excuse of giving you a paper dish with your slice of cake, and Pieck takes care of giving Reiner his own.

“Happy birthday,” you grin at your friend, and her immediate response is an eyeroll, although she still has half a smile tugging at her lips.

“It really is a happy birthday now that you’re back.” The confession is rushed, and before you can fully register her words, she’s already digging into her cake – the largest slice of them all, since she’s the birthday girl.

The night is quiet, and with Reiner next to you and the bonfire you’re sitting in front of, you barely notice the chilly bite of the last April breeze before the month of May starts in a few hours. It’s like never having left; it’s all as it used to be, despite Bertolt and Marcel not being here, and despite Zeke’s presence as well. He was never around much when you were younger, what with the difference in age and him going off to college on a baseball scholarship. But he’s nice company – great company, even, when he pulls a guitar out of nowhere and gives a tipsy Pock the chance to start singing nonsense. He sings the Happy Birthday song one last time, and you hold Annie back as he does, your laughter in her ear until she’s laughing, too, still trying to get out of your grasp.

“So, tell us something about the city,” Zeke says, eyes twinkling behind the light reflecting off of the lenses of his glasses. He’s still strumming chords, and when he speaks, everyone’s head but Reiner’s turns in your direction.

It makes you feel the center of attention, the spotlights suddenly shining down on you instead of your – old but maybe still – best friend finally turning twenty-eight.

You shrug. “What about it?” You look at them, a somewhat smile on your lips, but your fingers are pulling on grass blades. Reiner feels the shift inside you even without looking, and his thumb is suddenly brushing back and forth on his sweatshirt, the one he left at your mother’s place when he stopped by two days ago and you almost – almost – kissed before his phone went off. “It rains just like it does here,” although you’re glad today the sun timidly peeked through the clouds.

“Oh, c’mon!” Annie pushes you into Reiner, amused but still, you perceive veiled annoyance in the way she looks at you. You figure you deserve it, but you also hope she’ll come to forgive you – that they all will, one day, somehow. “Something must be really nice if it kept you there for so long.”

You look at her, and then up at the stars and the silvery clouds in the night sky, lost in thought. What kept you there were the hurt and the pride, but how can you tell them that? “I don’t know, it just… wasn’t as great as you think.” Wasn’t – not ‘isn’t’. You have no clue why that past tense slips past your lips, but later on in the night, as you’re walking up the steps of your porch, you’ll find yourself wondering about it. “The pay isn’t that bad, I guess. There’s a lot of distractions. My district breaks out in celebrations every year when spring and summer start. No one knows you unless you make an effort to mingle, so you can pretend to be whoever you want.”

Everyone nods, but then Zeke grins and, “I had plenty of hook-ups when I was studying at university. I loved that about the city.” It makes everyone groan, and Pieck and Porco gang up on him and push him left and right.

It makes you blush, because damn, there’s some truth in that, you had it easy, too. “Yeah, you’re not that wrong.”

You miss the way Reiner’s thumb stops moving on your shoulder for a split second before Porco drags the conversation into another direction and challenges Reiner to whoever can stomach the most beer before getting drunk.

Zeke’s the one taking you home this time, after leaving you in the car as he walks up the steps of Reiner’s apartment to drop his drunk friend off. He stays in there for a while, and you look up at his window, waiting for the light to switch off again. You think back to Zeke and his hook-ups, and to yourself and your own hook-ups and failed relationships. And to how you always wished for it to be someone else from the very beginning, some big ass man who’s being put to bed because his other friend outdrank him at Annie’s intimate birthday party.

It makes you wonder whether he has someone in his life, or whether he did in the past.

Then, before you even have the time to come back to the present moment and see that the light upstairs has been turned off, Zeke is buckling himself in and turning the engine of his truck on again.

It’s quiet for a while before he asks, “So, what are your plans?”

“My plans?”

He hums and nods, taking a turn at the crossroad before briefly glancing at you. “The house, your mom’s shop, you know… The whole shabang.”

“Oh…” You stall, opening and closing your mouth a couple of times before admitting, “I don’t know, I haven’t really thought about it yet.”

“Hmm?”

“Yeah, I mean…” It’s weird, being locked up in the car with Zeke. You never paid him much mind when you were younger, he was just some younger friend’s older brother back then, although Reiner definitely did hang out with him and dragged you along every once in a while. “I don’t know shit about flowers, they’re really not… not exactly my thing.”

“And what is your thing?” he wonders. “Running away?”

That’s what my mother told me the last time I saw her – you think but don’t say it out loud. You’re still taken aback however, and you have no clue how to reply to that.

“Chill, I was kidding,” he chuckles. “So, are you closing the shop down?”

You hum, shaking your head and staring out of the passenger’s side window. “No. It’s silly, but I was thinking of– yeah, passing it down to Armin.”

“Yeah?”

You hum again. “I’ve been there a few times already, and he loves his job. I mean, he could surely find something somewhere else, but… I have no business there. He’s the one who grew up in it. My mom should’ve left the shop to him from the beginning.”

“What did he say?”

“I haven’t told him yet. I actually had that idea last night.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “I never can here.” You don’t know why you’re confessing so many things to him, but you find it easier to let your mouth run free with Zeke than with someone you used to be much closer with when you still lived here. “I sleep during the morning, that’s why I’m never around town at those hours.”

“So what about the house, then? Are you selling it?”

“Why? Do you want it?” you chuckle, and he laughs with you.

“Well, I mean. It has a pretty view. It’d be a beautiful place to raise children in.”

You furrow your brow, trying to hide the smile curving the corners of your mouth upwards. “Zeke Yeager is ready to settle down?!” You jokingly ask, laughing at the expression on his face when he turns to look at you before taking the turn of the road that leads up the cliff and to your house. “Gee! Who is it?”

“I was merely saying,” but he’s blushing to the tips of his ears when he pulls up in front of your porch.

You see the ghost of your mother standing on the second step, baby blue dress waving in the breeze as your seventeen-year-old self walks away from home.

“But yeah, I’m thinking about it,” he admits eventually, voice low and quiet. He’s smiling at nothing when you turn to look at him. “It’s not official yet, but Pieck and I…”

“Damn, really? Pieck?”

He glares at you. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “You’ve just been buddy-buddy for so long… To be honest I never thought I’d live long enough to see the day you two would look at each other as more than merely friends.”

“Says the one who used to be a love-sick puppy running in circles with the drunk idiot we just dropped off.”

You feel the blood rush to your face, and instead of replying, you just shrug.

“Did he tell you?” he asks.

“That he felt something for me? Yeah. Took me off guard. I lived so long in the belief I wasn’t reciprocated…”

He hums quietly, the music on the radio still humming in the background. “You were so close… I never thought I’d ever see him mad because of you.” His voice is quiet. Neither of you make a move to get out of the car.

“Yeah, I…” What do you say to that? That you’re sorry? That you’re apologizing? Again? You feel like all you’re good at now is apologize, and it hurts so much inside. It hurts to know you never did it in the past, when it would have had a meaning – with Reiner, with your own mother, with your friends. Most of all, with yourself – you’re yet to make peace with yourself, the way you left, the things you said, the guilt and shame you wrapped yourself up with. “There’s not one thing I haven’t fucked up.”

“It happens to everyone.”

You look at him like he’s grown two heads in the span of a second, and it makes him laugh for a moment.

“What? That’s true. It’s what makes us human. The mistakes.” He smiles. “We all fuck up. Your father fucked up. Hell! Mine did, too. You think I wasn’t mad at Eren and his mother at the beginning? But then I took a step back and realized I was misdirecting my feelings. My father cheating on my mom wasn’t Carla’s fault, not when she knew nothing about us in the first place, and it sure as hell couldn’t be Eren’s. It just…” He shrugs, and his fingers twitch on the buttons of the radio before he pulls his hand back and lets the music play a little longer. “It’s just life. It doesn’t come with a manual. Your mother was a real bitch, too, with you, sometimes. No one’s perfect.”

“So, you’re not judging me?” You don’t know why you ask. You can’t even look him in the eye, your hands in your lap suddenly much more interesting than whatever expression his features might be morphing into.

“Is that what’s been bothering you?”

You shrug a shoulder. “Among other things.”

He’s quiet for a while, and the way this silence makes you feel makes you long for Reiner and the calming effect he has on you. “Well, I did, at the beginning. Look at this brat, tsk!” His chuckle makes you smile timidly, your gaze still fixed on your hands as your throat dries up. “But then… you had some balls, up and leaving everything to go after someone you hadn’t seen in fourteen years, I had to admit it. Then you went back to being an annoying brat when things went to shit with Reiner. But now you’re cool.”

You hum, questioningly, biting your tongue out of some emotion you can’t quite put a finger on.

“He was mad. I’d never seen him cry before, it really fucked me up at first. He didn’t go to college because he was too busy being mad at himself and then at you. Then his mother passed away, and he had to sober up when he had to take Gabi in. He went from growing up without a father to trying to be one for his cousin.” His hand is warm when he tilts your chin up and toward him, and he looks straight into your eyes when he says, “He’s made mistakes, too. We all do. We just apologize and move on. That’s how life goes. It doesn’t stop just because you want to wallow in your own self-pity.”

When he lets you go, you’re quick at turning to face your house. To face the ivy leaves trembling slightly in the breeze. The windchimes hanging from the porch jingling quietly. Your mom’s not on the second step anymore, and you guess that’s one step forward. Still, it’s hard to stay and face your shit head-on.

“What are your plans?” Zeke asks again, this time turning off the radio and throwing his door open. He doesn’t step out, and he doesn’t motion for you to do it. He knows you’ll get out sooner rather than later; you probably just need a minute.

What are your plans? You’ve been asking yourself that same question for two weeks now. Probably since the night Historia called you to deliver the bad news, the day before you hopped into your car and drove the thirteen-hour drive back to your hometown.

The easy answer is that you don’t know. The harder one is that you’re not even sure what you’re supposed to do. Go back to the city? To the same city you’ve felt yourself drowning in for so long now? Or stay here? Somehow, coming back home was never the plan. You wanted to run away and stay there – wherever ‘there’ was. But now you’re back, and you’re suddenly confronted with a taste of what you left behind. Of what you could have had had you stayed.

“Are you planning on staying for long?”

It’s almost as though he’s trying to help you make order among the thoughts stomping around in your head. Stay or leave. Live or drown. But it’s not exactly of help, not when you’re so afraid of fucking up again.

“I don’t know,” you say eventually, fingers wrapped around the door handle. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” That’s the truth; you hope admitting it will help bring clarity upon your mind.

“And what do you want to do?”

I don’t know. The truth is that you’ve been living with that ‘I don’t know’ hanging above your head like Damocles’ sword for so long, ever since closing the door of your father’s home behind your back all those years ago. You wanted to find him. To find him and for him to love you, or even just give you shreds of the love he never gave you when you were a kid. But things didn’t go according to plan, not when you found him happily married and with a kid on the way, and then pride and shame and guilt kicked in.

“What ties you to the city?”

You can physically hear and feel your heart in the middle of your chest. It’s heavy and loud and so, so stubborn. As stubborn as the tears threatening to prickle your eyes. “Nothing,” you find yourself whispering back – not your apartment, not your job, not the river, and not even your district’s seasonal celebrations. “No one.”

He heaves a sigh. You feel his stare on you, and suddenly you’re just a scared little kid in Zeke Yeager’s passenger seat. Too afraid to go back, and too afraid to move forward. Too afraid even to run away after the way things went the first time you did. You don’t want to be known as the one whose only talent is running away.

“I can’t tell you what to do. Nobody can.” And yet, you wish he would. You wish he would make the decision for you. That he’d tell you to stay – in this house or in a condo downtown, it doesn’t matter. It hits you a moment later that you’re simply looking for someone else to blame in case things end up not going well. “But whatever you choose, don’t lead Reiner on.”

You swallow, the need to breathe burning incredibly hot in your lungs.

“I see the way you look at him, and the way he looks at you. The way he is when he’s with you,” he continues. “And it’s only been two weeks. If you want to stay, stay. If you want to leave, leave. Just, don’t give him hope just to then run away again.”

Zeke’s words keep you awake that night. You toss and turn in bed, trying to jumpstart your brain so that you can think. Ponder your options. Weigh the pros and cons of staying here and of going back to your one-bedroom. Until you realize that what you’re lacking is the pair of balls you had when you left at seventeen. It’s like you used all your courage to go find your father, and then burned it all when he pushed you away.

A new job would be easy to find, you tell yourself when the first light of dawn peeks through the lacy curtains of your bedroom and finds you still awake, eyes red and tired, Jasper clasped between your arms. You never thought you’d find yourself hugging to your chest the teddy bear you had when you were a kid, but here you are, caught red-handed.

You technically have a florist shop to your name, despite the idea of passing the property to Armin. It could be your safety net while you look for something you can actually do, something you won’t fuck up.

This house is nicer than your city apartment, and costs a lot less to handle. Sure, it’s too big for you, and too empty, but it’s not as asphyxiating as when you were younger.

And there’s no one waiting for you back there, no friends. It’s always been a competition with your colleagues, no matter the job. Maybe because you grew up somewhere else, and they were born in the city. Maybe it’s because you never managed to go to college. Maybe it’s because you simply never belonged, and that fact stuck to you like some nasty stench everyone else but you could detect.

You have people here. People you grew up with. People you missed. You still have time to make up to them, you think, and that knowledge is what finally allows you to close your eyes for a moment.

As you fall asleep, you find yourself thinking that yeah, maybe you should give it a shot. An actual shot – stay and do your best, and see where that takes you.

By the end of your third week back home, you’ve already told Armin about your plans for the shop.

“Uh… Are you sure? This was your mom’s shop, after all.”

You smile. “And now it’s mine, I can do whatever I want with it.”

He stares at you for a long moment, not uttering a word, his eyebrows set into a frown of confusion as he sits there, behind the counter, and watches the way you’re smiling. You haven’t felt yourself smile like that in so long. Like you’re being genuine, like your happiness is genuine, for once – and it is. And you are.

“Look, you know your way around all things flowers and plants much better than anyone else I know,” you say, sliding the papers for the transfer of ownership forward on the glass surface of the counter. “This place would just go down if it stayed in my hands. You don’t have to say anything just yet, just… Promise me you’ll think about it.”

Annie was the first person you told your plan to. She’s always been your best friend, ever since you were digging up mud on the beach and wearing diapers. Things are different now between you – you’ve both grown up, had experiences without the other, and… well yeah, there’s the whole running away card you pulled. But she’s still the same kid you trusted with all your secrets. And she’s still on your side.

“Have you told you-know-who yet?” she asks as she shoves the blue cooler she’s filled with food and water onto the backseat of your car.

“Who?” Your mind is only halfway there, locking up the house before running down the steps of the porch as the screen door slams behind you.

“Reiner! Who else?” She’s already buckling herself in, and when she speaks, she does so with her head out of the passenger’s window. The sight of her makes you laugh and you’re hit with the sudden realization that this is going to be your first car trip ever with her. And hopefully it won’t be the last.

“What’s up with everyone talking about me and Reiner?” you mutter underneath your breath, but she still somehow manages to hear you and starts saying something about how lovesick you both still are. You block her halfway through her rant with a hand on her mouth before saying, “I’m meeting him now. I’ll leave the car at your place so that you can put your bag in the trunk.”

You thought he’d let you up into his place, but Reiner takes you on a walk by the bay.

The silence between the two of you is tense, but the sunlight is warm on the skin of your face and when you turn to look at him, he looks like a dream in the midday sun – golden eyes and tan freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

It’s like that afternoon on your porch, when you were both sixteen and he was reading some random book whose title you don’t remember anymore now. You had butterflies in your belly as you looked at him as you took a photograph, and you have them now as you walk side by side.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. He’s looking out at the lighthouse, at the way the waves crash on the rocks. A man you don’t recognize greets him as he jumps off his boat, and the seagulls scream as they fly above your heads. “You’re leaving again.” He doesn’t look at you as he says that, his hands shoved in the front pockets of his bleached jeans before he sits down on the docks and lets his legs dangle above the water.

The hem of your dress, the one Annie let you borrow when the temperatures unexpectedly rose a few days ago, moves slightly in the wind, barely brushing against your knees. Reiner looks up at you, still standing next to him, but he’s quick at looking away, the tips of his ears turning red.

The smile that stretches on your lips is another one of those genuine smiles you’ve grown unaccustomed to, and as you crouch down to sit next to him, you realize you haven’t been this happy in a long time. It’s not just the here-and-now with Reiner, it’s more of a general feeling. Being home. Hanging out with your old friends. Finally letting yourself open up and move forward, as Zeke put it.

You hum.

“Well, at least you gave us the heads-up this time.”

You can’t read him, and you know it’s because he doesn’t want you to. He’s not looking at you to make his job easier; he keeps staring out at the ocean so that you can’t read in his eyes what’s going on inside his head.

“That’s some character development,” he nods, his left hand fiddling with some of the loose strands of one of the holes in his ripped jeans. You see the muscles of his thigh move as he dangles his legs.

You chuckle at his words, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. “Wanna know what some real character development is?” you ask, humming, taking a hold of his hand and looking at the way he automatically intertwines his fingers with yours.

You’ve grown closer in the almost month you’ve spent back here. He stops by your house to check if everything’s alright – with the old pipes, with the old TV, with the old fridge. There’s a lot of old things in that house, you realize, and you have no clue what Zeke finds in it, what all that ‘raising kids there’ nonsense is, but it’s still home. And all those old things are perfect the way they are because each one of them gives you the certainty that Reiner will be back.

He’s let you in, bit by bit, after the heartache you caused him and which his friend Zeke was so kind to inform you of. He’s let his guard down – not completely, of course, and you wouldn’t even demand that of him. You still have time.

Yeah, you smile softly. We still have time.

“Enlighten me.” Again, he’s not looking at you, but at least now he’s looking down at your clasped hands resting on his left thigh. He’s warm, you notice – warmer than usual thanks to the late May sun.

He makes you breathe.

You smile. “I’m coming back in a week.”

He scoffs.

“What? Don’t believe me?” You can’t blame him, but you’re still grinning brightly up at him.

The corner of his mouth twitches as he tries not to smile back at you.

“Annie’s coming with me. You can think of her as your guarantee that I’ll be back.”

He looks at you this time. His eyes really do seem molten gold in the sunlight, but there’s something in them, something you can’t quite identify. Like some internal struggle, torn between choosing to believe you and… “Hmm? Yeah? Why are you going back if it’s just for a week?”

You tilt your head to the side, trying to avoid the sun from blinding you. His hold on your hand tightens, and so does his grip on your heart. “I need to take care of a few things before moving back here,” you say. “Leave my job. Rescind my lease. All my clothes and things are there. I’m not about to spend a fortune just to replace everything I own. And then there’s–”

“You’re moving here?” He’s surprised, you read it in his eyes, in the frown of his lips, in the way he almost gasps before he gets a grip on himself again.

You nod, laughing. “Ironic, isn’t it? After all the running away I did, here I am, consid–”

He’s kissing you before you can realize what’s going on. His lips are warm and soft against yours, a little chapped, and his hand cradles the back of your head before his tongue brushes against your lower lip.

The rest of your sentence simply evaporates into nothing, and you have no clue what you wanted to say anymore.

There’s just Reiner, his thigh pressed up against yours as your upper bodies are turned toward each other. His hand in yours, and his other hand holding the side of your face. His lips on your lips, and his tongue slipping into your mouth to brush against yours. It makes your heart beat like a drum in your chest, in your head, in the back of your throat.

You taste the salt of the sea on his lips, and feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, when your hand wraps around his wrist.

Then, he’s pulling back, just enough for your noses to brush against each other still.

“Promise me.”

You’re out of breath. Your brain is struggling to start up again as you stare dumbfounded into his eyes. There are specks of gold in his hazel irises. There are tiny freckles under his left eye, and you’re not sure you ever even noticed them before today. You’re not even sure you’ve ever been this close to him to begin with. When your gaze drops to his lips, yours part slightly of their own accord and all you want to do is kiss him again.

It’s as though all you ever wanted to do ever since you started seeing him as something more than a friend was kissing him, and now that he did kiss you – after that almost kiss in your house, and after that almost kiss when you dropped him off at his place last week – you know you want to spend the rest of your life kissing him.

It makes you dumb, the way your heart leaps in your chest, does summersaults alongside the butterflies in your belly. And yet, you’ve never been so much at peace. It’s because it’s Reiner, you realize. Reiner, and his ability to make you breathe. Reiner, and how the sunlight on his skin makes you feel.

Warm.

Safe.

Alright.

“Promise me you’re coming back,” he insists, leaning in closer, his lips barely brushing yours with every word he speaks. “One week, and then you’re back here.”

You’re almost out of breath when you whisper, “I promise,” and then he takes care of robbing whatever air is left in your lungs with another kiss.

When you’re pulling up in front of your house exactly one week later, after dropping Annie off at her place, your phone on the passenger seat rings with an incoming notification. There’s absolutely no lying about the excitement that bubbles up inside you after such a long drive – despite the fact that you and Annie took turns driving – when it’s Reiner’s name the one you read on your screen.

[10:37 PM] Reiner: heard you’re back

[10:37 PM] Reiner: how was the drive?

You smile. At him texting you. At your own sudden spurt of giddiness when all you wanted to do just a minute ago was crawl through the front door and collapse on the uncomfortable rattan couch standing exactly where they had placed your mother’s casket.

It takes you a full minute to snap out of it and realize the three dots of his typing and deleting text are still going strong. The thought that maybe he’s just as nervous as you would be if you were in his shoes makes you melt just a bit inside.

[10:38 PM] You: a bit tiring tbh

You figure there’s no use in lying, especially not to him.

[10:38 PM] You: what’re you doing still up? don’t you have work tomorrow?

He texts back at the speed of light.

[10:38 PM] Reiner: I took a couple days off since you were coming back

[10:40 PM] You: aww cute

You sit still in the car, the moonlight shining down on the yard. Your cheeks are on fire, you feel it when you press the back of your hand against your cheekbone. It’s both because of Reiner and because of how wild your heart is beating at that last text you sent, after typing it out and deleting it and typing it out again before saying fuck it! and just hitting ‘send’.

[10:43 PM] Reiner: it was just in case you wouldn’t be back 😅

[10:44 PM] Reiner: anyway. Wanna hang out?

It hits you like a slap, that first text of his. You know he’ll try to play it off when you meet in person, play it cool and joke about it as he tries to take it back, but right now it makes you stop and think. You never thought Zeke was lying, that night in his truck, when he said he’d never seen his friend cry and that then he suddenly did because of you. But right now his words come echoing back in the cabin of your own car.

He was mad. I never saw him cry, it really fucked me up at first.

And then the words that came after those – If you want to stay, stay. If you want to leave, leave. Just, don’t give him hope just to then run away again. You tell yourself you’re not ‘giving him hope’ – if anything, he’s giving you hope. You tell yourself it’s alright to try. To move on. That it’s useless to cry over spilled milk that dried up ten years ago. That there’s nothing between you and Reiner. He said it himself, after all.

I thought I was in love.

With me?

Yeah. It passed, eventually, but back then I was just mad.

And yet, there was that kiss, at the docks, and that’s what gave you hope. What still is giving you hope that maybe you still have time.

You’re left wondering what the hell ‘passed’ – his feelings for you? Or him being mad?

[10:48 PM] Reiner: no worries if you’re not in the mood of course

[10:48 PM] You: no! no id love to!

Fuck, what an idiot. Why did it take you so long to reply? You’re back to feeling like a teenager dealing with her first crush. It hits you a second later that while you’re not a teenager anymore, Reiner still technically is your first crush.

[10:49 PM] Reiner: Marcel’s bar’s by the pier. We’re all here for some beers

[10:49 PM] Reiner: I can come pick you up if you’re too tired to drive :)

You smile at that old-style smiley he sends. He really is cute, you think – or maybe it’s just your crush on him starting to blossom again. You’re honestly too tired to hang out, but you still don’t want to miss out, and you’re honest enough to admit to yourself you don’t want to miss out on him.

[10:50 PM] You: thanks! i’ll be waiting on my porch then! ;)

He finds you there, twelve minutes later, and you’re quick at jumping into the truck he temporarily stole from Zeke. He’s smiling so brightly at you, you think you might combust into fiery butterflies.

“Hi.” You have no clue why you’re out of breath. It’s just Reiner, for fuck’s sake. But Reiner’s also… well, Reiner, and he looks even more handsome today – white t-shirt, khaki pants, stringy bracelets wrapped tight around his right wrist.

No welcome-home kiss? you want to ask, but bite your tongue just in time before you can embarrass yourself.

“Hey there,” he breathes out. “You look tired, now I feel guilty for asking you out so late and after your drive.”

He nudges you when you smirk. “Get going,” you chuckle, leaning back comfortably against the seat and buckling your belt.

It’s only when the coast comes into view, with all the pretty lights of the bay twinkling on the placid water, that you grin like a child. “So… you asked me out?”

He looks at you for a moment before he snorts as he pulls up into the parking lot. “Kinda,” he replies with a shrug and before you can stop him, he’s already out of the truck.

You’re also quick at getting out, purse in one hand and phone in the other. For a split second, you wonder whether you locked your car and you pray you won’t find its windows smashed and your belongings gone by the time you’re back, but then you’re standing in front of Reiner and there’s no more time to think. “‘Kinda’?” you pout.

He shrugs, and it’s only now, under the light of the streetlamps, that you fully realize how broad his shoulders are, and how well he fills out the material of his tee. “Yeah, next time I ask you out on a date, it’s gonna be just the two of us.”

Butterflies go off in your belly again. For all you’d care, fireworks could be going off in the sky and you still wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes away from him as your smile turns into a giddy burst of giggles.

“I missed you, you know,” you say just as you walk through the door of the bar. “Back in the city.”

You don’t have time to notice the shade of pink tinging his cheeks at your words because you’re being pulled upstairs by a tipsy Bertolt and made to sit down at your friends’ table.

Your friends. You smile. You’re glad you’re back. You’re glad you can still call them as such.

Reiner sits down opposite you, but it’s not that bad. You’ll be able to look at him this way, you tell yourself.

“Annie?” Bertolt pouts when he finally plops down next to you with a beer for you. “She didn’t even read my text.”

You meet Porco’s gaze, sitting between Eren and Jean, and you can see the conflict in his eyes, him wondering whether you know or not.

“She’s probably out cold,” you answer back. “She took the last turn to drive back, she looked pretty beat.”

Bertolt huffs, and everyone at the table chuckles. Next to you, Mikasa whispers something in your ear along the lines of He’s hopeless when it comes to her, and then giggles with you as you clink your beer bottles together.

“Aren’t you tired as well?” asks Jean. It still surprises you how much he’s grown in the last ten years, and it doesn’t matter that you’ve already seen him a couple of times since you’re back. “Reiner said you left early this morning.”

Reiner, huh? He hides his blush behind his beer when he’s suddenly brought up, and you try not to grin at the way his lips twitch to stretch into a smile. “Nah, I’m alright. I’m glad I was invited to come. I didn’t have much else to do anyway, I think I’ll leave unloading my car to when I’m in the mood. There’s no rush anyway now that I’m here.”

The night is chill, with the late May breeze slipping in through the crack of the open French window of the terrace. Sasha tells you Marcel opens up the whole terrace when the weather is warm enough, and sitting out there with the view of the ocean on one side and the town on the other is simply breathtaking. You don’t doubt her.

Chatter flows freely, and at some point Bertolt sobers up enough to stop sulking over Annie being asleep when Jean and Connie challenge him at a game of dart a few minutes before Eren and Mikasa sneak downstairs together. Armin just laughs and shakes his head at his friends’ behavior, and then bids everyone goodnight when he sees how late it is.

“Oh and, Y/N!”

You hum when you look up from Sasha’s phone to smile at him.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer.”

“And?” you grin. “That a yes?”

When he nods, you stand up to hug him goodbye – and also hug him thank-you.

“I’m sure you’ll win the yearly competition this year and keep Mom’s tradition going,” you whisper into his ear before he blushes red and leaves.

Marcel kicks you out sometime later, at half past one, when the rest of the empty bar has already been cleaned and tidied up. You feel remorseful at first at the idea of you and your friends having stayed for so long, but Connie just waves your worries aways when he tells you, “We’re good for business,” as he trips over his own feet even though Sasha and Jean hold him up on both sides.

After you say your goodbyes, you’re left standing there with Reiner. There’s not much noise coming from the town, and for all you know, you could be alone in this world, with just the sound of the waves lapping up at the shore.

“I’ve been drinking,” he says. “I don’t wanna risk driving you home.”

“It’s alright, I can walk. The weather’s nice.” And it really is. The warmth of the summer is finally coming, and soon you’ll all start going to the beach together, if that’s something your friends still do.

“I was thinking…”

He steps closer to you, and you can feel his warm breath on your face. When you look up, all you can think about is that you want to kiss him – his lips, his freckles, every inch of his handsome face. His fingers intertwine with yours, and you feel his calloused skin brush against yours as his hand slips into place.

“What about?” You’re this close to reaching a hand up and touching his cheekbone, his jaw, his stubble. The brine of the ocean floods your senses when you breathe in deeply, and you stare at how utterly pretty he looks in the moonlight as well.

“Gabi’s at a friend’s for a sleepover.”

“Yeah?”

He hums. “You can crash at my place. I’ll help you unbox tomorrow if you need a hand.”

He lights up when you say yes – to both of his offers, but especially to the first one – and you have no clue whether that’s due to the beers he’s had or, much more simply, to you. Zeke warned you not to drive Reiner’s hopes too high, but he didn’t tell you you would also have to keep your feet on the ground. It’s almost as though that kiss you shared sitting on the docks, in the sunlight, with your feet dangling above the water changed everything, put things into motion, and now you can’t stop thinking about him. His lips on yours. His hand in yours. The freckles on his face. The texts he sent you while you were away during the past week.

The walk to his place is quiet, and you both spend it in silence. You feel his gaze checking you out every now and then, but then again, you’re also doing the same. His hand in yours makes you giddy, and you give it a squeeze when the butterflies in your stomach start flying around all over again.

Order and mess clash with each other when you walk into his apartment. There are books neatly stored away on a bookshelf, and then what you assume is his cousin’s algebra book left open on the coffee table in front of the couch, pens scattered everywhere on the wooden surface and a red pencil even on the carpet.

“Damn, I told her to tidy her stuff up!” he mutters under his breath when his gaze lands on her sports bag next to the television. “I kind of understand how my mom must’ve felt when I was Gabi’s age,” he continues in a groan when he picks a basketball tank top off the floor.

You chuckle, trying to imagine him being a father for Gabi. Does he make her breakfast? Does he help her with her homework? Did he show up to her school for Career Day when she was younger?

“Let me help you,” you grin as you kneel down next to the coffee table and start putting pens and highlighters back into the jean pencil case on the couch.

“It’s alright, you don’t–”

“I know it’s been ten years, but have you really forgotten how stubborn I can be?”

He looks down at you, Gabi’s sports bag slung over his left shoulder and her sneakers in his right hand. The smile on his lips makes you all sorts of warm inside as you stay there, unmoving, one hand on the book on the table and the other reaching for the red pencil on the floor.

It’s two in the morning, but you help him tidy up the mess his cousin left behind before she left the house. It’s quiet and cozy, and it makes you want to stay here forever. Not necessarily in this apartment, but simply by Reiner’s side. You work as a team, and it’s as though time hasn’t even passed. As though you never left. You both picked up right from where you left off, and you don’t feel worthy of it, of him, but fuck, if this isn’t what you want.

You end up collapsing on his bed at 2:17, and the taste of beer is still faintly lingering on his tongue when you kiss. He’s slow and steady, his hands on your hips as you straddle him. You gently scrape your nails on his scalp, even more gently pull on his silky hair, and the gasp he lets out into your mouth makes your breath catch in your throat.

Fuck, you could get drunk on him and him alone.

Kissing him becomes second nature before you even know it – and in between, you talk about your mothers, about life, about work, life, death, and anything in between.

He kisses you when he stops by your house to check if everything is alright, and you kiss him back.

You kiss him when you drive him to the other side of town, and he kisses you back before throwing the door open.

He gives your lips a peck when you run into each other, and you peck his cheek when you’re hanging out with your friends and they’re not looking.

You tasted him once, and now you want him every day.

It’s exhilarating, the way he makes you feel without going further than a kiss, although the touches you share surely are scalding. He makes you want to slap yourself at the thought of having left all those years ago, but he also doesn’t make you regret ever doing so. It’s just how life had to go, so that you could find yourself here, right now.

This is what you’re thinking about as you sit on a towel at the beach, both of your legs thrown over his right one and bent at the knees, your feet planted onto the ground. He has an arm slung over your knees, and his fingers dance along the side of your calf as he talks with Porco and Pieck.

You’re supposed to be here and hang out to celebrate the fact that you found a job at the local inn, but you’re too distracted to even remember that.

You have no clue, literally no clue, what Annie’s telling you because you’re too busy leaning back on your hands and looking at him. Reiner, of course – the side of his face, the line of his jaw, the freckles on his skin, the way the corner of his lips rises into a smile, that single earring on his right earlobe, or the way he laughs. He grabs a hold of your ankle every time he laughs, and every time he does that, you feel yourself burn a little hotter.

You also try not to let your gaze wander lower than his neck. You know he has a few fine golden chains resting on his collarbones, but you also know that if you let yourself look down at his bare torso, at all those tight muscles, you won’t be able to stop yourself from trying and pushing whatever this flirt you have going on between the two of you is to the next step.

“Stop drooling, you’re making it obvious!” Annie whispers into your ear before leaning her chin on your shoulder. The contact jolts you out of your thoughts, and you turn to look at her, cheeks burning, although you’d like to blame that on the warm, June sun. “I could cut the sexual tension between the two of you with a fucking butter knife.”

She pinches your side, throws a quick ‘bye’ your friends’ way and drags you away from Reiner’s lap – you try not to think about the way you always end up in his lap when kissing gets a bit more heated than it should and he drags you onto him.

You’re walking on the water’s edge before you can stop her, her hand in yours tugging you forward, toward the ice cream kiosk at the beginning of the pier. Laughter bubbles up in your throat, and soon you’re both running together, tugging on each other, splashing water with your feet.

She buys you both a slushy to share and when she takes the first sip from the straw, she looks you dead in the eye. “So.”

“So…” you parrot back, voice hesitant, before snatching the paper cup and quenching some of your thirst and heat.

“You and Reiner…”

You feel your face heat up, your lips break out into a grin, and soon you’re hiding your embarrassment behind the cup of your slushy.

“Fuck, stop being so cute, Y/N!” she jokingly scolds you, walking with you until you’re both sitting on a bench. The cement is scalding underneath your butts, and it makes the both of you yelp. “It’s good to see him finally happy.”

A group of children runs past you at the speed of light, screaming and laughing as they tail the dog that stole their frisbee. Your gaze follows them; they remind you of when you were a kid, always playing around with Reiner, Annie, and Bertolt. Sometimes you’d join the others as well, but most of the time it was the four of you, plus Porco. It feels like at least ten lifetimes ago and yesterday at the same time.

“Although I think you should fuck.”

Her crude words drag you back in a second, and you’re quick at exclaiming her name in warning.

“What?” she asks, playing the innocence card. “That’s what you want, too, don’t lie. He thinks the same, you just have to look at him in the eyes to realize it,” she shrugs. “Or, well, between his legs.”

“Damn, no need to be so upfront about it, Annie,” you groan, snatching the slushy back to use it as an excuse to hide the embarrassment painted all over your face.

“I’m just saying,” she shrugs again. “Just fuck the awkwardness out of your systems so that we can all hang out normally. It’s already hard enough with Eren and Mika–”

“What?” you cut in, confused. “What awkwardness?”

She raises an eyebrow, and just stares at you in silence, suckling from the straw until the last of the slushy has gone and she’s left making noises with the straw.

“What awkwardness?” you insist.

“You’ve been giving each other the bedroom eyes ever since we came back from that quick trip to the city. Sometimes it’s hard to ignore them.”

“What bedroom eyes?”

She parrots you childishly – what bedroom eyes? “There’s three types of couples in our friend group,” she eventually says, matter-of-factly. “One: Historia and Ymir. They’re cool. Just like Mom and Dad supervising their kids. Affectionate just enough in front of them, and then they do their business behind the scenes. Two: Eren and Mikasa. The horny rabbits. If they’re not with us, they’re fucking. If they are with us, it’s only a matter of time before they sneak off to – you guessed it – fuck.”

“Damn, such finesse,” you groan with a roll of your eyes.

“And then three,” she continues, unperturbed, ignoring your comment completely, holding up three fingers. “You and Reiner. I don’t know what’s up with the two of you, you just… don’t fuck. Even though it’s clear on both of your faces that you’re dying to.”

“Damn, you’re annoying,” but your cheeks are burning and you can’t help but look back to where you left your friends… and Reiner. You see a fourth person there, blond hair, red swimming trunks – he’s standing right behind Pieck, and you guess it must be Zeke.

“That’s what BFFs are for,” she grins, turning your head back to face her.

“What about you and Bert, then?” you smirk.

“He’s just pissed I dated Pock for, like, five months and didn’t date him. What about that?” she scoffs.

“He’s into you. Are you into him?”

She rolls her eyes. “Mind your business.”

You’re on a constant gravitational orbit toward and around each other, you and Reiner. When you go back to your beach umbrella, his hands end up on your legs again, and your legs end up in his lap again. And then, later on in the day, when you end up in Zeke’s backyard for an impromptu barbeque night, you end up sitting next to each other.

The meat is incredible – and it couldn’t be any other way when Connie and Jean team up on grill duty. The beer is nicely cold, and it goes down like water, although neither you nor Reiner end up drinking much.

After Annie’s words on the beach, you end up observing your group of friends a bit better.

The way Bertolt sneaks glances at your best friend, and the way she doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it.

The way Pieck and Zeke help each other with plates or bottles or taking away the trash – never obvious, always subtle, but they still work as a team together. You wonder how long it’s been going on between the two of them, whether he’d really like to have your house. To settle down with her. Have kids. You wonder why they’re not coming clean, but you guess everyone has different timings.

Then, you notice the way Reiner’s thigh brushes up against yours. Your sarong doesn’t do anything to prevent his burning skin from touching yours.

You notice the way his knee bounces up and down, under the table, as he talks about a basketball game with Pock and Marcel, Reiner’s lips barely kissing the rim of his beer bottle.

You feel your chest open up when he turns to you for a moment, all smiley, his eyes crinkling, before he’s back to bickering with his friends about the match’s final results.

Maybe Annie is right, you think. Maybe it is clear on your face that you want to do things to and with him, because you can barely take your eyes off of him. His skin has tanned just a bit ever since you arrived for your mother’s funeral, and a few more freckles have made an appearance on his face. The blond of his hair is a tad bit lighter as well, lightened by the sun and the salty water.

Carefully, doing your best not to get caught, you slide your hand from your lap to his thigh, and you give it a light squeeze. You feel the muscle, the way it moves under his skin when he contacts it for a moment before relaxing, not losing a beat as he keeps on talking. His knee stops bouncing, and if you’d paid attention, you would’ve noticed his breath catch in his throat for a second.

But you’re not paying attention to that. You’re thinking about the way he looked this afternoon, at the beach. In the water, on the towel, running after some kid’s soccer ball after she yelled for help when her friend’s kick had sent it too far away. All flesh and muscle, with sweat and water glinting on his skin under the sun.

You feel yourself pulse everywhere, and you’re not even aware you’re spacing out until Sasha plops down on the bench next to you with a full plate of ribs and hearts in her eyes.

“Wan’ one?” she asks with a full mouth, and it’s as though she’s grinning with her eyes as she looks at you, a rib held tight between grease-stained fingers.

You shake your head no, your fingertips digging into Reiner’s thigh as you press yours together. “No, thanks, I’m good. I’ve already eaten enough.”

“If you say so,” she shrugs and goes back to digging into her food.

Her love for food hasn’t changed over the years, and you find it cute. She makes your appetite come back if you watch her eat long enough, that’s for sure.

“I think I could do with some dessert, though.” That’s what Reiner whispers into your ear, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, before he’s back to chatting with the Galliard brothers.

It’s like thunder goes off inside your head, it catches you off guard. For once, Reiner makes it hard for you to breathe. Making out with him does unspeakable things to you, but that veiled innuendo… You’re suddenly aware of your pussy, and you’re forced to cross your legs in the vain attempt to get a grip on yourself.

This is not the time for this, you unsuccessfully tell yourself, but now all you can think about is Reiner’s head between your legs.

Your grip on his thigh tightens and when you glance at him from the corner of your eye, you see him smirk.

The night drags on slowly, excruciatingly so.

Sometime after ten, your legs end up crossed over both of his, his left hand wrapped tightly around your right shin to keep them in place. You can feel him. You’ve already felt him while making out, of course, but now he’s half-hard against the side of your thigh and under his swimming trunks, and your lungs squeeze again.

The look in Annie’s eyes as she stares at you brings you back to your shared slushy on the beach. It seems to say I told you so and Please, just get out of here already, but you have no clue how you’ll manage to get up and trust your legs not to give out underneath you – at the thought of Reiner, at the thought of you with Reiner, of that hand of his wrapped about something that’s not your shin.

The calloused skin of his fingers is making goosebumps wash over the skin of your legs when Connie and Jean finally drag Sasha away before she has the chance to empty Zeke’s pantry, and Eren and Mikasa take care of picking a way-too-drunk Armin up on his feet.

“The shop might stay closed tomorrow morning,” Mikasa grimaces when she glances at you and then tilts her chin into Armin’s direction.

You just laugh it off. Plus, it’s not your shop anymore, and Armin’s been overworking himself for way too long, according to Annie, so you’re sure he deserves more than just one morning off.

“Less beers next time, Marcel,” Pieck warns, looking at the man in question with pleading eyes.

“Noted!”

Zeke has already closed down the barbeque, and both Annie and Pieck are gathering the dirty dishes on the outdoor picnic table to bring them inside. When you finally spring up to your feet to help them, feeling guilty at making them do everything while Pock and Bertolt placidly share a cigarette on the deck chairs a few meters away, Annie’s the one to shoo you away.

“Go home, please, I’m tired of seeing your face for today.”

A hand on your shoulder makes you whip around, and you’re not exactly surprised to meet Reiner’s gaze.

“Come, I’ll give you a lift home.” The look in his eyes seems to tell you a whole different thing, however, and you feel those butterflies in your stomach for the billionth time today.

Maybe it’s true. Maybe everyone and their mother has caught up on the way you two look at each other, you think when you see he’s wrapped a sweatshirt around his hips, conveniently covering the front of his pants.

You don’t make it back to your house. He stops his dirt bike right in front of the two-floor building that hosts his apartment and before you know it, he’s dragged you up the stairs and pushed you through the door, all while kissing your breath away.

“Fuck,” he grunts, picking you up like you weigh nothing and kicking the door closed.

His skin is burning hot against yours, and it’s like something inside the both of you snapped. All the pining of the past few weeks, all the glances, the touches, the kissing. It all escalates until he drops you down onto the kitchen table and his lips move from yours to your neck.

The sucking and marking goes straight to your core, and you find yourself breathless much faster than you’d ever be proud to admit. But he’s so rough and tender at the same time, his hands tugging at the knot in your sarong and yours tugging at the sweatshirt still wrapped around his waist… You feel your sanity slowly drip away.

When you open your eyes, you see a picture hanging on the wall – a teenaged Reiner, his mother, and his kid cousin Gabi.

Gabi!

You gasp when she crosses your mind, and you’re quick at pulling Reiner’s head away from the crook of your neck with a tug on his hair that makes him moan out loud, the sound shooting straight to your core.

“I’m sorry, I–” He’s panting, lips redder than they were at Zeke’s house, and breath just as cut-short as yours. The unfocused look in your eyes makes you clench around nothing.

“We can’t.” You can barely talk above a whisper, eyes glancing rapidly into the direction of the corridor that leads to Gabi’s room.

The expression on his face shatters and falls, and you watch it happen live, front row and all. “I– I’m sorry if I misinter–”

“You think I don’t want you?” you chuckle, trying to be as quiet as you can while keeping an eye on the hall. You really don’t want to see Gabi again for the first time after all these years while you’re tongue-deep down her cousin’s throat and half-naked on their kitchen table. “Fuck, Reiner, I’ve been thinking about you being balls deep insipe me all night!” you grunt, a hand sliding up his chest and behind his neck, and the other down his stomach until it rests on his crotch.

Fuck.

He’s big.

When he groans out loud at the way you palm him through his swimming trunks, your hand shoots up to slap against his mouth, a stern shh! slipping past your lips that makes his eyes go wide.

“I don’t wanna fuck with your cousin in the house,” you whisper-yell, and for a moment he’s too taken aback to even breathe, but then he’s full-belly laughing, his hand wrapping around your wrist to take your hand off of his face.

“Shit, you almost scared me,” he smiles when he calms down, leaning forward over you, his hands on either side of your butt on the table. His eyes slip downward for a moment, looking at the way your chest moves with every breath – or at the way the top of your bikini can’t conceal the way your nipples pebble. “Gabi’s out.”

“Huh?”

He nods, leaning his head down and catching your lips with his for a quick kiss before he’s pulling on your lower lip with his teeth. “She went out with her friends for Falco’s birthday or something like that, so she’s not coming back tonight.”

His hands grab your hips and pull you forward, until you’re right on the edge of the table and he’s pressed right against you. The feel of his erection against your core makes your head dizzy and the panties of your bikini even wetter.

“We can still stop here if you–”

“I want you.”

It makes your head spin, the way he’d stop if that’s what you wanted, even despite the fact that he feels rock hard against you.

His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing over your nipples before they move back down and unknot your sarong. Fuck, you want those hands everywhere.

“You want me?” he hums, lips attaching to your neck once again. “I want you, too,” he says, giving your hips an experimental roll of his own. The feeling shoots up your spine, it makes your head fall back, and he’s quick enough to move a hand and cradle the back of your neck.

“Not here,” you whisper. Gabi might not be home, but you don’t want to do it on the table she has breakfast on every day.

“‘Course not.” His chuckle is whispered into your ear as he picks you up again.

A look in his clouded eyes and you’re kissing him again, and it’s all tongue and teeth and lips. Your nails lightly rake down his back, and you feel him thrust up against you again as you close your eyes, dizzy and wet and pulsing all over. You pray to whoever’s listening that he knows his way around his house even with his eyes closed.

You’re both naked before you know it – Reiner sitting on the edge of his bed, and you kneeling between his legs, your fingertips digging into the flesh of his thighs. His cock is heavy on your tongue and the longer you blow him, the more you feel your jaw grow sore. His moans keep you going nonetheless, and when he tugs on your hair and you whimper around him, he’s quick at pulling you off.

He looks so good, you think as you look up at him – breathing raggedly above you, with the upper part of his chest flushed red and his eyes closed, his lips parted.

The tip of your tongue teases his slit and you barely have the time to wrap your lips around the head of his dick again that he’s whimpering, a sound low in the back of his throat, and pulling you up harshly.

“You’re gonna make me come if you keep that up,” he pants against your lip as you straddle one of his thighs.

“Yeah, genius,” you giggle against his jaw as you roll your hips against his quad. His skin is burning, and the way your wet labia drag against his thigh only makes your own temperature rise higher. “That kind of was the plan.”

With your hand wrapped around his cock, slowly pumping him, it takes him a moment before he’s able to think again. In the meantime, you take his expressions in. The way his lips part, and the imprints of his teeth in his lower lip – you suck it between yours. The way his eyes lose focus as his head tilts back. His hips stammer, caught between the need to fuck himself up into your fist and the need to fuck himself into you. When you look down, you see the way he twitches in your hold, dripping pre-cum – it doesn’t take you long to wipe your thumb over his flushed-red tip.

His only word is a whispered, “Please.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him beg for anything in all the years you’ve known him, let alone in the bedroom. The quivering of his timbre tugs at something within you, however, and you let your hand slide down to cup his balls, your other hand holding his shoulder tight to keep your balance as you keep on slowly riding his thigh.

“I want you to come, Rei,” you whisper back, lips barely brushing against the shell of his ear, and he grabs your hips in his hands, fingertips digging harshly into your flesh as you keep on pumping him and teasing his tip with your thumb.

“Inside you.” The look in his eyes when he tilts his head back forward and stares into yours is desperate and insistent, it makes your breath catch in your throat. His lips catch yours into a barely-there kiss, but he’s keeping his eyes open and you can’t break eye contact.

You grin when he twitches in your hold, your thumb teasing the underside of his cock’s head. “You can do that later, too.”

A few more pumps of your hand and he’s seizing up, moaning. He twitches in your hand, and you feel his cum drip down onto and in-between your fingers as you gently fist him through his orgasm until he eventually comes down from it. He’s breathing heavily, and he’s barely able to keep himself sitting up straight as he takes it all in – your dripping folds still sliding along his thigh with every lazy roll of your hips; your pebbled nipples brushing against the flushed skin of his chest; your butterfly kisses and licks along the line of his jaw and down the side of his neck.

He grunts your name when you tease his head with your thumb. “Fuck,” he whispers, and then laughs when your only answer is “Me.” Because you do want him to fuck you. Into the mattress, into the next morning. Hell, into your next life if you’re so lucky as to have one.

After all the kisses, the lingering gazes, the barely-there touches… A brush of his hand on the back of yours. His hand wrapped around your ankle on the beach. Your fingers combing through his hair on your porch. His lips barely kissing the rim of a beer bottle. And then all your texts back and forth when you went back to the city to finally leave everything behind – innocent and then suggestive and then back to innocent.

He has you whipped for him, and the way he’s staring at you now, panting lightly, makes you think he also is whipped for you. You have him wrapped around your little finger and he…

His hand wraps gently around yours and pulls you away from his sensitive, softening cock.

“I’ve been thinking about having you like this for so long,” he mumbles into your cheek before he presses a kiss to your skin. His left hand trails up your side, and his right hand slips between your body and his thigh to cup your sex. “Fantasy still doesn’t compare,” he continues in a grunt when his fingers tease your wetness.

His touch makes you gasp, and when he tentatively slips a finger into you, your nails dig into the muscles of his back as a moan of his name leaves your lips. He doesn’t seem to mind that one of your hands is still covered in his cum when you use it to push yourself closer to him.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you today.” His voice is rough in your ear as he fingers you, first with one finger and then with two. Your hips roll into his hand out of their own accord as you slowly lose the ability to control yourself. “You and that goddamned bikini of yours.”

You can see your bikini bra slung over his bedside lamp when you lean your cheek against his shoulder, panting into his skin as the pads of his fingers massage that sweet, sweet spot inside you and his thumb teases your clit.

“Couldn’t even keep my hands off of you.” He kisses your shoulder, and his free hand moves up your back, making goosebumps tug at your skin as his fingertips trace the line of your spine.

Your body is pressed so close to him that there’s no chance he can’t hear the heavy thump-thump of your heart against his chest, stomping like hooves inside your ribcage, against your lungs, cutting your breath short. This time you are the one to let out a whispered, strangled, “Fuck,” as his fingers hike you higher and higher toward your orgasm.

It’s there, barely out of reach, and yet still brushing against your skin.

“And then at the barbeque…” He breathes you in, and the way his chest inflates against yours makes you shudder. “Could barely listen to what Pock was saying.”

His thumb flicks your clit, and you feel your toes curl against the tiles of the floor. Your thighs tense and quiver, and the rhythm of your hips picks up just slightly when he manages to fit a third finger inside you.

The stretch is a pleasant burn that spreads throughout your whole body, but you know you need all this to fully take him.

When you lean back slightly and move one of your hands to lean against his chest, nails slightly digging into the muscles of his pecs, you know you’re close. Words and praises bubble up in your mind, but nothing but moans and whimpers leaves your lips as you stare into his eyes. He’s smiling and fuck, is he the prettiest view you’ve seen in your whole entire life.

He’s getting hard again, you notice when you shift your leg, the one trapped between his, and that’s enough to make the whole room spin – or maybe it’s just your head as it tilts back and you ride his hand.

“Fuck, Reiner.” Your voice is breathless and you can’t even keep your eyes open anymore, your eyelids are forcing themselves shut.

He does something, then. It’s in the way his fingers drag against the walls of your vagina, in the way he circles your clit, in the way he bounces his leg up. You’re sent spiraling head-first into pure bliss as your walls clench around his fingers and your legs around his thigh. Your nails drag down the expanse of his chest and his back, one hand in the front and the other on the back, and for a moment there’s nothing else beyond your body curled into his and his breath against your skin, his lips kissing and his tongue licking over the hickey in the crook of your neck.

It takes you a while to come back down from your high. You’re out of breath and tingly all over, and when you manage to restart your brain, you’re almost painfully aware of how sensitive you are between your legs. His fingers in and on you make you whimper loudly, and you’re so glad Gabi’s out because there’s no way in hell you’d ever be able to muffle the sounds slipping freely past your kiss-swollen lips.

He’s there when you come back down to planet Earth, Reiner. He sucks his fingers clean of your juices and then pecks your lips, and when he deepens the kiss – slips his tongue into your mouth and right against yours so that you can taste yourself – you swear you’ve never breathed better.

His hands on your hips pull you closer to him and right into his lap, and his erection presses up between the two of you. You barely hear him hiss as his splayed-out hand on the middle of your back pushes your chest flat against his.

“Fuck, I need you,” he mumbles against your lips when he eventually breaks the kiss. He picks you up just enough so that he can lay you down onto his bed, and when he hovers over you, his necklaces dangling in your face, you grab onto the fine, golden chains and pull him down again.

Your taste on his tongue is addictive, and when his hips roll against yours, you can’t help but moan into the kiss. Your hand is already trailing down his chest and abdomen when he pulls back and sits on his haunches, between your spread legs, and keeps your hand pressed against your belly.

He looks at you as though he wants to commit you to memory – every line and curve of your body, every angle, every scar. The way you’re panting. Your parted lips. Your unfocused eyes. The way the fingers of your other hand come up to play with a nipple. And then that soft Reiner, drawled out until you go silent and buck your hips up. And you live for every second of it – every second of his eyes on you, every slight twitch of his cock, the way he so effortlessly has you pinned down to the bed.

“I need you,” you whine, voice barely there, repeating his earlier words.

It switches something inside him: his breath catches in his throat and he groans once, low and drawled-out, before he’s fishing a condom from the drawer of his bedside table and sliding it down his length.

When he finally settles back between your legs, he lets you pull him in for another kiss. It’s sloppy and slow this time, both of you tasting and consuming the other, tongues brushing together as your breathing deepens. Then, he’s pushing three fingers back into you without build-up to make sure you’re ready for him, and you feel his uncertainty when he starts slowly fingering you again before you dig your fingers into his back and moan a Please, Rei right into his ear when your fingers wrap around his dick.

You see him shut his eyes for a moment and when he pulls his fingers out of you and you brush his tip against your entrance, you see the way his lower lip quivers when he exhales.

Then, he’s sliding into you. It’s one slow, long thrust into your heat and it has your back to arch into him, and he’s quick at wrapping his lips around one of your nipples, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His name falls from your lips in a drawled-out moan and by the time his hips finally press against yours, you’re panting, legs wrapped tightly around his waist with his left hand keeping your right thigh in place.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” His eyes are squeezed shut when he leans his forehead against yours.

The stretch burns for a while, and his hand moves from your thigh to in-between your bodies to play with your clit. The added sensation makes sparks go off behind your closed eyelids and you barely have the time to feel his cock twitch inside you that he’s already pulling his hips back before rolling them back into you.

The rhythm is slow and controlled, focused more on making you relax around him, and when the volume of your moans finally rises, he ruts into you, groaning and grunting into your ear as you hold him to you.

You don’t even think you’ve ever felt this full before; it borders on uncomfortable as your walls flutter around him. But his mouth on your neck makes you forget about anything else as he bites and sucks at the sensitive skin.

Your orgasm unexpectedly pulls you under when he ruts his hips into you slightly harder, at a slightly different angle, his hands underneath your ass to pull you up a bit. It’s quick and sudden, and it doesn’t take you long to come down from it, but it still leaves you breathless. When you open your eyes and find him staring down at you, you can’t help but chuckle.

“Am I that good?” he wonders, surprise laced with his voice as he keeps on relentlessly pounding into you, now sitting up straight with your legs still wrapped around his waist. When you can’t even answer, he says, “Fuck, that was hot.”

You’re barely able to whisper out a I didn’t even feel it coming, but your breath is cut short when he leans forward, his hands trailing up your sides until he’s squeezing on your breasts and kissing your sanity away.

His lips on yours and his hands on your body build your pleasure up again, and before you know it, you’re both moaning and grunting into each other’s ears, his hips relentlessly rolling into yours as his dick hits that one spot inside you that always makes your toes curl. It’s like he’s already got you all figured out, and goes straight to the target until you’re whimpering nonsense again, and this time you feel him right behind you, his cock twitching as he moans into your ear.

When you come this time, it’s intense, the angle he’s taking you in heightening the sensation of his pelvis brushing against your clit, and you have to fight against yourself not to lose consciousness. You feel him empty inside you, sheathed in his condom, and he trembles when he collapses against you, hips still sloppily thrusting into you. You barely catch what he says before you close your eyes for a moment, that You’re enough for me whispered softly into the crook of your neck as you hold the back of his head.

You’re sore all over when you wake up the next morning, and you realize you didn’t even notice falling asleep.

His body is warm against yours, and his chest rises and falls slowly as he sleeps peacefully with an arm wrapped around you. It makes you smile, and the butterflies that start fluttering around inside your belly at the thought of him – and of you in his arms, in his bed, sore between your legs after last night and most definitely marked up all over – but when you push yourself up onto an elbow to look at him, peace washes over you.

The first sunlight of the morning is seeping in through a crack in the curtains in a blade of light and it makes his skin almost glow golden. It hits the right side of his face, and you raise a hand to shield him from the light.

“What are you doing awake?” he mutters, eyes still closed but lips slowly stretching into an amused smile. His arm tightens his hold around you and when he shifts his leg and brushes up against your sensitive core, you hiss.

“Just admiring the view.”

His eyes open and he seems taken by surprise when he finds you looking down at him and not at the ocean visible through his window and the see-through curtains. “Me?”

“What else?” you chuckle, leaning down to peck his cheek.

Lying there with him is peaceful. You just listen to the steady beat of his heart as you trace invisible lines on his chest. You know he’s looking at you, and it makes you all giddy inside – he just looks, doesn’t say a word, until his hand moves up from your lower back to the back of your head and tilts it so that you’re looking up at him.

He looks at you as though there’s something he wants to say, but he eventually just smiles and sighs before pecking your lips. “Let’s shower,” he says. “I’ll make you breakfast when we’re done.”

He ends up going down on you again in the shower, and you pay him back with a handjob that has him coming over your stomach as you kiss under the warm jet of the shower.

When you walk back into the kitchen, dressed in a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt too big on you, you’re caught red-handed by Gabi eating cereal straight out of the box, sitting at the table. Reiner tenses up behind you, and you feel blood rush to your cheeks as you stand there barely dressed, your hair still dripping water onto the cotton of the t-shirt.

“Hey,” you break the silence and Reiner’s fingers twitch on your hip.

Gabi gives you both a once over before her face morphs into a grimace. “Gee, I’m glad I didn’t sleep here. Gross.”

A minute ticks by before Reiner speaks. “I didn’t think you’d be back so early. Did something happen?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, ask Falco and his stupid crush.” She munches on her quick breakfast before adding: “Anyway. Who the hell are you?”

She ends up blushing when she recognizes you, but you know you’re the one burning hotter at having been caught like this. You remember her as a kid, and now that you see her for the first time since then, you can’t help but think of how much she’s changed. Of how much she’s grown. And when you hang out later on in the day, after Reiner’s given you a lift back home on his dirt bike and you’ve had the chance to wear proper clothes, you can’t help but think about what a good job Reiner’s done, raising her.

Exactly one year after your mother’s passing and all that it brought along – a change of heart, a change of mind, regaining your old friends, starting over with Reiner – you’re sitting in your childhood home’s living room, with the only difference that it’s now not your house anymore.

Zeke wasn’t kidding when he said he’d love to buy the house, and buy it he did. He changed some things, brought over some of his old furniture – and some of Pieck’s as well. All the old appliances have been changed, and all that needed to be renewed has been renewed. The house has changed its appearance, but it’s still just as lively as it used to be when you were a kid.

It gives you a peace of mind you didn’t even know you needed.

“So,” Zeke clears his throat and everyone at the dining room table quietens.

You’re sitting next to Reiner and you have his warm hand between yours, resting in your lap under the table. He’s smiling down at you, but when you turn to look at him, he whips his head back forward. You know what kind of mood he’s in, and you can’t wait to drag his ass back to your place so that you can give it to him.

“There’s something I wanted you all to know,” Zeke continues as Porco and Bertolt come back with cold beers.

He looks over at Pieck and finds her already smiling at him, and as you look at them, you can’t help but smile yourself.

“Yeah, we already know,” Eren butts in, bored, grabbing the beer he’s being handed and passing it to you.

“What?”

“You and Pieck,” he shrugs. “We been knew.”

You all minus the two ‘adults’ laugh at the way Mikasa slaps Eren’s shoulder at his language.

“All this time?” Pieck asks, baffled.

“Maybe not since the beginning,” Marcel confirms. “But for the past two years and a half…”

“Pretty obvious, yeah,” Annie agrees, and everyone else nods.

Zeke and Pieck look at each other, and it’s then that Eren says, “It got even more obvious when you bought a house with her.”

The disappointment of a spoiled surprise passes quickly among friends. You all chat, and drink, and then eat some of the apple pie Pieck baked for the housewarming party. When it comes to opening the unexpected gifts, you even have the chance of laughing at the way Zeke unexpectedly stammers at the box of condoms his younger brother got him.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Reiner says when you both walk out the door and down the three steps of the porch. You haven’t seen your mother’s ghost standing there for months now, and all the times you’ve stopped by in the past six months, you’ve only had Pieck or Zeke greet you back home. “Here, with me,” he goes on, slipping his hand into yours and intertwining your fingers.

The sun shines down warm on you, and you look at the way it kisses his skin. His freckles have started to darken again now that spring has come and he’s been spending more time outside.

You smile, inhaling deeply and leaning up to peck his lips. Jean and Eren holler behind you, and you briefly see Annie flip them off from the corner of your eye. It makes you chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m glad to be home.”

“What about me?” His pouts always make you warm inside. Over the past year, you’ve gotten to see this new side of him. The Boyfriend – and all that comes with it. Coffee dates. Movie nights. Late night car rides. Walks along the shore. Basketball games, the both of you sitting on the benches as his cousin plays with her team.

“You’re so obtuse sometimes,” you joke, waving at your friends as you drag Reiner by his hand. It’s not going to be the quickest walk back to your place, but you love spending time like this with him, just the two of you. “What else do you think I consider home?”

He doesn’t have time to blush because your phone goes off with an incoming text and when he sees Gabi’s name pop up on the screen, he’s suddenly alarmed.

[3:47 PM] Gabi: girls’ night tn?

[3:47 PM] Gabi: i need tips for That Thing

Reiner frowns, and you smoothen out his expression with your thumb, massaging between his eyebrows, when you catch him like that. Then, it hits him. “Is she fucking someone?!”

It makes you chuckle, the way he worries about her, how close they are. You consider yourself lucky and honored that she took you in as a sister figure.

“Not yet, she just needs help telling her crush she likes him,” you eventually answer, shooting her a text back to tell her to be ready to be picked up at seven. Then, when you look back up at him, you smile and kiss him. “Don’t worry, I won’t let her make dumb decisions.”

“I’m glad you two get along. Makes spending the rest of my life with you a lot better.”

He’s grinning, eyes burning golden under the afternoon sun, and the longer you stare at him, the more your lips break out into a smile.

They make breathing a lot easier, Reiner and the way he shines in the sunlight.

Yeah, you think to yourself, sliding your hand back into his. I’m home.

Tumblr runs on reblogs, so if you’re in the mood, consider sharing this fic with your friends. However, any form of feedback is welcome :)

The video used for the gif was downloaded from Pexels.com last year and since my laptop broke in the meantime, I lost the link and have no clue what I typed to find it. Credits to owner/s! Nvm, I found it: https://www.pexels.com/video/flowers-plant-plants-flower-4273471/

#reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner braun smut #reiner smut #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #attack on titan x reader #aot #aot x reader #aot smut #reiner x reader #angelaiswriting

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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

Text

Danger.

Summary: Din warned you not to follow him, it’s too dangerous. His instructions were clear, you stay in town while he goes to fight the Krayt Dragon, but if the baby gets to go, why can’t you?

Warning/Content: This is short but violence, ya know the usual. Angry Din with some yelling but they make up in the end. Din sees reader cry for the first time.

Paring: Din Djarin/Female Reader

A loud gasp falls from between your lips as you watched another body wrapped in tan cloth is thrown into the sand only feet away, blood splatters feet away, painting your skin with effortless strokes. The air felt thick from all of this tension, the mixture of blood and sweat filled the air. The sand was spotted with blood, the first attempt at blowing the dragon up failed, instead Mando began to fly around, distracting it, you could see him but he couldn’t see you, maybe it was better that way, but without a doubt he was right, you should not be here. There’s a whoosh of air that knocks the Mandalorian inches from the rock you’re taking shelter behind. He must be a little disoriented as slowly lifted himself to his knees, hand out in front of him for support.

This was a terrible idea, Din pretty much spent all of yesterday telling that you can’t go no matter how much you think you can handle it, he wasn’t putting you down, didn’t once say you’re not good enough, just more training before putting yourself out like that. Naturally, you disagreed with him. After spending a year and a few months together training, being with him but like usual Din was so right.

Here you are, hyperventilating against a bumpy rock that is digging so roughly in your back that there must be blood. With a light head shake of pain he looks directly at you, thank god his face is covered, not wanting to see just how angry he was.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!” His voice is loud, snapping at you with venom. “I told you no!” His eyes dart past you, towards the dragon. “Stay here don’t move until I get back. I mean it.”

His tone is not one to mess with, you don’t move you barely breath as the whooshing of his jet pack flies past. Peering over the rock you couldn’t help but notice Din positioning, still as he holds onto the animal but the Krayt Dragon coming right for him.

Before you know it, your feet are running towards him, mouth opening to yell his name but the jaws of the beast take him instead. There is no more breath inside your body, throat starting to close making it hard to even think, a dull ache fills your chest as you try to rub it away.

Vision starts to blur but you wipe it away quickly as a chorus of cheers fill the air. Din is flying above that carcass of the dragon, covered in a thick, green slime but alive to say the least.

You don’t dare move a muscle, but even if you wanted to you don’t think you can. It all flashed before your eyes, living this life with Din wasn’t much but it was better then the one you had before. Your heart is beating so fast it’s suffocating, heat filling cheeks, turning them red from either the sun or the mass hysteria that almost was. So deep in thought you don’t noticing the Mandalorian standing in your personal space, arms wrapped across his chest, his tone is displeased. “Let’s go.”

Not saying anything you shakily following behind him. The Mandalorian does not bother to look back, at least five feet in front of you walking in complete silence. And to be honest it scared you. Sure, Din would get annoyed, grumble to himself, but never ever has he been so angry at you. With how long you have been traveling together, Din was never quiet.

The silence last about a full half an hour, trying to calm down before speaking to him. “Din, I’m sorry.”

Once again, nothing was said. You sigh, catching up at him, hand meeting with the leather of his forearm, closer to the skin then his armor, silently begging him to look at you. “Din, Please. I’m sorry. I - ”

“No.” He mumbles. Usually he would love your close proximity, smelling the sweet floral perfume, feeling the heat of your body he scowled away. “You don’t get to Din please me! You get no say at all right now! I asked you to stay back, I asked you for one thing.”

“Din, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thin-”

“Wasn’t thinking?!” Din’s fist clench next to his side, a force a habit really. “For putting us both in danger? do you know what I would’ve did if you’ve gotten hurt or killed?! Not only did you put yourself in danger you put me in it too, I couldn’t think straight knowing you’re there! Who would take care of you if I died?!”

Despite the situation your skin heats up quickly at his words, blood bubbling underneath. “You’re one to talk! You willingly got eaten alive by it! What if you couldn’t get out?”

Din tries to talk but you keep going. “Don’t turn this around on me! I would not be the reason you died, and take care of me? You’re so full of yourself, I bet you go around telling everyone that the kid isn’t the only one you take care of.”

It clear Din doesn’t like what you’re saying, before you could even react he is an inch away from your face, finger rising in the air, poking your chest, it’s not hard at all, it doesn’t hurt but there to show you he means his words. “Don’t you talk about me like that. You know what I meant.. do not turn my words around on me.”

His close proximity along with the touch on your exposed chest, the heat of this planet making normal clothes almost impossible to bare made you blush, you wish it didn’t. “You can’t blame this all on me, you almost -.”

You hate the way tears fill your eyes, throat clogs with emotion, cutting you off. Small hand meet with his chest plate, pushing it away. “You almost died.”

To say Din was stunned was an understatement, his jaw dropped under the helmet. Never, ever in the whole year since you joined him had he seen tears but man, he wish he never said a word. It made his heart sink, watching those eyes grow red, puffy with emotion as they slip past eyelashes. Emotion bubbles inside his own chest to match the loose sob that falls from your lips. The strongest woman he’s ever known.. breaking down in front of him and it’s all his fault.

“Stop.” You didn’t mean to loose it like this, but it could not be helped. The yelling, the way his words burned against your heart. You choose to ignore his words, sniffling, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

“Stop, please.” This time it was softer, almost like begging. His gloved hand, wrapping around your bare wrist gently, pulling you closer to him. “I’m sorry for yelling.”

Eyes are as wide as saucers as he places a soft hand against the nape of your neck, pulling gently to meet his forehead. It’s quiet for a few moments before he speaks. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“No, you’re right.” You mumble, surprised at the sudden touch of intimacy as his free hand cradles your cheek, angling your head to look up at him. The pad of his leather glove wipes the falling tears.

“That is no reason to make you cry, I’m sorry for yelling. I’m sorry for not realizing how much was at risk when I did that, I didn’t want to hurt you. I never want to.” His voice is low as he admits it, “You are the strongest woman I know, I never doubt you, you can fight, you can take care of yourself. I’m sorry for making you feel like you can’t because truthfully you care for me more than I ever did for you.”

You’re about to say something else but his words are out before you can even open your mouth. “I didn’t want you to come because I’m afraid to loose you.. you mean a lot to me and I’m too selfish to let the world have you.. for that I’m sorry.”

“Din.” Voice horse as pressing against his gloved hand, “It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize for wanting to keep me safe.”

“But I never want you to feel stuck, I’m sorry I said that to you, you can take care of yourself.”

“It’s not a big deal.” You argue, “I know you didn’t mean it, besides if there’s one person in all the galaxies, I know you’ll always be there to take care of me.”

He groans, “Don’t say that cyar’ika… I don’t like how it sounds. It’s undermining you, I didn’t mean it.”

The last of the tears begin to dry, but now that Din has finally made the move to hold you, comfort you he doesn’t want to let go, he wants it to be like this forever.

“I know I’m difficult and that you -.” He doesn’t need to finish you already know what he’s going to say.

“I care for you Din. I always have.”

He pauses, “Good, because I love you.”

This makes your throat dry, but a happy smile curls against lips. “You do?”

“Mmmm.” He agrees, hand traveling from red cheeks, curling the tips of your hair to down your arm to where his hand meets your own. He doesn’t bother to curl his fingers with your own but instead gives you the choice, “Let’s go home.”

“Only if you promise to keep calling me cyar’ika.” Smaller fingers fill the gap between his own with a cheeky smile makes him chuckle.

“Don’t push your luck..” He waits a few seconds as his boots press forward, “Cyar’ika.”

The Mandalorian couldn’t never hold a grudge for long anyways

#din dijarin x reader #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #the mandolorian imagine #the mandolorian x reader

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crowleyellestair · 3 years

Note

Oo! Oo! A prompt challenge! But only if you want to! Geralt x reader angst with a happy ending (well, do whatever you like, I just ask that everything turns out ok in the end as I am a tender soul) with this sentence: “I can’t even look at you right now I’m so disappointed.”

A/N: Hello! It has been a while. Every chance I get to write gets thrown under the rug by life, so I’m going to try and catch up a bit. If you have small blurbs or smaller requests, I’ll happily take them! I’m unsure how long the longer requests will take, but I’m trying! I’m glad to be back (for now 😊 ) I don’t know if you want Netflix Geralt or game/book Geralt, so I went with the show in mind, though it’s more of a weird mix. I think it works though. I hope you like it 😊 Much love

Geralt x Reader masterlist

“Would you turn around, please?” The desperation in Y/n’s voice was noticeable. Geralt’s tone was cold and sharp, cutting through the air like his blade does through a beast.

“I can’t. I’m too disappointed.”

They were words neither human expected to hear, and the long silence that followed was suffocating.

“Listen my friend, it sounds harsher than it was-.” Jaskier cut himself off at the gaze thrown his way from the Witcher.

“Geralt,” she called. With every moment that passed, and his eyes didn’t fall on her, her heart sunk. Jaskier shifted from foot to foot, waiting for his friend to give in. The Witcher was great at keeping his emotions at bay, but he still had them. He felt them more than he could feel the breeze in his hair or the burn of sitting too close to the campfire. Jaskier often wondered if his friend felt more than even him, and what poetry would fall if he actually emerged from his shell.

Y/n called again, though it was barely a whisper.

The bard could hear the leather of his friend’s gloves tighten against the saddle bag; could feel the exhale of anger. If the brunette didn’t look back to their healer friend, he would have seen a hint of gold peeking over at him. The deities above and the sprites in the trees could only guess at what the Witcher was thinking.

What would his friend do? Should he simply dump the expendables for all of their sakes? Was love really worth the risk of the path?

More moments had passed, and the two humans watched on as the Witcher quickly packed their belongings on Roach. The lead was grabbed, and the White Wolf started to walk. The silence is finally broken as the sounds of his footsteps explode in her ears. She finds her voice, though it comes out loudly and strained.

“I can explain-!”

“I’ve heard you explain,” the mutant roared. “I’ve heard Jaskier explain. I’ve had the guards explain. We need to leave, not because there’s no work, but because you couldn’t handle it.” He still faced the exit of the town, trees lining the outskirts. It was dark, and they’d need to make camp sooner rather than later. Geralt knows they are underprepared for such an event, and dusk already falling makes the situation worse.

“I handled it how it ought to be handled!”

“No!” Geralt grunted. Finally, he turned, Y/n’s chin held high. He knew it was an act. Whether it be the smell of fear and uncertainty that radiated from her skin, or the tears that haven’t fallen yet, Geralt knew. “This sort of thing happens. We get swindled and cheated, but we never retaliate. We don’t go to the Baron’s home and thrash his son’s arse in front of his own court.”

“I didn’t thrash-.” Geralt’s gloved finger was held in between them. It was a move he’d seen Vesemir do time and time again to any student who stepped out of line. If only Lambert saw him now…

“You don’t put your life at risk for this.” Y/n stepped closer, anger bubbling, as well as every other emotion she had ever felt. The healer couldn’t understand why Geralt didn’t want her help despite whatever the unspoken thing was between them.

“For what?” She took a smaller step, but closer still. “For you?” Her hands clenched at her sides, and Jaskier made as little movement as possible. “You were being cheated out of five hundred orens, Geralt. I don’t have to care about you to want to step in. It’s theft.” Geralt’s eyes fell closed, and he grimaced before opening them again.

“You’re not understanding.” For once, he made a move that even surprised him. His hand reached out and gently landed on her shoulder. “You would have been punished. It’s a Baron. He has land, men and a title. And he’d use every ounce of his power to punish you for stepping out of line.” His golden gaze bore down into hers, tired eyes finding panicked ones. Geralt knew the second he looked at her, he’d cave. It’s why he’s been trying to keep distant. Trying to keep whatever was between them locked away for as long as possible. To Geralt, if it isn’t mentioned, it isn’t real. It’s a childish, primal way of thinking, but it’s easier. Easier to be ignorant in a part of his life that he could actually control, rather than leaving his emotions to the fates. If word got out to the wind that he loved something, that something would be taken away. It might not be right away, but he’s had a little over a century to know that the other ball always drops. The timeframe didn’t matter, as Y/n would inevitably be taken away. “You are worth more than five hundred orens. We can make do.”

Jaskier shifted a touch and Geralt’s eyes flew to him. The Witcher’s hand dropped, and he turned on his heels towards the dark forest. The lead made its way to wrapping around his fingers, and Roach dutifully followed. Now wasn’t the time or place, though in that moment, Geralt decided it would never be the right time. What he felt would never see the light of day. He didn’t turn back again, but let out a gruff, “let’s go,” and expected the two to follow.

The poet wasn’t so quick to follow, staying a pace or two behind the healer to make sure she followed the horse. For once in his life, he wished he hadn’t been in the heat of the moment. It was his idea to talk to the boy, though Y/n executed the deed. And maybe if he hadn’t been here either, Geralt would allow himself to feel happy, despite the circumstance. The bard was well aware of the very requited feelings his two companions had for the other, though he had no clue how to get them together. Despite how the events unfolded, he still had hope that the Witcher would one day crawl out from under his shell. And he was certain it would take Y/n for it to happen.

#witcher imagine #witcher x reader #geralt imagine #geralt x y/n #jaskier imagine

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un2-verse · 3 years

Text

BILLY — Kim Taehyung (1)

》 News of a Sadistic Serial Killer nicknamed “Jigsaw” is spreading around town like wildfire… the nickname stemming from the puzzle piece he cuts from every victim’s body. No one knows who he’ll trap next but in a town full of delinquents and criminals, it could never be you. Right? 《

pairings: john kramer!taehyung x female reader

warnings: dark themes, angst, yandere, murder, torture, self harm, suicide, stalking etc.... (will add more when i know lol) although it is rather innocent in the first couple chapters(?) so idk it could be slow burn but i guess we’ll find out as i write it >< ,, it’s my version of saw if saw was a fucked up love story lol. Please don’t read if any of the topics mentioned trigger you!! 18+

this fic is exactly that, fiction!!!! the au does not represent the characters mentioned irl......

synopsis: you end up lost on the other side of town, where you cross paths with a handsome stranger, kim taehyung, only.... are you a stranger to him?

[a/n: daffodils represent; love me, sympathy, desire and affection returned...]

word count: 3k

series masterlist

part two

——————————————————————————

Hiding behind a mask was something you were accustomed to. Your friend group and family were clueless to the torment you endured from simply existing. You were confident your masking had convinced the world you were happy with yourself. Unbeknown to you, one other person saw straight through your façade.

You wanted to end your life.

He needed you to cherish your life.

Nothing looked familiar. The café you frequented was nowhere to be found. Your usual hangout was most definitely not on the side of town you found yourself in. You felt anxiety slowly curl its way around your body, you were frigid. You tried and tried but couldn’t find it in yourself to run.

You lived in the more friendly part of town (so to speak) – where houses were colourful, gardens pristine, warm-hearted neighbours who would treat you like family and white picket fences are what surrounded you. That was your norm, sure, you weren’t exactly loaded but you weren’t exactly poor either. It was a healthy balance in the middle. That’s not to say you hadn’t lived or seen this side of town before.

Your Mother and Father had grown up on this side of the fence. Two young people brought up in the rougher, more unfortunate areas. Your Mother was tough; she looked like a naïve, weak girl, albeit that was not the case. She was strong willed, used to life on the streets and doing anything she could to get money to make sure there was at least some food on the table. While your Mum was the leader, your Dad was more of a sheep. He was easily influenced and was dragged into the wrong crowd (had his fair share with drugs and street racing). That was their life for a few years till they crossed paths and your Mum helped your Dad get back on the right track.

They didn’t tell you much about their childhood and adolescence but they told you enough to make you appreciate what you have and to always work hard for it. To stick with the right people, be wise and conscious of your decisions. Be kind to those around you.

Your family owned a garage; your Dad was the head mechanic. This was the sole reason you were here. You knew it wouldn’t be simple when you agreed to go to this side of town to get a few bits for your Father’s shop. However, you didn’t expect it to be this difficult. How could you be so stupid? Why didn’t you just ask Hoseok and Yoongi to come with you like your father told you to? Or at least tell them where you were… yet you decided today of all days to be stubborn and venture on yourself, knowing full well how unsafe the area was. There were rundown businesses on either side of the road, beggars at every doorstep; drug dealings happening in broad daylight, no one even trying to hide it.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, you took it out and sighed a breath of relief once you’d read the texts.

14:37— From Papa: U ok munchkin ??? Did u get the stuff ?

14:39— From Papa: its ok if u didnt. Yoongs rang said hes got majority this morning lol so be safe n get home soon . Love u

14:40— To Papa: ohhh ok pops, i couldn’t find the shop anyway lol i’ll head back soon, love u too x

*LOW BATTERY*

“Fuck, trust me to forget to charge the bastard.” You rolled your eyes as you stuffed the phone back in your pocket.

Muffled shouting was heard around you. People ran across the street, bumping into you as they ran past. You gathered yourself and moved further down the path. “Great!” you exasperated, “honestly I’m so fucking stupid! Yoongi’s gonna kill me for this, I knew, I knew I should’ve told him I was coming over here but no,” your head was hung low as you dragged your feet across the pavement, “maybe I could tell Hobi, he wouldn’t be as angry right? I’m sure he’ll come,“ A sudden scream ripped you out of your chuntering. You whipped your head to the right, you could make out some figures bustling about in front of you, a group of men were quite clearly fighting… your anxiety struck you and you held your breath as you saw a man pull a knife from the waistband of his sweatpants. All thoughts and common sense seemed to leave all at once. Statue like, feet stuck to the ground. You watched on as the group rushed towards the brown haired man, you scanned his figure: tall, broad, confident… he exuded an intimidating aura even when you were this far away from him.

How could someone be so sure of themselves? It was one against five, surely the loner had no chance?

The glistening of the knife brought you back to your senses. Fucking hell. How do you always end up in these situations when you’re alone? Why me? Why? Good Lord, I need to run. Just as you were about to leave, the group who were arguing charged past you; one gripped his side as another supported his weight. Holy fuck, did he stab him? you stood frozen, yet again, your mind raced a mile a minute. Panic bubbled in your chest.

“You okay there Doll?” His voice was deep, velvet-like. It flowed so smoothly you doubted it was real, it was so soothing like it had wrapped itself around you, embracing your body. You heard his footsteps before he planted himself beside you. His shoulder reached the top of your head, his hand brushed yours. Swallowing your nerves you dared a glance up. He was fucking breath-taking, like a fallen angel. The stranger shot you a small smile that you would’ve easily missed had you not been staring at his features… a blush crept up your neck as you nodded. His smile slowly twisted into a smirk.

Cute, Taehyung thought to himself. Couldn’t help but adore the way you slightly trembled under his gaze, the way your hands gripped and twisted your sweater paws. Almost like a puppy. He cleared his throat and reached his hand to yours, “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Taehyung.” you took his hand into yours, apprehensively you greeted him, “I’m Y/N.”

“Ah, Y/N. I haven’t seen you round here before, you new or something?” Taehyung cocked his head to the side, his eyes seemed to stare right through you.

“Uhm, I don’t live here. I live over the other part of Town… I was just grabbing some stuff for my Dad but, my phones about to die. I have no idea where I am or how to get home, I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t see anything!” a deep chuckle cut you off, Taehyung smiled and beckoned you to follow him.

“Come on Y/N, you’re not suited for this side of Town, I’ll walk you back. A pretty little thing like you, you’re easy prey to these guys.” your feet fell into a cautious pace behind him, he glanced over his shoulder, “hurry up Buttercup, I don’t bite.” Taehyung flashed a boxy grin in your direction, which caused you to speed up ever so slightly.

You were unsure how you felt about letting a complete stranger walk you home, Yoongi would definitely kill you for this. Especially with the recent news of some serial killer named ‘Jigsaw’, Yoongi and Hoseok had been very stern and their usual, overprotective selves when the news had broken out. “It’s on every headline Y/Nie! No more leaving the house on yourself, you need to go anywhere you ring either of us. Got it? Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know either. There’s some dodgy fucks about recently.” Although, you loved them dearly, sometimes their protectiveness was a...little overbearing. You already felt suffocated from your parents (you didn’t need it from your best friends as well). They were happy and believed you to be too; but that was exhausting, faking happiness. You had a constant façade, acted like a happy normal teenager with a happy family; when that was far from the truth.

Drowning. That’s how you’d explain the way you felt. Breathing was difficult and brought you more pain than it was worth. Growing up was tedious, you had grown differently to your peers which only brought ridicule and embarrassment for you. You had struggled with your speech (sometimes you still do), you often stuttered, mispronounced words, the list was endless. That was one of the first reasons you were a castaway. As you grew, the ridicule worsened. Verbal abuse turned physical from your classmates. They made you feel like you were a waste of space. The names they called you, you soon started to believe them. Ugly. Weird. Freak. Stupid. They took root in your brain, slowly they grew and grew till your head was overgrown with twisted, rotten weeds.

Eventually, you sought comfort in blood. You didn’t care that it hurt you; you were almost happy to feel pain. Like you deserved to.

By age 14, you had started to skip school. Only ever there for exams and a couple of art classes you had with Jeongguk. He was what you would’ve called a best friend, he supported you and was by your side till you left school. He went away to college and like always with school friends, you drifted apart. Nevertheless, he still texts you now and then to check in.

Although you were (once) close with Jeongguk. He never knew of your inner demons, the same with Yoongi and Hoseok. You didn’t want to feel like a burden and worry your friends when they had shit to worry about themselves.

Why devastate flowers that flourish beautifully with weeds that manage to twist their way around every crack?

You had walked for a few minutes now, having chatted absentmindedly about anything and everything. The roads still didn’t look familiar to you and you just wished they did, you didn’t want to be away from your home any longer, your feet were starting to ache, your phone was on 10% battery and it was fucking cold. You just wanted to be back in bed tucked up watching Lady and the Tramp or 101 Dalmatians for the millionth time. You felt safe and content when you indulged in your comfort films. Far away from the real world and wrapped up in the false reality. They easily distracted you and that's when you truly felt at peace. Your mind was always too busy thinking about how cute it was when Tramp calls Lady, Pidge or how in love Pongo and Perdy were.

Majority of the time you fantasised about having a love similar, but then again, why would you wanna make yourself vulnerable like that? Is the risk of being hurt (more than you are now) any good? Of course it’s not. Fuck that, life isn’t nothing like those shitty romance films or novels… It’s real and painful.

As you and Taehyung rounded the corner, a little cafe caught your eye, a dainty blue and pink building. Fairy Lights strung up around the windows, you could see a handful of people inside, busy sipping their drinks and chatting away to one another. ‘Aroma Mocha’ hung above the doors. It looked so cute and simple. Your previous thoughts left your mind as quick as they had come. You wanted to go inside, it had an enticing atmosphere.

Taehyung hadn’t realised you’d stopped walking until he couldn’t hear the soft thud of your footsteps behind him, he turned as he called out to you, your eyes still fixed on the cafe. He chuckled to himself, “Fucking adorable, like a kid at christmas,” he walked back over to you. “Hey Doll, you wanna go in?” He felt his heart quicken when you looked at him with those pretty eyes, “We’ve plenty of time to get you back before it’s dark angel.” You answered him with a nod as you turned your head from Taehyung to look back at the alluring little cafe.

Not a second had passed before Taehyung grabbed your hand and pulled you across the road to the entrance; you ignored the warmth of his hand as it intertwined with yours; you ignored the way your tummy erupted with butterflies. Taehyung had stopped to hold the door for you, you murmured a small, “thank you,” looking up at him, the heat that crept up your cheeks making your face resemble that of a doll’s he thought to himself. Once he ushered you fully inside, he placed his hand to rest on the curve of your waist as he guided you to the back corner of the room, where a quaint table for two was unoccupied, a little pot of Daffodils sat atop. How fitting...

Taehyung was quick to pull the chair out for you to take a seat, you pulled it in as you sat down and sent a shy smile his way, “I’m sorry, I know we just met Taehyung but this place is so fucking precious! I hope I’m not bothering you, if I am we can just carry on walking or, I could ring a Taxi? Is this weird? Oh god, I can’t believe--”, Taehyung threw his head back as he laughed, a sound that seemed to wrap its way around your soul, twisting around your heart in the nicest of ways, it was almost like a killer to the weeds taking over your body. A temporary release. You felt like you could really breathe in those short seconds of his laughter.

“Angel, if you were bothering me, I’d have kept on walking. That, or I would’ve called you a Taxi myself, it’s no problem honestly.” You ducked your head as he sent a wink your way, fuck sake Y/N get it together! Why are you acting like a fucking schoolgirl?

“Well I uh, appreciate it so, yeah thank you?” You don’t know what to do, you’re here with the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid your eyes on… yet you have no clue if what you saw was real, did Taehyung stab someone? Could someone have had the knife who wasn’t Taehyung? Was he even the person you saw in that altercation? Did you imagine everything that had gone off?

Before you had chance to overthink it, a light bubbly voice greeted your ears, “Hi! Welcome to Aroma Mocha, I’m Jimin and I’ll be your server today. Is there anything I can get you?” Jimin held his gaze on you as he flashed you a friendly smile, Taehyung turned around at the sound of his best friend, “Oh, Tae! I wasn’t expecting to see you today, what are you doing here? And who’s this pretty little lady?”

“This is Y/Nie, she was in the neighbourhood so we thought we’d nip in for something to drink before I take her back to hers.” you sent a warm smile to Jimin which he gladly returned, “I’ll have my usual and can you get Y/Nie a Strawberry Iced Tea? Thanks man.”

Once Jimin had disappeared to make your drinks, you shot your eyes to Taehyung, “Uhm, how’d you know I like Strawberry Iced Tea?” Taehyung didn’t even look in your direction as he scrolled through his phone, eyes glued to the screen. A minute passed by and he’d still not acknowledged your question so you let it slide, it wasn’t that big of a deal right? Your mind drifted. Your fingers rested atop of your lap, hidden from the sight of onlookers, picking around your nails as anxiety flooded your body. You felt like you were about to suffocate. You shouldn’t be talking to anyone, you shouldn’t let anyone close. You were only going to fuck everything up in a heartbeat. It’s only natural. Self deprecating thoughts devoured and made their way through your veins, poisoning yourself further; your whole body felt as though it was alight.

Jimin brought you your drinks, placed them carefully in front of the pair of you as you both said your thanks.

The click of Taehyung’s phone being locked and the clearing of his throat brought you back to your senses. “The drink I ordered for you is popular here so, I assumed you’d like to try it. You wanna talk about what’s bothering you?” your eyes shot up to meet his, your head tilted a little to the left as your tongue wet your lip, so puppy like...

You stared incredulously, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Taehyung.” You leant forward slightly as you wrapped your lips around the straw and took a sip.

Taehyung saw the way you sucked your drink up through your straw, his eyes darkened. Thankful to have worn sweatpants that day, he shifted himself discreetly, “I’m not stupid Angel, I know what you’re doing under the table. I’m here, so talk to me. I’ll listen to whatever you gotta say.”

You stuttered as you wracked your brain for something to say, “I-I only met you like forty minutes ago, I don’t even tell my friends what’s wrong. Not that there is, everything’s fine.”

You met me just short of an hour ago, he thought to himself, “You don’t have to lie to me Y/Nie…” he grabbed your hands that were laid near the cup of your Iced Tea. His thumb rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. You looked small and fragile, like the Daffodils on the table; one little pluck and you’d be ruined. He wouldn’t admit it to you just yet but, Taehyung fucking loved how delicate you seemed as you sat across from him.

How easy it would be to take your life away. How easy it’d be to pull those weeds up that are poisoning you, torturing you every single day. He shook his head, as he cleared those thoughts. No, only Y/N can make that decision. I’m just going to help her choose.

Live or Die.

You visibly winced, “You don’t know me. Think whatever the fuck you want about me, it doesn’t matter.” your eyes flashed hurt as you went back to picking your skin. You knew it, this whole encounter was too good to be true. A complete stranger (well acquaintance technically) had just presumed shit about you, the fact he was right is what hurt more. You didn’t want anyone to know how you were feeling. Or how you were dealing with it.

You couldn’t exactly tell him to piss off, you still needed his help home and so you tried to distract yourself from the unsettling gaze that watched your every move. You let out a breath as Taehyung went back to his phone. Your eyes drifted as you picked up the local Newspaper, your eyes skimmed over the headline, ‘Jigsaw Traps Continue’. Taehyung noticed you staring at the front page, and chuckled, “you scared of Jigsaw Angel?”

You shook your head, why would you be scared of some nutjob who’s targeted criminals and drug dealers? You’re a nobody. “Of some psychopathic puppet?” if anyone did anything to you that would threaten your life, it would be you. Taehyung just laughed in return as you skipped the article and skim-read the other pointless stories.

You were fucking clueless as to who he was while he knew every little thing about you. He had watched you for months… His precious little Y/Nie… Oh how silly you were, taking your life for granted.

You hated yourself that much, you were willingly marking yourself up. Tainting your skin… oh your skin, how fucking beautiful and soft it looked, even with all the scars it still looked perfect… Taehyung wanted nothing more than to whisk you away and lock you inside with him. Forever. He didn’t want anyone touching what was his.

He knew you wore a mask when in public, too afraid to show your real self. Little did you know, he wore a mask himself...only he wore it to better other people.

He had a plan.

And you’d soon find out.

Let the games begin.

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goldentournesol · 3 years

Text

to be true, to not be true (part 1)

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: early in y/n’s and spencer’s relationship, y/n fears the growing distance between them, although what seemed to be possible infidelity, is actually much worse–for spencer.

Length: 2.9k

A/N: i wrote this in collaboration with one of my favorite writers on here, Mia over at @mggpleasedontlookhere. She is so wonderful and hopefully you can see both of our writing styles here!

masterlist

The sunlight streaming through the windows made the hairs on my skin dance in glee, although it was the soft breeze invading the space that contrasted the radiant warmth. An equilibrium was achieved–a needed balance. The same can be said about the nerves crawling about my stomach and the naive excitement that made me light-headed whenever I was around Spencer. I glanced up at him from where my head lay in his lap. The reflected glow from the TV danced across his features making my heart jolt. My stare caught his attention and he sent me a small smile, his hand leaving traces in my hair. It was his day off and I had no problem spending it in suffocating proximity with him.

“This is nice,” I breathed, leaning back into his soft touch. He hummed in response, almost in contentment, if not for the moment his eyes seemed far off, entangled in a distant thought. It was so brief, I might have missed it. His job took a lot from him and I knew that, which is why I never pushed him. Instead, I let the subtle aroma of morning coffee and fresh linen confine my senses, leaving me oblivious to reality.

Although not a few moments later, the ping from Spencer’s phone burst the fantastical bubble that surrounded us. My eyes lingered on the cartoon characters plastered on the screen but I couldn’t help noticing the way Spencer’s fingers would thump rhythmically against the floor. Adjacent to his palm, rested his phone, revealing several notifications as it came alive. Albeit I paid no mind to their context given I was enamored by the picture of me on his homescreen. A faint smile graced my lips at the observation, feeling a wave of warmth rush my cheeks.

“I wonder who that is,” I teased, referring to the image. Spencer must have misunderstood my point of reference, hastily explaining that new language that Morgan had introduced him to through text messages.

“Spencer, using emojis does not constitute a new language.”

“Considering its context, I would argue it is–I mean look at hieroglyphics!” I covered my face in amusement, running my hands over my eyes. A sharp exhale left my lungs as my chest filled with contagious giggles. It seems that I was too consumed in my fit of laughter to notice Spencer stealthily concealing the device and turning off his ringer.

“First of all, hieroglyphics is a formal writing system-”

“And does that not ‘constitute’ a portion of language? Also, isn’t texting a writing system in itself?” His lips formed into a sly smirk, thinking he’d gotten the best of me.

“You’re right in the way that hieroglyphics is part of the language, however it’s all but the ‘expression’ of that language.” I debated, gesturing to the air as I explained my point. For a moment our eyes met, and I could feel my playful resolve melt away under his gaze. Despite the pause in my confidence, my stubbornness shone through.

“All I heard was that I was right,” he jested, tickling the side of my waist. I jumped at his mischief, collapsing into pleas and begs as he continued his assault at my skin. My stomach churned in delight as my hands attempted to pry him off of me, the premise of our conversation vanishing into air like wisps of smoke.

Spencer’s days off were becoming increasingly rare, I’d barely seen him in the last two weeks, but we’ve managed to salvage enough time between cases for a date. The excitement buzzed through my veins as the clock ticked closer to 7 pm. I was growing restless in the apartment, obsessively checking my phone for the time. Spencer is usually right on time, if not early. Dread and anxiety clogged up my throat as I waited for him. For hours, call after call would be sent straight to voicemail. The weather outside seemed to be in tandem with the way I felt. The rain was as unforgiving as the tears that striped my face.

I was never one to hold a grudge. But it happened once, then it happened twice. Slowly, it became a habit and it was impossible to reach him.

I guess date nights on Thursdays were now obsolete.

He came over to my apartment maybe once whenever he was in town and even then he was nearly unrecognizable. His shy, loving demeanor was replaced by explosive irritability and general unease. I wished he’d just talk to me, but he continued to brush me off. He was being distant and strange, his behavior was so unlike him. Knowing him though, he was probably too stressed or busy to get around to doing simple tasks like eating a balanced meal. Spencer can be quite scatterbrained, and I hadn’t seen him in around a week. So, around lunch time, I made Spencer a healthy meal packed with proteins and veggies and decided to pop into the BAU and drop it off. It felt like a good way to cheer him up. Maybe we’d have lunch together at the park he always liked to visit. It wasn’t that far from headquarters. Hell, I’d even eat lunch with him at his desk at this point.

The walk into the BAU was strangely nerve wracking, I could feel my heart in my throat. I had an uneasy feeling in my gut but I took a deep breath and pushed the heavy glass doors open. My eyes scanned the bullpen for my boyfriend but I couldn’t find him. Standing there in confusion, I was only snapped out of my trance when someone bumped into me from behind.

“I’m so sorry–oh, it’s you! Hey Y/N, what are you doing here?” JJ said, closing the file she held in her hands and wrapping me in a one-armed hug.

“Hey JJ! I was looking for Spence, I got him lunch, but I can’t seem to find him anywhere? Do you know where he is?” I said as I pulled back from the hug, she began to say something but was interrupted.

“Woah hey, sunshine! I was wondering why it suddenly got so bright in here.” The deep voice of none other than Derek Morgan came from beside us and he was, of course, donning his signature cheeky grin. I couldn’t help but grin back, even though my chest was nearly caving in on itself.

“Did Spence come in today?” JJ asked Morgan, whose brows immediately furrowed.

“No, I haven’t seen him today. I think he might be coming in late, I’m not sure. He’s been kind of off, lately.” Morgan said, eyes searching my own for an answer.

“He has, hasn’t he?” I exclaimed and the two nodded in agreement, “I’ve been worried about him, maybe all that emoji-talk finally got to him.” I laughed slightly, but stopped when I found Morgan’s expression shift.

“What do you mean? I stopped trying to explain emojis to him like months ago, if the genius doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it.” Morgan shrugged, unknowingly allowing the literal caving in of my chest to take place. JJ noticed the change in me immediately.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” She asked in her usual caring manner, but I could barely hear her over the rushing of my blood in my ears.

“Nothing, nothing. Um, if he comes in today, can you just give him this?” I dismissed the conversation and handed over the brown bag with the lunch I made, disguising the sharp exhale that left my lungs. Before JJ had the opportunity to utilize her profiling skills, I gave both of them a cordial nod and left the office.

My steps felt heavier with every collision against the tile, albeit the loud thumping of my heart drowned out reality around me. My mind warped itself around irrational thoughts as my loyalty to Spencer attempted to retaliate against the invaders. The concept of Spencer as dubious and sly fell foreign to me. However, that lack of knowledge only added fuel to the imminent blaze that engulfed my head and stomach.

I swarmed with alternate realities, trying to make sense of the unknown. If Spencer was aware of my method of defining a solution, I would’ve been scolded by my naivety and illogical thinking. Oh to be a scientist–to have a mind like his. It’s a gift yet a heavy burden to carry. Is that it? Was that it? Does he not believe I’m capable of understanding a mind like his? Was I stupid? No. He had shared intimate momentos of his life before, so what was it? What can I not offer…What can I not promise to make him drift away like this?

It must have been me, right? I must’ve hit a boundary the last time we spoke! Or was it his work? No. By the time my thoughts stopped buzzing, I realized my feet carried me to the park I intended to visit earlier with Spencer. An unfamiliar pang hit my chest, sending reverbing waves throughout the cavity. A sort of ache rested in the core of my heart–something I didn’t think I would feel when reflecting on my relationship with Spencer–my Spencer. I guess I was so used to the warm bubble he fabricated that I forgot how cold the real world was.

Was that it? Did I stop being that for him too?

The thought of the slow degradation of our relationship sent a chilling shock through my veins while I swallowed pins and needles. My hand rested on a park bench next to me, letting myself use the wooden beams as support. Looking out into the far pond in the center of the park, I pulled myself to take a seat. The wind began to whistle through the trees, and the lake of glitter–the nickname I gave whenever the sun casted its glow onto the surface–lost all of its beauty. Crickets didn’t even dare to sing their usual melody and birds flew south to their homes. The breaths I took kept going nowhere, dissolving into nothing even though my chest expanded and retracted.

I pulled at the ends of my sleeves, tucking my knees into my chest as the air grew crisp. Questions of infidelity and unfounded justifications collided creating a mass of insatiable curiosity. My head coincided with entropy–it enjoyed the chaos–until suddenly it went blank. Every tether that kept me grounded vanished, my consciousness going into autopilot. I didn’t even realize the burn that resided in my eyelids or the wet streaks coating my cheeks–maybe from the dryness or something more. It was only the small drop of water landed on the back of my palm that pushed me out of the addicting trance.

Another one had landed on my forehead. And another one. And another one. I cringed as I felt the water drip from my head to the crevice of my ear. The clouds began to rumble a somber tune as it began to rain. Plucking myself from the bench, I made no hurry to make it back to the house. In a way, the droplets cascading the skin distracted me–seemingly blissful compared to the former events.

Once again, my feet held a prominent consciousness as it was the only part of me that was stable, leading me to the doorstep of my apartment complex. With what felt like a last ditch effort, I checked my phone for any new messages from Spencer. My heart lurched seeing a new notification pop up. To my surprise, it was from him.

With a deep breath and newfound hope, I unlocked the device, taking a moment to gaze at the picture of I and Spencer on the screen, before proceeding. My shoulders dropped, the tight squirming in my stomach halting. A hopeful smile crept on the corners of my lips, the previous distrust dissipating from my unreliable mind as I read the words displayed in front of me.

“Date night tomorrow?”

Tomorrow night couldn’t come quick enough. It somehow felt like I was holding my breath the entire day until I finally saw him. He was apologetic and sweet enough that it quieted my anxieties for a while. If he held any guilt or shame, it wasn’t apparent, or maybe he hid it well. Or maybe I was being ridiculous and reading far too much into things that could be circumstantial. But this was Spencer…my Spencer, the tenderhearted, gentle soul who made way too many corny physics jokes.

Dinner went by much smoother than I expected, but I still felt like there were things unsaid. The words felt lodged in my throat, almost like an itch I couldn’t reach. Either by mindless habit or by sheer deliberacy, we ended up in our favorite park. The very park that I found myself running to in a fit of frustration yesterday. Our feet seemed to know the way of our usual path along the pavement. I wondered briefly if there was a place I stepped in twice without noticing it. There was a lull in conversation and before I realized it, the words escaped me stealthily.

“Hey, Spence?” I started, and he took his attention off his shoes to look at me, “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something.” The way the words stumbled ungracefully from my lips had me cringing. He lifted a brow in intrigue and caught my eye, silently profiling me and my nervous behavior.

“Anything, love.” The use of the amorous term caught me off guard and I had to swallow under his intense gaze. I felt myself open my mouth, but the words died on my tongue as the blaring of his ringtone took the place of my voice between us. It was almost as if the scratchy melody startled him because the way he snatched himself away from me to look at his phone was worrisome.

His brows bunched together as he took a look at it, “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

Without waiting for my confirmation, he pressed the phone to his ear and took a few large steps away from me, as if the space would give him more privacy. I suddenly felt extremely exposed without him by my side.

The emptiness beside me lingered of his scent, almost mocking me, the words constricting my tongue. If I had a second longer, maybe the phone call would’ve been obsolete, maybe for the first time in a long time he would’ve been selfishly mine, even for another moment. I found myself suffocating in the same place I was yesterday like some poetic injustice. Perhaps I’m just a marionette, dangling from loose strings as the universe had their way with me. Frankly that would be less upsetting than watching Spencer slip through my fingers, knowing that it was possibly me who sealed that fate, and not some otherworldly being. It would’ve been my doing, and that’s something I’m not yet ready to realize.

Maybe it was my undying curiosity or growing twinge in my chest every second passed that led me to consult the moral figures weighing down my shoulders. At two opposing extremes, they debated the right course of action–or if doing the right thing was even the course of action to consider. Surprisingly in the end, it was my impulsivity that answered for me, wasting no time to stipulate consequences.

I shook off the twisting feeling in my stomach, pushing myself off in Spencer’s direction. I kept justifying my actions by telling myself that all I would be doing is checking on him, although the underlying motive was nothing under disguise. I whispered the same mantra to myself with every inch closer. I gritted my teeth as the antsy sensation traveled to my shoulders, slowing my steps to contemplate my reasoning.

What am I doing? A harsh exhale of detest left my lungs, leaving a light yet deserved burn in my esophagus. It seemed incredulous to me that I was willing to eavesdrop on my own boyfriend, although it didn’t seem like that minutes ago. I bit the inside of my cheek in shame, turning myself around.

Has this all been in my head? No, it can’t. Then why would he lie? He wouldn’t, but he did. Confusion set deep within me, however it was my guilt that left an everlasting mark. Maybe Spencer had his reasons, he would never deliberately fib–at least the Spencer I knew would never. But what if that’s it? Did I really know Spencer that well? The world around me closed in rapidly, my senses overwhelmed. Did I make him lie? It would make sense considering my recent possessiveness. Did he see that? Did I drive him away?

I bit down on my bottom lip, threatening to break the skin. I ran my hand through my hair several times, taking a few calming breaths to compose myself. No, I can’t think like that. This is Spencer, he’s my Spe–no, maybe he never was mine?

Unable to contain my contradicting thoughts any longer, I shifted around with a newfound determination. Pushing the bile building up at the bottom of my stomach, I prepared to march my way to him. My body set aflame with feigned confidence, hopefully enough to fuel the overpowering desire to know the truth.

To know whether the truth actually lied in the irrationality of my mind

To know whether the truth lied in the coarseness of my behavior.

To know whether the truth lied in the prospects of Spencer’s job.

To know whether the truth-

“I guess I’ll see you on Thursday!” Spencer smiled with endearment–a smile I thought was reserved for me. “It’s a date…”

To know whether the truth was that he was no longer mine.

part 2 feedback is always appreciated!

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid masterlist #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid one shot #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #mia <3

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Eleven

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: first chapter after acosf!! im sorry for how short this one is, but acosf wrecked me and writing this put me back together. i hope it does something similar for you ❤️

***

“You say you’ve been doing better lately?”

The therapist’s office is plain, a little gloomy, but big windows overlook the center of town that make Nesta feel less suffocated.

She nods, “Yeah.”

“How would you describe ‘better’?” Dr. Bond— Lana, she insists on being called— has been endlessly patient with Nesta’s non-answers so far. Nesta almost feels bad and decides to throw the woman a rope.

“I’m not alone anymore,” she says. “I used to be alone all the time, but now I have friends, sort of… and a boyfriend.” She still loves that word. It’s never tasted so exciting before.

“You were always alone before this, then? Or were there just people that you didn’t consider noteworthy?”

A scowl rises to Nesta’s mouth. Damn, she works quick. “I was raised with two sisters in a one-bedroom apartment. I never got to be alone, but then I grew up, and…” Her mind wants to skip over the time she spent in college. “For the last couple of years, I holed up in my own place. Never wanted to talk to anybody or see them. If people took an interest in me, I shut them down because I didn’t have an interest in them.”

“You missed a few years,” Lana notes.

“What?”

“You’re twenty-four, and you moved out at eighteen. Where were you before getting your own place?”

Numbness seeps through Nesta at the question. She knows she can ask Lana to change the topic, but that will only bring it back later. “I had a boyfriend in college,” she says flatly. “I lived with him for a few years, but like you said, it isn’t noteworthy.”

“As a fellow lone wolf, I disagree.” Lana’s clinical polite face is unchanging. “Any person who you trust enough to let into your life is noteworthy.”

Nesta says nothing.

“I’m interested in these people you’ve chosen to trust,” her therapist continues after a beat of silence. “Why don’t we start with whoever you trust most?”

Nesta snorts. This she can talk about.

“His name is Cassian. I’ve been living with him ever since my apartment got flooded a couple of months ago, and he’s always been a good friend to me.” She sits there, thinking about what else to say. “I think I like him more than I’ve ever liked anybody.”

“This is the new boyfriend?”

Nesta nods.

“Do you compare him to the old one?”

Nesta doesn’t know what this lady’s angle is, but she answers carefully, “I used to. Back when I first moved in. I haven’t done it in a long time, though.”

“Why not?”

The answer is simple. “There’s no need to. He’s not comparable to anybody.”

“Is that why you opened up to him after two years of self-imposed isolation?”

Nesta looks away. “It wasn’t isolation,” she defends. “It’s just… after a lifetime of being subjected to the gaze of strangers, I wanted to hide. I liked hiding.” Mostly.

“What does that mean, the gaze of strangers?”

Question after cool question, this one. Nesta struggles to find a proper answer.

“You know how,” she starts slowly, “as soon as you start school, you’re placed into this bubble with a bunch of people who don’t know you and have no reason to care about you? There’s a shift in how you view people, and how people view you. And I thought I could leave it behind once I graduated high school, but it followed me to college and to parties and into everyday interactions.”

“What is it?”

“It’s this—” Nesta waves her hands, “judgment. It’s that thing you do as soon as you meet someone, and you try to determine whether they’re worth your time or not. Whether they’re above or below you in this made-up social hierarchy in your head.”

“Explain that more,” Lana says.

“We want to hang around people we find cool. And when we meet someone new, we inspect them, look them up and down, to see if they fit our definition of cool. We take them apart. Everyone does it, even you. And with me,” she shrugs, “I’m pretty, I wear the right clothes, I do my makeup. So at first glance, people think, ‘Oh, I can see myself getting to know her better. I can see myself liking her.’ But then they take a closer look at me, and it’s like…” Her fingers flutter in the air, trying to support her thoughts. “I can see their minds changing. ‘Nevermind, I was wrong. Nevermind, there’s something off with her. She’s a little quiet, a little weird, a little bitchy.’”

Lana narrows her eyes. “And Cassian doesn’t look at you like that?”

Nesta looks away. “He doesn’t look at anyone like that.”

It’s what used to make her so uncomfortable about him. She was incapable of fathoming his honesty, his genuineness, his kindness. She thought he was even weirder than her for it— she placed him beneath her on her social hierarchy for it.

Lana frowns thoughtfully. “And now you two live together?”

Nesta nods, then shrugs. “For the next twenty-four hours, we do. He’s helping me move back into my old place.”

Because that was another conversation she and Cassian had on Thanksgiving night. It was a long time coming, but also the perfect time.

“You’re saying your apartment has been ready for weeks? Why are you just telling me now?”

Nesta pillowed her face on his chest, not as upset at revealing the news as she would have been some days ago. “Because I was scared that if I moved out, I would lose my friendship with you.”

“That never would have happened—”

“We wouldn’t see each other every day anymore. Even if we didn’t go back to being complete strangers, the closeness would be lost.”

“You must not know me, then. I would’ve texted you every fucking hour. You’d never hear the end of me.”

“I couldn’t guarantee that back then.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “I can now.” She crawled higher up his body, lowering her voice to a secretive pitch. “Want to know why?”

“Why?” he whispered.

“Because you’re mine now. And that’s what I was waiting for while I made Lorene hold that shitty empty apartment for me. I was waiting for a catalyst, a revelation.” She pressed a kiss to his sternum. “And I most definitely got it.” The pleasant ache between her legs was proof enough. “Also,” she added, “it would be weird if you lived with your girlfriend before even having a first date with her.”

Cassian huffed a laugh. “You have a point there. We have been moving backwards, haven’t we?”

Nesta nodded into his skin.

He got a little quiet. “Still,” he said after a moment. “I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll see me every day. I’ll be fifteen minutes away.”

“I’ll still miss you.”

“I know.”

“What does talking about guys have to do with my therapy?” Nesta squirms, getting restless with the topic.

“Lots of things,” Lana says, putting down her notepad. “It gets you comfortable with expressing your feelings to me, and it teaches me about how you view the world. Besides, therapy isn’t just a rehashing of past traumas, you know. We can talk about whatever you want here, especially if it makes you feel good.”

“Well, I want to talk about something else.” She’s not spending this much money by the hour just to talk about how much she likes Cassian— she can go to Cassian for that for free.

“Like what?” Lana asks smoothly.

She’s offering an opening, finally, to the real reason that Nesta’s here.

Nesta pulls at the sleeves of her sweatshirt, wondering where to start. “I feel like I’ve been growing up lately,” she says carefully. “I have all these new people in my life to be responsible for, and I’m— I want to do it right. But I’m worried I won’t have room for new things until I pack up some of my old shit, so that’s why I’m here, I guess. I don’t want to hold on to all of my old shit anymore.”

At Lana’s encouraging silence, she continues, “I spent my whole life stuck in a suffocating town, and as soon as I left, I got stuck in a relationship. By the time I knew what freedom felt like, I— I’d been left behind. Everyone I knew was moving onto bigger things and all I had was this shitbag of a past. So I got a new place and started law school and called it a fresh start, but now I’m here and I’m not sure if I ever got better.”

She takes a sharp breath after everything that’s spilled.

Lana purses her lips, letting the room absorb Nesta’s words. After a long moment, she says, “Just because bad things stop happening to someone, doesn’t mean they instantly get better. It’s a good thing that you’re recognizing that before stepping into new relationships, Nesta.”

Lana glances at the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today, but this was a productive first session.” She offers a small smile. “Same time next week?” She says it as if it isn’t already a done deal.

Nesta nods gratefully anyway, unable to say anything else. As soon as she’s out the door, a pent-up sigh escapes her. That wasn’t so bad.

***

Later that night, Nesta doesn’t miss Cassian’s wistful stare as he takes down the painting he got her from the fall festival. Nor does she miss how slowly he packs it away.

Once the bedroom she made her home is as sparse as the day she moved in, all her things packed away neatly in boxes, Nesta wraps her arms around Cassian and pulls him to the bed. There, she lets him hold her close, their breaths and limbs intertwining as they lie in thoughtful silence.

“I can’t believe I’ll never see this room again,” Nesta says quietly.

Cassian’s eyes widen in alarm. “What do you mean, never again?”

“I’ll be staying in your room whenever I visit, remember?” Her underwear already occupies a drawer in his closet.

Cassian visibly relaxes when he remembers, then smiles. “Right. Of course.”

She lets herself sink deeper into his embrace. “I just realized you’ve never seen my apartment before.” He was waiting at the front door of Lorene’s place while Nesta collected her things all those weeks ago, but she cringes at the thought of him visiting now. The clear wealth gap between her and Cassian doesn’t usually show, but it’ll be undeniable with the cramped room she calls an apartment. “Maybe it’s best if I move back in without your help. There might not even be space there for your huge body.”

“Sounds more appealing by the minute.” He’s not joking. He tilts up Nesta’s chin so she’s forced to meet his eyes. “I can’t wait to start partaking in your life the way you took over mine. Spending nights at your place, meeting your friends, riding in your car instead of mine.”

Nesta swallows.

“I’m gonna miss you like hell, but it’ll be for the best.”

He’s right: this is what’s best for their budding relationship right now. Moving out, creating even a little bit of distance— all of it is so they can finally learn each other as lovers instead of roommates. So when they do come back together, which Nesta firmly believes they will, it’ll be stronger than ever before.

Some of their shared sadness flits away at the truth of it. She only places her hand on his cheek, content to appreciate this view— this beautiful, hazel-shaded view— without further chitchat or goodbyes.

Cassian is not as fond of the silence. “I need to tell you something,” he says seriously after a few minutes.

After only a handful of days dating Cassian, Nesta knows what he’s going to say. “Don’t,” she warns, unamused.

He grins conspiratorially and leans in even closer, until their mouths are almost brushing. “You’re my everything, Nesta.”

“Oh my god, stop it.” She squirms out of his hold and gets up, tossing the blankets off herself.

“No, come back!” He makes a grab for her sleeve. “We have to use the bed one last time—”

But she’s already running off.

***

Cassian carefully arranges the canvas painting on the wall, taking a step back to determine if it’s hanging straight. The ruby and amber leaves of the landscape stand out against the dull teal walls of Nesta’s basement apartment, but he’s just getting started.

The rest of Nesta’s things are half-unpacked from their cardboard boxes, but instead of going for the important shit first, he finds the box he specifically marked FAVES in bold letters the night before.

While Nesta wrangles to get her clothes back into her old closet in the background, Cassian crouches and rips open the small box. There, lying atop his girlfriend’s favorite trinkets and personal items, is the framed photo he snuck in without her noticing.

It’s of the two of them at the fall festival, taken mere hours before their first kiss. Nesta is pressed up close to Cassian (her excuse being that it was cold), and a genuine light fills her eyes, one that Cassian never thought he’d be able to capture on camera. Cassian himself isn’t looking at the camera, but down at Nesta with wind-flushed cheeks and a distant smile. Making sure she’s having a good time, that she truly wants to be there with him in that moment.

He never realized how close they looked in that picture until he had it printed and framed, not long after Nesta announced she was moving out. He can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner.

Standing up, he places the photo on Nesta’s wooden dresser. Nesta still has her head in the closet, moving things around, but Cassian makes no announcement of his gift to her. She’ll notice it sooner or later.

He clears his throat. “Wanna take a break and order Chinese?”

Nesta pops her head out of the closet, her ponytail ruffled and eyes narrowed at him. “Have you even been helping this whole time?”

“Standing here and looking pretty is harder than it seems, but I don’t expect any credit from you,” he jokes. “Just let me buy you lunch.”

Nesta grumbles something he chooses not to hear, but straightens up and rubs her spine with a wince. “I need a fucking chiropractor,” she mutters.

Guilt shoots through Cassian at that small wince, and he resolves to finish organizing Nesta’s closet for her before the day is over. Nesta goes on, “So? Still determined to split your time between here and the cabin?” She gestures to the apartment with an arm.

It’s really just a glorified single room, with a rusty kitchenette in the corner, a hallway near the stairs that holds the bathroom, and Nesta’s bed pushed against one wall. It’s nothing special, but Cassian loves it. Mostly because he can already envision each new nook and cranny to take Nesta against, and how he wants to wake up in that too-small bed on days that he’s too lazy to drive home.

“It’s perfect,” he says simply. Thank you for sharing your home with me, is what he really means. Speaking of homes—

Cassian digs around in his pocket, finding and pulling out a newly-minted silver key. “I almost forgot to give you this.”

Nesta frowns, coming forward to take the key from him. He uses the closeness as an excuse to wrap his arms around her waist while she inspects the object.

She glances up at him, eyes softer than they were a moment ago, lips slightly parted. “You’re giving me a key to the cabin?”

He shrugs casually. “You should’ve gotten one a long time ago.” She used either Cassian’s key or the spare while she lived there.

Her mouth is still open, and she closes it once, twice, before finally saying, “I don’t have a key to my place for you.”

“But I can get one,” she adds quickly. “If you want it, that is.”

Of course he wants it, but he keeps his face carefully neutral. “Only if you want me to have one. We’re still new, and this is your personal space.” He emphasizes your.

Nesta purses her lips, then says, “I’ll think about it.”

Cassian’s shoulders slump in relief— relief that Nesta is being honest with him instead of doing something she isn’t yet ready for. He’ll take her honesty over an apartment key any day.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he smiles brightly and shoves her toward the bed. “If we’re getting dumplings again then you can’t steal mine.”

***

a/n: fair warning that ive never been to therapy, but in stories therapists are usually a mode for character exploration and development, which is what nesta's therapy will be for.

also im so glad i got to meet gwyn in acosf and im so excited to introduce her into this fic too!! if you have ideas for her origin story feel free to share because nothing is planned yet

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @swankii-art-teacher

#a favor #nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #nessian fic #ncssianwrites

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seokoloqy · 4 years

Text

The Ravenheart Manor | Yoongi’s Route

➳ PAIRING: demon!yoongi x reader

➳ GENRE: smut, pwp, mythical creature!au

➳ WORD COUNT: 3.3k

➳ WARNINGS: teasing, alley sex, his dick has ridges bc why not, dirty talk, over stimulation

➳ SUMMARY: despite the powerful aphrodisiac working its way through you, Yoongi doesn’t seem to care much and forces you to finish your chores with him. Your frustrations bubble up during a shopping trip and he decides to punish you.

➳ A/N: this is Yoongi’s route in the Ravenheart Manor series! Pls read first part before this one! None of the other routes need to be read in order and they are all stand alones

—

“I want Yoongi,” your breathless voice manages to say. You’re unable to meet anyone’s curious gaze, mortified by how their stares make your body tense and shudder.

You’d feel more comfortable staying with Yoongi through this because you've spent so much time around him. He’ll probably make you work through this unexpected heat and you’ll be too distracted polishing dishes to notice the wetness soaking your panties and the desire to have him throw you on the kitchen counter and spread your legs.

Namjoon nods, “very well. Dinner will be cut short tonight. Everyone will finish up in their own rooms. ___ and Yoongi can remain here.”

Despite the whines from Taehyung and Jimin about wanting to stay with you, one by one each of the residents take their plates from the table and disappear into their respective rooms to finish dinner on their own. You’re almost glad they’re all gone because you were very close to putting Taehyung’s hand exactly where you needed them.

You’re sitting very still in your chair, too sensitive to move from the heat crawling over your thighs or too nervous. Yoongi still has his eyes trained on you and the coffee pitcher steadily cradled in his hands.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s focused on the lust surrounding you, it’s so palpable he can taste the sweetness of it on his tongue.

As a demon, he’d prefer fear. That bitter flavor is so addicting to him. He wonders if your lust will taste just as intoxicating. If it does, he’s not sure he’d be able to restrain himself from devouring you completely. His hands tighten around the coffee pitcher when the nagging feeling of an insatiable hunger bites at him.

You cross your legs and turn away from his intense stare. You know you've messed up by drinking Jimin’s aphrodisiac. Yoongi must be thinking of all the chores he’s going to make you do for the next month or the rest of your human life.

“Have I been working you too hard, ___?” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the silence.

“N-No,” you shake your head, curling your hands around your knee to stop them from trembling.

“Then why would Jungkook say you were stressed?”

“I don’t know,” you squeak when Yoongi sets the coffee pitcher down. In the silent dining room the sound of it hitting the table seems booming in your ears.

“I don’t tolerate liars, ___, and as long as I am your superior,” you listen to his clipped footsteps as he approaches you. A hand comes beneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his face. His hands are just as cold as they were when you first met. There’s a dark, threatening glow in his eyes. Even though it’s intimidating you’re still breathless looking at him. “You will never lie to me.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and force a weak response, “y-yes, sir.”

Yoongi watches your wavering expression while a mischievous grin forms. He leans down at eye level to your heated face. “Your lust smells so intoxicating,” he whispers, just a breath away from your lips. “If I were a desperate man, I’d devour you—mind, body, and soul. Consider yourself lucky I’m not some lower level demon picking for scraps.”

The dark allure of his eyes enchants you and you’re almost compelled to lean forward and kiss him, just to see if it’ll quell the fire blazing in your core.

He releases your face, the traces of his cold touch still lingering on your skin like frostbite, and turns on his heel to resume his duties clearing the table.

“Just because you’re under the effects of an aphrodisiac doesn’t mean you get to slack off. We still have to go into town tonight for tomorrow’s ingredients.”

You want to groan. Of course he’d make you go out as punishment. Sadistic bastard.

“Get yourself together,” he says, picking up Namjoon’s bloody napkin. “We’re leaving as soon as we finish cleaning the table.”

—

Even though the temperature drops at night, leaving most to bundle themselves up in a coat, you picked a sundress because everything else you tried on just felt too suffocating.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to care about your predicament, just as you thought. You regret choosing him now. If you knew how desperate you would feel walking in the streets so close to Yoongi who pretends to be oblivious to your needs, you would’ve chosen Taehyung or Jimin to satisfy you instead. They probably would have been all over you by now.

You didn’t even get the chance to touch yourself when you were in your room changing before Yoongi barged in and claimed the shops would close soon. You get the feeling he only said it so you couldn’t relieve yourself of the aching between your legs.

A thin layer of sweat has already built up across your skin as you walk into the butchers shop. Your hands feel clammy, swinging at your side loosely, so close to Yoongi’s. He hasn’t made any indication he’s going to help you with the aphrodisiac. His only focus is on getting all the ingredients for tomorrow’s breakfast and reminding you not to trip over yourself when your knees get too weak and threaten to buckle.

“Yoongi,” you whine, tugging lightly on his coat, “I can’t take this anymore.”

Every step you take just reminds you of the growing wetness pooling in your panties. You swear you can almost hear a squelch whenever you shift your legs to ease the throbbing of your core. It must be the effects of the aphrodisiac that are making you so uncomfortably wet.

He hums, peering into the glass shielding an array of animal hearts; they’d be for Taehyung’s breakfast. “Maybe you should have thought twice before drinking mysterious alcohol then.”

“I didn’t think it’d be an aphrodisiac!” You whisper, tugging harder on his dark coat. The butcher gives you an odd look but doesn’t say anything. “Please, Yoongi. I need to go back to the manor.”

“What you need to do is carry these bags.” He ignores your pleas and shoves two bags filled with produce into your trembling hands. He speaks to the butcher and orders two pig hearts which are put into a bag and handed to Yoongi. You have half a mind to throw all his groceries to the floor and walk to the manor yourself.

When you’re both out of the shop and on the nearly empty streets, your legs grow weaker with each step and you nearly stumble if it weren’t for Yoongi’s arm wrapping around your hip. You involuntarily moan when he pulls you to his chest. The bags you were holding accidentally slip through your weak fingers. Luckily none of its contents spill out onto the street.

“What do you think you’re doing making such lewd noises in public?” He chides, clicking his tongue when you bury your face in his chest. You cling to the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him impossibly close.

“Please, Yoongi, I need…” You’re so breathless you can hardly finish your sentence, letting it taper off into a groan. You quiver in his arms. It’s so hard to gather yourself back together when his hands glide over your waist to steady you. The material of your sundress is so thin; it feels like he’s touching your bare skin. That’s exactly what you want, no, it’s what you need.

“Need what?” He asks, dipping his head low so only you can hear his words brush across your ear. “To be punished? You embarrassed yourself in front of our masters, ___. You need to be taught a lesson so this doesn’t happen again.”

You whimper in his arms, feeling your body react desperately to his words. You press yourself closer to him, weakly rubbing yourself against him to ease your tension.

“Look at yourself,” he mocks, “do you want to put on a show for these people?”

You pry your face out of his chest to glance at your surroundings. Although there are hardly any people wandering the town square, the few who are out glance at you curiously and try not to stare too long. When you meet eyes with one of them, they turn away flustered and walk off quickly. You bury your face back into Yoongi.

If stripping off all your clothes right now means this incessant throbbing between your legs will go away, you don’t mind putting on a show for everyone. You bet Yoongi wouldn't mind it either if it weren't for his desire to maintain a respectable reputation as the Ravenheart Manor’s butler. You wish he was some lowly demon, intent of satisfying his own selfish needs and indulging in your overflowing lust.

“I don’t care. I don’t care at all! Please I just need you to fuck me!” You cry, muffled by his coat. Maybe you didn’t mean to let the last part slip out, but it’s the truth. There’s no point in hiding your needs anymore. You feel like dying.

Your plea doesn’t fall of deaf ears. Yoongi can taste your lust again. It’s so powerful it practically stuffs itself down his throat, screaming to be devoured.

“I only take orders from my masters. You’re in no position to demand anything from me.”

He’s not enticing you to make a deal with him. Although savoring your tainted soul after ten years is an attractive trade, he plans to keep you as a maid at the manor for much longer. He just wants to torment you longer. He wants to know how long you can last writhing and crying out for him without breaking.

You let out a frustrated grunt, forcing both hands between your bodies and pushing yourself away. Yoongi lets you go without a fight and watches in amusement, a small smile on his face, when you clench the hem of your dress and press your shaking legs together. Behind your gritted teeth, your breathing has turned ragged.

“Whatever then,” you hiss, “I’ll just go back to the manor myself.”

“It’s late,” he says, running his eyes down your figure, drinking up your curves in that sundress. You look delectable like a gift waiting and willing to be devoured by him. “What kind of butler would I be if I had to explain to our masters that you became someone else’s dinner?”

There are plenty of beastly characters lurking around the town who’d catch a whiff of your scent and immediately pounce given the chance, no doubt. You’re like walking meat to them. The lust on top of that makes you irresistible. He can’t have anyone else claiming you before him.

“I think that’d make you a lousy butler.” You take a step back despite your challenging glare, wobbling slightly because of your weak legs. A burning feeling begins to crawl over your skin. This time it actually hurts. You hide your wince when your stomach begins to twist.

Yoongi smirks, “I can’t have that then.”

He gathers all the bags into one hand with a strength you envy and holds out his hand.

You shamelessly lunge for it, despite being upset with him two seconds ago—the aphrodisiac being stronger than your frustrations—and embrace any bit of contact he has to offer. You mewl into his hand that you’ve now nuzzled against your cheek. That burning is cooled when Yoongi’s hands glide over your skin.

“My kitten is so needy,” he teases. “Do you really need me that badly?”

Without even realizing, Yoongi guides you towards an alley and lets you both become drowned by darkness so any passerby will assume nothing of your mingled shadows intimately pressed together. You only notice the new change of scenery when your back is against the harsh brick wall and Yoongi presses a finger against your lips and the other hand busies itself under your dress, gliding up your sensitive stomach to fondle your breasts. The groceries left abandoned to the side.

“I need you to keep quiet, alright, kitten?” He whispers, pressing his own lips right against his finger. He’s just a breath away from kissing you and you had no idea you could want something this bad until now. You’re eager to kiss him, taste him.

You feel his hand slip beneath your bra and his thumb run over your pert nipples that have been starving for attention since the night began. He plays with your nipple between two fingers while his other hand leaves your lips and glides along the nape of your neck down to the zipper of your dress. Slowly, almost agonizingly, he drags the zipper down, letting the straps slide naturally down your arms and the rest of the dress falling to the ground.

Once the dress is completely off, it begins a catalyst of you letting out all your pent up arousal. You throw your arms around Yoongi’s neck and pull him down to your lips, letting your tongues meet in a frenzied, heated match.

You moan, savoring his honeyed taste while you pull him closer. “Want you,” you manage to slip past your entwined mouths.

Yoongi manages to unclasp your bra and it falls to the floor along with your discarded dress. The air nips at your bare upper half and you embrace the cold against your burning skin.

He pulls his lips away from yours to focus them down your chest, licking and sucking over your sensitive skin, enjoying the small noises you make. If you were back at the manor, he’d love to make you scream louder. So every layer of hell may hear your pleasure.

He blows on the areas he’s coated with his saliva, causing you to shiver.

“You don’t deserve anything after the show you put on at dinner tonight. Why should I reward bad behavior?”

“B-Because,” You say breathlessly, feeling almost delirious and lightheaded. How is it possible? He hasn’t even touched your soaked cunt once, yet it feels like you’re being touched all over at the same time.

“I’m going to need a good reason, kitten.” His hand moves faster than you can react, yanking off your panties, exposing all of you for him to devour. He tosses the article aside and cups your heat, teasing your slick folds with his middle finger. You mewl and shudder in his hands, clutching his bicep. “Tell me why I should fuck you right now.”

His thumb presses against your clit, harshly rubbing, making you quiver in his arms.

“I’m a good maid,” you whine, attempting to grind your hip against his hand.

“Not tonight,” he reminds, slipping one finger past your folds. You’re so wet it makes it easy for him.

You groan, screwing your eyes shut as you lean your head against the wall. “Before tonight. I did everything,” you whimper when he inserts a second finger easily and begins slowly dragging them in and out of you. It’s almost torturous. “Everything you asked of me. I think all of that makes up for my mistake tonight.”

His fingers move faster now, curling against your walls and drawing out your moans. “It’s true you’ve been very useful,” he considers. With you around, his work has been considerably easier, but he’d never admit that to you.

You clench around his fingers, feeling yourself approaching your well needed climax when he removes his fingers despite your whining protests.

“Please,” you groan, threading your fingers through his hair. Your legs are so weak, if it weren’t for his arm around you and the wall you’re leaning on, you’d collapse in a horny mess on the floor begging for some sort of release.

Your arousal glistens on his fingers as he raises them up to your mouth. The look in his eyes is absolutely devilish, almost black. You’re mesmerized by the void, willingly letting yourself get lost in it.

“Shh, don’t whine, kitten,” he teases his finger against your lips, smearing your arousal over the bottom, “a good maid cleans up after herself. Now open.”

You obediently part your lips to allow him to stuff his fingers into your mouth. Closing your lips around his fingers and sucking off your own arousal, your eyes flutter shut, swirling your tongue around his digits the same way you would with his cock.

“Are you ready for your reward?”

He unzips his pants, freeing his erection finally. You try not to react surprised when you finally get to see his unholy cock for the time. In the faint light, you can see that he has ridges around his cock like rings. You nearly faint.

“Oh god,” you groan, stomach fluttering with excitement. You throw one leg around his waist to bring him closer and to give him easier access to your pussy.

Yoongi grips your chin, dragging your face back up to his. “I want you saying my name only while I fuck you, kitten, got it?”

You bite your lip and nod. At this point you’d do anything for him to just plunge his cock into you. “Yes, Yoongi.”

Satisfied, Yoongi aligns his cock with your entrance, rubbing the length along your slit to coat it in your arousal. In one quick thrust, buries himself in your drenched pussy with a satisfied groan in your ear.

You have to cover your mouth to prevent the scream that would have escaped and alerted everyone walking by about your elicit activities.

His pace is anything but gentle as he hammers into your cunt and you take it all so eagerly. You choke back your moans behind your hand, feeling your eyes begin to water from the pleasure building up in your core. His hands find their place on your ass, controlling every movement of your hips against his.

It’s not possible to feel this good, is it? Whether it’s the power of the aphrodisiac or just Yoongi’s strong thrusts into your fluttering walls, you feel like you’re in paradise.

“You’re taking my cock so well, kitten,” Yoongi rasps, “what would our masters think of you like this, huh? Being fucked against the wall in an alley. I bet they’d like to watch you fall apart, but you’re mine now.”

“Mmph!” All you can do is whimper into your hands as a weak response. You can feel the ridges you’d seen on his cock every time they slide against your contracting walls.

“Your mind, body, and soul are all mine to devour.”

You helplessly cling to him, his shoulders, his hair, gripping the lapels of his coat as you pull him into a desperate kiss. Now both of your legs wrap around his waist, allowing his demonic strength to hold you up.

His hand wanders from your ass to rub your clit, edging you closer to your sweet release. You moan into his mouth and he swallows each of your cries greedily. His finger relentlessly attacks your clit, and it finally brings you to your orgasm.

Your walls clench around his cock as you come undone. He continues his rough assault on your cunt, not entirely done with you yet. This was supposed to be your punishment after all.

Your over stimulated pussy convulses around him as he ravages you. “Ah, Yoongi!” You cry helplessly, clinging to his shoulders.

“A couple more times ought to teach you,” he grunts.

You’re not sure how long you spent in the alley or how many orgasms Yoongi ended up giving you, but by the end of it, you had collapsed into Yoongi and the effects of the aphrodisiac long gone. He helped you get dressed with surprising ease and collected the groceries off the ground.

Yoongi surprises you by holding his hand out when you’re both out of the shadows. You look at him dumbly before slipping your hand in his. You’re a little glad he’s given you his hand because your legs are still wobbling.

“You can have the rest of the night off,” Yoongi says as you curl your body closer to him. Instead of holding his hand, you’ve managed to cling onto his arm, seeking warmth and comfort.

You're about to thank Yoongi for finally giving you a night off when he says, “but I expect you to be up earlier than usual to finish your chores.”

Bastard.

#bts #bts smut #yoongi smut #smutcentralnet #ksmutclub #yoongi fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts drabble #i don t like writing tags bleghhhhh #anyway

866 notes · View notes

gr0vndz3ro · 4 years

Text

More -pt.2

Bakugou x reader

Warnings: Angst, cursing, mentions/use of alcohol, almost harasment?, mention/use of drugs??, my heart just hurt ok, mentions of fwb

Word count:3,220

A/N: thank you for the responses on the first part, this is pretty soon after but I still felt really inspired for it. But ask and you shall receive. Here is part two for More, I hope yall like it (:

Read part one here: pt.1

You regretted saying goodbye.

From the moment you had walked away from him and left in the rain you were filled with regret. The thought of if he watched you leave haunting your thoughts. You doubted it. It had been just over 2 months since you ended things between the two of you, but the ache in your heart made it feel like so much longer. Maybe I should have just kept things the same, at least then I’d still have him. Thoughts like this constantly circling your mind as you laid in bed, engulfed in darkness, the only comfort you felt was from the warmth of your blanket.

You cursed yourself for feeling like this, for being this dumb. This whole situation was just so fucking clique. The fuck buddy falling in love for the other when everything had started on a strict no feelings, no strings attached agreement. Thinking that you were strong enough not to fall in love with the way that his fingers left goosebumps across your skin. That you could listen to his endless sweet nothing that he would whisper into your ear and not fall in love with the man behind each and every word. Thinking that every time you were thinking of him that maybe he was thinking of you too. Eventually you were ripped out of this hope with every day that had passed with out a response from him.

With every morning that you woke up to no new notifications from the only person you wanted to hear from, you felt your chest get heavier. You figured that the best way for you to get over him was to try talking to someone new, but you couldn’t help but want to leave every flirt on read. They weren’t him. But you needed some way to get him off your mind. So you drowned yourself in men. Not spending a moment alone, because you knew that as soon as you did he’d creep back in to your thoughts.

At first your friends brushed it off as a typical rebound, but after a while they started getting concerned. You constantly ditch them and cancel plans saying that your busy, just to find you in a bar or with some guy. They couldn’t keep track of you any more, you were all over the place. Your best friend Mina couldn’t stand to see you like this anymore. It broke her heart every night that she found you at some bar and managed to bring you home, hearing the way that you spilled your emotions to her in your drunken state. She knew she needed to do something.

You woke up in your bed, a throbbing pain in your head. On your nightstand there was a cup of water, a pain killer, and a note. You swallow the pill while picking up the note, “Hey I left you some food in your fridge, don't forget to eat. The gang all wants to go to the movies the weekend, and I hope you’ll join us. I love you hun-Mina” You small smile makes it’s way to your lips as you read the note. She was probably the reason you were at home. Pulling the sheets up the body, you let your head hit the pillow again, not wanting to deal with the real world yet. You closed your eyes, wanting nothing more than to fall back to sleep.

But begrudgingly you got up from your vibe, pulling the sheets away from you and walk over to the mirror. Geez I look like a mess. Was the only thought that came to your head as you looked at yourself. You walk over to your closet to pick out some clothes before making your way to the shower. You turn it on and let it heat up before stepping in. The feeling of the hot water hitting your back relaxes you but you can’t help but start to think.

Had all of this really been a smart idea. Should you have even started all of this with the angry blond? You had to have known that he couldn’t feel the same. After all those years in high school and he only came out with one best friend and only a handful that he tolerated. So what made you think you were different. What made you think that you could be the one to bring down his giant walls and make him bring someone into his life. That he would ever be able to see you more than just another extra in the way of his personal success. You shake your head in attempt to get those thoughts out of your head but you had ignored them for to long.

But a part of you wished that you could have been the one to get him to open up. Be able to see the softer side that you know he has, the one that he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world so well. To be able to have him come home from a particularly rough day at work and the first thing he does is hold you in his arms, kissing your forehead as he vents to you about everything that is on his mind. To be able to have him pull you close to him in the dead of the night like you had caught him the few times you woke up in the middle of the night. The way he squeezed onto you while you were dead asleep making uou think that maybe, just maybe he had felt the same for you. But as the water trails down your back and into the drain, and your standing alone in your bathroom shower, you are abruptly reminded of how alone you really are. That it was only you that felt that way and nothing more.

“Fuck this, I can’t keep feeling like this” You say to yourself as you finish washing. You put on your clothes and walk over to your vanity to start getting ready. “Lets go get rid of these pesky emotions what do you say.” You say to your reflection as you grab a brush and get ready for the night.

~time skip~

When Bakugou got off of work he wasn’t expecting the first thing he sees to be text from his old friend Mina. But what he was expecting even less then that was the contents of the texts. He understood why Mina was concerned but why did she think he would be the best person to call in this situation. None the less here he was, standing in some random club on a side of town he had never been too. If the drive wasn’t enough to tick him off, then the booming sound coming from the pack venue was. You just have to find her then you can go the fuck home, was the only thought that was pushing him through this crowd. Had it been anyone else, he would have probably just said fuck it and went home, but he felt he owed you this at least.

But his search was starting to prove useless as he had been in the club for almost 2 hours without even so much of a glimpse of you. He started heading to the door so that he could call Mina back and let her know he couldn’t find you until he spotted you at the bar. You were sitting there with some mans arm wrapped around your shoulder. Bakugou didn’t recognize him as any of your friends so he made his way over. When he had made it over to the duo he could tell for sure that it for sure wasn’t someone you knew. His eye brow raised at the view of the mans lips attaching to your neck, the two of your eyes meeting. He could see it in your eyes that something was off.

“Who’s this?” Bakugou lets out, annoyed that he even has to be asking this question. The said person in question paid no attention and continued his grouping.

“Thiis -hick- is my new boyfriend for toniight. So if you don't miiind, im -hick- buuussssyyyy” the words slurring for your mouth, barely able to put together a coherent sentence. Bakugou rolled his eyes at your state. He went to turn around and leave when his eyes caught sight of your drink, a small empty capsule beside it, and suspicious trail of bubbles leading from the bottom to the top of your drink and it clicked in his head.

“I think it’s time to get you home.” he reaches over to grab your hand but is quickly shut down by the man beside you. His arms caging around your frame acting as a barrier between the two of you. “Move out of my way extra.”

“Can’t you see that we’re kinda busy here pal. Why don’t you go fuck off and find something else to get your dick wet in alright, this ones mine for the night.” The man grabbing a hold of your face to pull you into a kiss, as you’re unable to fully process everything that he is saying. A crackling sound can be heard from behind you as the man that was attacking your mouth was ripped off of you. You gasp for a breath of air feeling previously suffocated by the stranger you had met a half hour ago.

“I’m going to be nice since she’s here and give you one warning. You are going to back the fuck up and leave her the hell alone before I blast you head off do you understand? Or you would you like to stay will I get someone to test out this drink to see what the fuck you put into it? Its your choice you fucking lowlife, so what is it going to be?” The man that was previously latched on to you was quickly fleeing to the door, trying to create as much distance as he could between you and the raging blond as he could. “That's what I thought, fucking coward” His attention now turning over to you as he notices you starting to lose your balance just sitting in the stool. You start leaning heavily and Bakugou is quick to catch you before you hit the floor. “shit, shit. Fuck. Okay we need to get you out of here” Is all that is able to leave his mouth as he picks you up bridal style and heading to the door.

“Nooooo I was just having -hick- fuuuun” you head dropping back as you watch all the people passing you by as he walks out the door. Bakugou pays no attention to your ramblings as he makes his way further out the club, the bouncer giving him a suspicious look before realizing the situation and clear the exit to allow for the two of you to leave quicker. He makes it to his car and manages to unlock it while still holding it and puts you into the passenger seat. As he goes to reach across your body to grab the seat belt. “Ooo a hug?” You reach up to try to wrap your arms around him but he moves away from your reach. He shuts your door before walking over to his side of the car and stepping in. A pout across your face as you speak up again, “Why no hug?” He looks over to meet your stare.

“Because I know that if you weren’t in the state you’re in right now you wouldn’t want to hug me, and un like that asshole I know some fucking manners.” His grip on the wheel tightening as he thinks back to the scumbag who had the fucking audacity to lay his hands on you and take advantage of you in this mess of a state. The drive back to his apartment was quite from then on, seeing as you passed out half way through his sentence. When the two of you had arrived he carried you up to his apartment. He walked you into your room before trying to decide on whether to change you out of your outrageous outfit. He didn’t want you to feel like he was taking advantage of you, but he couldn’t let you sleep in those uncomfortable clothes. After struggling with the tightness of the dress and the lack of help for your semi comatose bod, he finally managed to get you out of your dress and into one of his shirt, quickly swallowing you in its size. He very well could have put you in some of your own clothes that you had managed to leave here but he couldn’t stop himself from needing to see you wrapped up in his shirt. He layed you in his bed and pulled the blankets over your body before walking out of the room, making sure to look back a final time at you before exiting the room completely.

~the next morning~

You woke up with a pounding in your head, this time different from before. You look down at the blanket that covered your body before taking in your surroundings. There was no way. How were you back in his room. You quickly get out of bed, quickly regretting it by the feeling that takes over when you get to your feet. You felt like you were going to throw up, and not just because of the feeling in your head, but because of the all to familiar smell of caramel. Your eyes quickly meet the door what you hear a knock as you walk over to open it not wanting to meet the eyes of the person on the other side.

“You look like shit” You quickly go to slam the door shut, but your stopped by a hand in the frame. The door pushing open as you fail to keep it shut, Bakugou winning and taking a step inside of his room, you wanted nothing more than to lock yourself away forever. “What the fuck are you doing with yourself? It’s bad enough you don't talk to anyone but I have to come home to a call from Mina to come and rescue you? What the hell are you doing? You can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending that it’ll make all of your problems go away.” He looked down, taking you in. The way you stood infront of him making him want to do nothing more than to hug you but he couldn’t help himself from putting up his wall, trying to block you out

“I don't owe you an explanation Bakugou. Thank you for whatever you did but I’m going to be leaving now.” You go to try to slip past him to get to the front door, but soon are stopped by his grip on your wrist.

“Your friends are starting to get concerned. They’re worrying about you and honestly I’m starting to see why.” You couldn’t help but scoff at his words. He was concerned about you?? You could really tell by the way that he checked up on you, Your eyes just rolling at the thought. You didn’t have the energy to play these games with him. Pulling your arm out of his wrist you take a step toward him, anger starting to take over as you speak up.

“You’re concerned Bakugou? That’s just fucking rich. I could really feel your worry over the countless calls and messages you left, oh wait, my bad that wasn’t you, was it? That’s right because you never fucking called or texted or anything. But now all of a sudden you think you’re going to swoop in here and save the day, pull me out of the despair that apparently is my life and make everything better?”

“Y/N-” He goes to speak up but you cut him off.

“You know what I think I’m finally starting to understand you. Your the kind of person who loves toying with others emotions. You give them messages and make them feel like you care with sweet words, but leave in the middle of the night making them feel all alone. You make them grow used to your constant attention and texts and then when they pour their heart to you, you fall off the face of the earth. You choose to have friends with benefits because you are so fucking afraid of commitment it hurts. Why is it so impossible for you to let someone care about you?!” Your finger are prodding his chest roughly as your voice starts breaking at the raw emotion pouring out of you.

“Would you just listen to me for a second?” His hand grabbing your wrist again to stop your tiny attacks on his chest.

“What can you say that would possibly make any of this better Bakugou?”

“You’re right okay.” You were half tempted to pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. The Bakugou Katsuki admitting you were right? You never thought you’d live to see the day. But you were taken out of your thoughts as he continued. “You’re right. I am scared of commitment. But it’s not because I’m afraid of someone leaving me or people caring about me. It’s because I’m scared I’m never going to live up to your expectations. That I’m never fucking going to be good enough for someone like you. So yeah I thought that being friends with benefits would just be easier. But -fuck- being around you, it was so fucking hard not to fall in love with you. With all the little shit that you do, constantly making me think about you. I’ll admit that I was a coward. Letting you leave that day, when I wanted nothing more than to run after you and make you come back. To tell you exactly how I felt about you. But I let you go, so I didn’t feel like I deserved a second chance. So I’m sorry that I never texted you okay? But you deserved more than that.”

You had never felt so much emotion pour out of him before, the wall he had built crumbling infront of you. And that’s when his words hit you.

“You love me?” Your voice soft as you look up, looking into his eyes, hoping that what you heard hadn’t been a mistake. He stepped forward, his hand coming up to meet the side of your face. You melt into his touch, almost forgetting how warm it was. He held your face in his hands as a look you had never seen crossed his face.

“Did it take you that long to realize?” Your eyes start to tear up as you find yourself looking at his lips, not believing what you had heard. You close you eyes, as he leans down, his lips meeting yours in a soft but passionate kiss. Emotion poured out of both of you as your lips moved in perfect sync.

You knew that you both had a lot you need to talk through, but for the first time in months the ache in your heart was gone. You were once again wrapped up in his arms and for the moment that's all that mattered. And there wasn’t anything you craved more.

821 notes · View notes

jae-daddy · 3 years

Text

THE BLESSED

jaebum and jinyoung au fantasy!au royalty!au

your blessed highness played by park jinyoung

pair: jinyoung x jaebum x reader genre: fantasy, royalty, romance, mature a/n: I haven’t posted anything in a while and this isn’t duff or red rose lol, but I thought why not just share it with y’all. its like a super duper loosely not thought out at all, like I was bored so wrote this kinda of story. it was like the first chapter of a book I would like to write, but I think my writing isn’t on that level yet, but -- okay - alright. hope y’all enjoy it. not edited.<3

ps: the Blessed is played by Park Jinyoung! Blessed is bless-sed the whole story, not blessed <3 don't steal this plz, y’all.

A small yellow butterfly appeared in front of you. You got ready to flinch and step away in fear, but you weren’t scared. It felt as if it was looking at you, and suddenly you could see it’s eyes.

It blinked at you, flying in closer, making you crossed eyed before flying back away from you. It flew a few steps away and stopped, turning back, almost telling you to follow.

You walked in its direction and it continued, going slow at first and then slowly speeding up. You chased after it, feeling a bubble of laughter leave your chest as you asked it slow down. It teased for a few more seconds, before slowing down and then coming to a stop completely.

You watched its beautiful golden wings flutter, staying a float in the winter wind. It looked out of place with all the snow blanketing the mountains behind. You took in the scene, the haunted looking house further up the path of the fence in front of you. The melting wooden fence wasn’t a good deterrence to keep out anyone or anything, but the falling apart house matched the aesthetic and gave a clear warning not to enter.

“Why here?” You softly asked the butterfly. It kept fluttering, keeping afloat. It’s big eyes watching you expectantly.

And then you heard it.

And you remembered you had been here before.

The scream tore through the silence, once again.

It was familiar.

And then again.

The voice cut through your skin, crawling into your flesh. You began walking towards it; past the rotting fence and towards the cement stairs of the ageing house.

Your hand reached out, about to push the hanging door open, when it all disappeared.

It was all dark, there was nothing.

And then a voice; his voice.

“Y/n.” It whispered.

You breathed a name you didn’t know as you searched for him in the chocking darkness.

“Jaebum.”

You woke up to the sound of your aunt screaming downstairs. Your night dress clinging to your body, as your skin glistened with sweat.

You closed your eyes, sighing as you sunk back into your bed.

It was an odd dream to have. You knew that, but you couldn’t really tell anyone about it. You had tried telling your little sister once, and she looked at you as if you were mad.

She found having dreams in itself strange. She said she only dreamed sometimes, and they were simple. Dreams about her in a meadow, reading. Dreams about her missing the latest ribbon price-downs at Diana’s. Dreams that reflected her normal every day life.

Nothing of this sort; nothing strange or horrible like hearing a strange man’s screams of agony.

Never nothing out of the ordinary, just normal every day dreams.

But you, you had the strange dream again.

Once again, you were back at that little old building. The wood damp, rotting, almost falling apart. The snow covering it and the land around it as far as your eyes could see. And that strange little butterfly.

But this time you found something new. You had gotten something new, a name.

You opened your eyes, staring at the planks of wood. Your eyes tracing the vines of flowers your sister had painted on to them. The purple, pink and yellow blooming delicately across the slanting ceiling. Your lips pursed as a nervous feeling pricked your heart.

“Wake up and help me, will ya?” Your aunt’s loud voice shouted through the floor beneath you. You closed your eyes once again, but this time in frustration.

You had just woken up and she had already started. “Your mother, Mother bless her soul, if she had been alive she would be disappointed to see such a lazy bird as her dingy. I’ll tell ya that, y/n.”

You groaned as you sat up in your bed. You stared blankly at the wall as you wrapped your hair into a bun before securing it with a clip. You walked towards the bath, contemplating if you should clean yourself now or after doing your chores.

“The pigs are changing colour from living in all that filth, girl,” your aunty spoke loudly. You sighed, turning around and walking towards your bed. You picked the dress from last night, putting it on before walking to the basin.

You watched yourself in the mirror as you brushed your teeth with the herbal paste your little sister had whipped up. You weren’t really looking at yourself though. You were watching your eyes instead, and then trying to see any difference between the girl in the mirror and yourself.

Lilith, your little sister, always called you mad, “If anyone knew you as well as I do sis, you’d be burned on a stake yesterday.”

You spat out the paste, rinsed your mouth and looked at yourself once again.

You bit your lip as you saw your eyes glisten with curiosity.

It was foreign, for sure. No one in this town had that name, no one’s name was even close to sounding like it.

You froze, your chest heaving as a new sort of excitement rushed through you. You held your gaze, a terrified feeling in your gut, but a smile on your lips as you tasted the name on your tongue, “Jaebum.”

You gasped.

You gasped at how that simple word made you feel. You felt a sadness rip through your heart and tears come to your eyes. You felt a sort of mourning ripple through you from that name. Your tongue savouring the taste of it as if it missed saying it already.

“Jaebum,” you breathed once again. A tear fell from your eye, but you were smiling so brightly you were sure if someone were to see you’d be taken to the Giver this instant. But you couldn't find it in yourself to worry about that, not when such happiness and sadness sore through your body at once.

You bit your lip, scared to say it again. You wiped the tear from your chin, as you stared at yourself. It didn’t look like you.

The girl in the mirror didn’t look you. You leaned in, so did she. Her actions matching yours, but it wasn’t you. Your burrows furrowed together, your face less than an inch away from the reflection.

“Keep on admiring ya’self all day then doll,” your aunt walked in, banging the door open as she stood outside your room. She was a fierce thing for a woman her size. Even when you towered well over her, she still intimidated you as she stood there with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, “Don’t ya worry. Ya little sis and I will get it all done and sorted. You rest and spend the day in front of the mirror.”

“Aunt,” you sighed, already tired. You walked towards her, your shoulders tightening as you rolled your eyes. “I was just getting ready-”

“Oh, don’t have me disturbing ya then,” she cut you off, as she began walking away. “I’ll just do everything. What is the point of having young children in this house when they can be of no help. I’m better of living alone, at least then I only work and feed myself.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help,” you groaned loudly. You knew she could hear you by the scoff that left her, before she mumbled something about the changing the water for the pigs. “I’ll do it. I’m coming.”

You were almost out the door when you turned one last time.

She was standing there, looking back at you too; the girl in the mirror.

“Did you hear?” Lilith walked into the barn as you shovelled a heap of pig waste into the wheelbarrow. You were cursing yourself for wearing yesterday’s dress. A pant and shirt would’ve been much suited, especially in this heat.

You rose an eyebrow at your little sister in question. She shrugged with a knowing smile as she sat on the wooden frame of the fence surrounding the pen.

You tried not to think about how much she looked like your mother, but failed once again. You didn’t have many memories of her, she passed away when you were three, during Lilith’s birth. But the lack of memory was made up by the photos and paintings your aunt had saved off her.

She would never let you forget your mother.

There was a photo of your mother in your aunt’s treasured box. You were reminded of it suddenly as you saw your sister perched on the ledge, smiling at you secretively. She looked just like her in the moment, only a few years younger.

“Oh, come on. Spit it out already Lily, or else the suspense will kill me before the heat does.” You groaned as you lifted another heap into the wheelbarrow, but the pile was not lessening a bit. “This stupid dress is suffocating me, and seems like all these pigs do is just shit all day.”

“That is all they do,” she replied mocking. Her dimples deepened as you shot her an annoyed look.

“If you’re just here to be a nuisance, leave. I’m already upset enough.”

“Always such a lemon,” she clicked her tongue, before she let out a dreamy sigh. “Lucas just told me the Hallow has a new master.”

You looked up at her, with raised brows. “Is Lucas a trusted informant?”

“He is if his father is helping with the opening ball next Sunday,” she smiled back.

“O’Mother, has aunt got wind of this?” You bit your lip praying she hadn’t. Your aunt, like every other older women who has nothing better to do is determined to have you married and settled.

Just then, your heard the hooves of the carriage splatter against the muddy path. Your aunt smiled almost viciously as she spotted you, “Off to steal ya the most divine suit, y/n.”

Before you could complain, she was off.

You gave your sister a tired look, which she returned with a humoured smile.

“She’s only looking out for ya,” she told you, taking the flower from her book and putting it behind her ear.

You wanted to ask her if that was from Lucas but you stopped yourself, and instead sighed, “I don’t need looking out for. I don’t need to get married. I just need to be left alone.”

“You can’t be alone forever.”

“I won't,” you pouted as you looked at her, “I'll always have ya.”

“I’ll go away and do my own thing one day.”

“Will you get married?”

“I plan to.”

“Have child?”

“Hopefully.”

“Perfect, I’ll be their Governess and Aunt.” You gave her a smug smile.

“I would have to decline, sis,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “I want children not animals.”

“Ya!”

Lilith only laughed, and you rolled your eyes before you got back to shovelling.

“So the Giver finally found someone?” She said after a moment, her voice quiet. You peeked up at her, your face falling from the serious look on her face.

“I’m afraid so,” you gave a joyless smile before continuing, “but it’s got nothing to do with us, Lily. We’re normal people, just keep ya head down and we’ll be fine.”

“Lucas told me Maem also got a Blessed and now they have nothing to eat, and their winters are colder than the Cave,” Lilith insisted, her voice filled with conviction. You kept your eyes low as you empty one more load.

You had heard of the rumours too. But you knew they were true.

You had seen members of the Maem Court in the market over the past few months. Each of them looked tattered as if they had gone through hell. It was a knowledge passed down through centuries; the pain, poverty and torment that came with a Blessed.

“This is all because of that damned Zein,” Lilith spat with anger that looked displaced on a girl like her. “If only she didn’t push for Vennesse to be registered.”

“It’s Nightfall now, Lil,” you reminded her, softly.

“Precisely!” She exclaimed, getting up from the bench and marching along the soil. “What sort of a horrendous name is that? It makes us all sound like them.”

“Just ignore it, Lilith.” You sighed, putting down the tool and reaching for her. “We don’t need to get caught up in this. All that has nothing to do with you, or me, or us. We don’t need to do anything.”

She pouted about to fight back, but you placed a gentle hand on her cheeks.

You saw the embers of the fire inside those bright eyes, and it scared you.

It frightened you.

You sent a silent prayer to the Mother and wished those embers blew out before they got any brighter. You gave her a smile, your eyes desperate, “We are okay like this. This is all we need to survive.”

“I’m afraid I cannot simply survive if the world outside is burning into the ground,” her gaze held strong as she looked at you.

“Lilith,” was all you could breath as you hugged her tight.

You looked up at the sky, where the powerful beings used to live. You tried searching for them, but there was no sign of them. But still, you closed your eyes and prayed, you prayed that no harm should ever come to your Lilith. If something was to happen, you prayed it all upon yourself.

The week flew by in a blink of an eye. You hadn't felt the days as they passed by. It all got lost in the endless cycle of work and trying to get the orders ready for the ball.

You couldn’t truly believe a ball would have brought this amount of money into the house. You had thought the people of Darkfall would’ve resented and run away from the Blessed and his ball, but it was quite the opposite.

It felt as if new life had been breathed into the court. Zein was utmost proud of herself as she strutted around the houses, checking in. When she stopped over at your aunt’s place, she looked at your aunt expectantly.

Your aunt didn’t realise it at first, but when the silence grew too long during the payment, she had realised. Zein expected the whole town to be grateful to her and kiss her feet for bringing about this change. She wanted to be treated like our saviour, and how can you charge the court’s saviour for her pig orders.

The only reminder of the ball was the countdown till the orders were due. And you kept on working until the last order, the early morning of the Sunday was picked up. Once all was finished, once the rush had died down, you were ready to have a long bath before getting into your bed and not coming out until the sun came up again.

You walked out of the barn and into the house with heavy steps, ready to march up the stairs and strip when two tiny arms attached to a tiny lady blocked your pathway.

“And where are ya off too?” Your aunt lifted a brow, quizzically. She tilted her head towards her room, where you could hear Lilith already walking around. You turned to your aunt, pouting. She just shook her head sternly, her wild curls slapping her face, “Look at the state of ya, y/n. You need attention if any suitable male is to look towards ya.”

“I think I can live without a suitable male looking towards me,” you gave her a tight smile. She peered up at you, her face turning red as she grabbed your elbow and you pulled you towards her room. “Aunt, I assure you, another beautiful fresh dress won’t change anything. Every male within our proximity is horrid.”

She moved behind you, unzipping your dress, and pushing you towards the bath, “All luck to ya then. Whispers say there are men coming from far away to meet the new Blessed.”

Before you could complain, she was already scrubbing you down. You scowled at her, telling her you’re not a child anymore. She just hit the back of your head and told you stop acting like one then.

Lilith dried your hair, steaming it with perfume. You gave in eventually, putting on lipstain and powder on your cheeks and eyelids. You turned to Lilith who looked at you approvingly.

Your aunt sighed happily in approval, before hobbling off and bringing in two long bags with the dresses. She opened one first, a beautiful white gown with soft coloured flowers along the bottom. She handed it to Lilith who looked at it in awe.

“This is beautiful, aunt,” she breathed, hugging the older lady before kissing her cheek. “Ya truly done amazing.”

“It’s nothing doll,” she smiled at your sister, watching her twirl around the room. “It was on price-downed, and I managed to steal it since I went so early. Ya pretty thing will make it look better anyway.”

“Thank you,” she sang, happily twirling with the dress on top of her.

“Now, ya turn,” your aunt looked at you with a grimace. “I couldn’t find nothing worth stealing for ya. You end up hating it no matter, just a waste of precious coins.”

“But you obviously got something for me?” You pointed to the dark bag she laid on the bed.

“I didn’t steal it, I found it.” She turned back and looked at you. Lilith walked towards the bed, clinging onto the bed post as she peered at the bag. You walked up towards the bed, as your aunt began unzipping it. “It was ya mother’s. Zeenat was a sight in the dress.”

She unveiled the dress and the first thing that came to your mind was the night. The dress was made of the darkest blue you had ever seen; so dark it almost looked black at first sight. You touched the dress, the softness of the dress like feathers against your skin.

You turned to your aunt, her eyes glistening with tears as yours did, “This is...”

She just nodded, understanding.

“Stop the sobbing. ya old ladies,” Lilith wiped her eyes before she jumped into action. “It’s almost evening, I want to get there before the ball ends.”

You had never seen the Hollow from this close. It was always from a distant, it had always been a small building at the top of the hill a good distance away from the rest of the town. But you were only realising how truly enormous it was.

Your old house wasn’t even half the size of this. Only the first level of the mansion was dwarfing your house already.

The Hollow was dark, brooding and enchanting. It was exquisite and intriguing in a way that made your heart beat. As if the golden walls, paintings and delicate designs all had secrets, all were hiding something sinister and you were a good look away from finding out and being trapped in the place forever.

You had seen a crowd before, but you realised you had never truly known what a crowd was. The coming together of the twenty big families of the town was not a crowd.

A crowd was this.

Endless streams of horses and carriages lining up the ride up to the Hollow. The halls, the waiting rooms, the ball room, not a single space in the open areas was empty. Every room had people, and noise, so much noise.

You had lost your aunt after her introduced you to the fifth male within an hour of entry. Lilith had disappeared instantly as soon as you arrived. She had spotted Lucas waiting for her by the door, and since then they had been dancing and chatting all night long.

You caught the stares of your aunt and Lucas’ mother towards the pair. They both seemed a bit taken back, but none objected. Both pleased and turned away, focusing on the daughter they had bought to show today.

“Yes, Mister,” you gave the man next to you a tight smile, trying to be polite and not poke your eyes out with a fork. “It is interesting.”

He was talking about the way the orchestra was set.

You were enjoying the music, you thought it was tasteful, beautiful and uplifting. But you had never thought hard about how an orchestra was set out. You didn’t think it made a difference, but it did.

Apparently, it made the whole performance sound much better.

“We should do this at every function in Venesse,” he commented as he took a sip of his dark coloured drink.

“Nightfall,” you corrected him. He paused as he turned towards you, his eyes widening in question. You gulped as you said, “It’s Nightfall now, Mister.”

He held your gaze for a few moments before nodding, “Right.”

You nodded, looking off into the distance at the crowd trying to find a familiar face.

“I’ve found someone I know,” he turned towards you giving you a smile. He continued, his voice no longer interested, his body already walking away. He bowed slightly, “I’ll find you again.”

“Of course,” you replied, not bowing. He stared at you, taken aback once again before walking away. You sighed, finding a wall and leaning against it.

You sipped on the strange bubbly drink being served around the room. You liked it, it was refreshing.

You finished the whole glass in one big gulp. You sighed, annoyed, as you looked around for a server. You finally spotted one and began making your way towards them.

You had almost reached them when a hand gripped your elbow making you turn around. Her sharp eyes looked at you with a forced smile, “Where have you been, dear niece?”

You smiled at her words and tone, and her grip only tightened in return. You held up the empty glass, “I was just going to get another-”

She snatched the glass of you, and placed it on the server’s plate as it passed, “How many of those have you had?”

“Around ten,” you shrugged. You drank two with every guy your aunt had made you talk to.

“Well, stop it, and follow me.” She began leading you up to the front of the room. As you walked behind her, her grip disappeared, but you continued to follow. The closer you got to the front, the more the people changed.

There wasn't noise this far up the hall. People talked quietly, holding conversations, laughing softly. You could hear the music, the sweet richness of the bass strings vibrated here. People also looked older up here.

Your eyes met a few on the way as you followed your aunt, and they looked away as if they hadn’t seen you in the first place. You frowned.

Where was your aunt taking you?

She stopped suddenly making you bump into her slightly. You looked down at her, as she peered back up at you in anger. She turned to the front, her face calm and polite.

“Your Blessed Highness,” she bowed, you followed her bowing. “It is an honour to make your grace.”

She stood, and you followed her straightening. But kept your eyes down.

“Lady Hera,” a smooth voice greeted her. You heard your aunt gasp in surprise, before bowing her head slightly.

“Your Blessed Highness,” she breathed, breathless.

“Thank you for making an appearance,” the voice spoke again. His voice smooth and velvety. It was deep, graceful and attractive. It was familiar. “I hope to one day be able to purchase an offering from your farm.”

“Anytime, Your Blessed Highness,” she replied, graciously. “We are at your disposal.”

“You are too kind,” he only chuckled.

You knew that voice.

“Forgive my forwardness, but are you not to dance tonight?”

You glared at your aunt, your eyes still cast low.

He chuckled once again, graceful and controlled, “The night is still young, Lady Hera. Would you do me the honour if I decide too?”

You pursed your lips hiding the chuckle as you saw your aunt’s knees weaken.

“Your Blessed Highness,” she gasped, and you could imagine a hand on her your chest in surprise.

“I am too old. My bones ache from walking simply. But in my stead,” you saw her body turn as she held out a hand for you. You looked up to her startled. You would have glared if this was home, but you decided not to in front of the Blessed. “I present my oldest niece, Lady y/n.”

You placed your hand in hers, and let her guide you to the front. You swallowed nervously as you lifted your gaze. Your breath got caught in your throat as you saw the most handsome male sit in front of you in his throne.

His dark eyes looked at you taking you in. The corners of his rosy lips lifting into a smirk as he tilted his head slightly to the side, studying you.

“Lady Y/n,” he tested your name on his tongue. His voice soft and intimate. You felt your cheeks get hot as his eyes remained on you. He stared at you for a long moment before turning to your aunt, “A true beauty, right after you.”

You bowed once again at the compliment, getting ready to walk away.

“Save me a dance, my lady,” he stopped you, his gaze burning you once more. You bowed again, daring to look up once more. You look away instantly as your eyes meet his dark ones.

“Your Blessed Highness,” you nod, before walking away. Your aunt follows, her hand squeezing yours tightly as you both rush away.

65 notes · View notes

sp00kworm · 4 years

Text

Black Oak

Pairing: Headless Horseman (Alcott Glyn) x Gender Neutral Reader

---

A great warrior stood on top of the hill, overlooking the town he had ridden out to protect to his right and the small army amassed to the left. It was an impenetrable force, a thousand strong. A battalion sent to raze his home. The horse underneath him shuddered and swayed, fighting left and right, twitching from hoof to hoof with the burning need to run. He looked back at the village as the children and women streamed up the hill to the manor, to hide away from the fires and death that would await below.

“Sir, we have the boulders ready.” A nervous boy spoke at his side, “You just ‘ave to lure ‘em up this here hill.” The boy pulled his small cap lower and looked at the King’s men, their swords shining at their hips and their lances poised.

“Good.” The man hefted himself around in the saddle to grab his great sword, the cavalry sabre curved for slicing at necks. He admired the steel before sliding it into its sheath and holding his hand out for his lance. There was no time to don heavy armour, so he sat, atop the great black stallion, wrapped in his tailcoats and a simple breastplate. His gauntlets were hastily fastened and his helmet missing. He was ill-prepared to face such men, “Wait for my mark, Matthew.” He whispered as he hefted the lance, the metal plating on his hand squeaking.

“There’s too many…” Matthew whispered as the horse side stepped to and from, “This is suicide, Alcott.” He gripped the horseman’s boot, “She won’t survive if you die today! For God’s sake, its your wedding day!”

Alcott snapped his heel, his black beast whirring to bump the boy out of his path. With fury in his black eyes, he leaned over to throw the boy his wedding ring, “Then give it to her! Sell it for all I care. It is better for me to die here than to see her and my home slaughtered!”

Matthew caught the ring with a cry, but the horse turned again and threw him to the floor. The thunder of iron cast hooves made him peer down the hill as a stream of black hair and horse disappeared towards the battalion, lance lowered. Matthew averted his eyes as the black beast leaped into the group of soldiers, braying and kicking. He watched four men spew blood, skewered on the end of the lance, before Alcott drew his sabre and continued onwards through the bodies, trampling men underfoot as he howled bloody murder. Matthew failed to watch as heads started to fly.

It wasn’t long before Alcott was rushing back, his horse cut and shivering, hot blood steaming from them both as they thundered back up the hill.

“Matthew! Now!” Alcott cried as he wheeled his horse through the trap. The men following him paused as boulders crashed from the hill above before they rushed into unstoppable speeds. The earth shook as the rocks crashed into the bodies, flattening soldiers, spraying blood from the stone as they rushed onwards towards the last remaining men. Alcott grinned from the hill.

“Run! Back to the manor!” He howled at the villagers. They rushed, leaving the blood-soaked warrior on top of the hill. The horseman reared his great horse and rushed back down the hill to catch the stragglers. Only young Matthew watched as Alcott was sent flying from his horse. The boy gasped from the long grass as the King’s men parted, revealing a witch among them. She raised her hands in fury before she grasped the horse in a swift movement, and sent the beast crashing to the floor, legs broken underneath its own monstrous weight by an invisible force.

Alcott spat from the dirt as he gripped at his shoulder, bleeding over the ground. A great chunk of old tree branch protruded from his shoulder. He grabbed at the branch but howled in agony as the witch curled her fingers once more and dragged him through the short, trampled grass.

“Curse you! Vile witch!” He screamed as she made him eat the dirt in front of her feet, “I knew you were behind this! You have corrupted the King’s mind!” He spat the dirt on her feet before blood spewed from his mouth.

“The King is mine, little horseman, and so is your town.” Her long fingers turned his head, showing him the carnage that had begun to ensue, “Your own men have turned against you…”

Alcott coughed as the branch weaselled into his lung, puncturing it.

“This is not death for you, my sweet horseman.” She promised as he peered up into her green eyes. A maiden of the forest. A witch of nature turned against them all, “You will hang, just like all the other traitors, and then they will take your head.”

Alcott was dragged into town with the corpse of his own horse, the two attached to the back of a grain cart, muddy and battered from the journey to the bottom of the great manor. He looked up through his matted, curly black hair and tried not to cry as the villagers parted. His wife. He dared not look at her as the witch pressed her hand to the old oak and addressed the town.

“Your horseman hangs, for crimes against the crown. You will swear fealty to your lord, or die, like him.” She stepped aside as the men coiled rope and attached it over the tree branch. The oak tree groaned as they pushed Alcott’s head through the noose. He looked at the great black horse and whispered his name.

“Mallor.” His horse did not reply, eyes lifeless and blood dripping from his nose. Alcott peered up and saw her, he hung his head as they dragged him to his feet. He felt anger burn in his gut and chest as he was stood before the home he had protected, and been betrayed by, “I swear, upon the tree I hang from, that I will be back. I will take what you all took from me. A payment of blood will be wrought for this betrayal!” He howled, spit and blood dripping from his lips before they hoisted him high into the tree. Alcott was silent as his face turned red and he gasped for air. His lips tingled and turned blue as the witch turned to the tree. Alcott’s blood dripped from the wood lodged in his shoulder and she watched as the bottom of the oak grew black with rot.

“Then let you haunt your beloved town, horseman. Take their heads as payment for what will be taken from you.” She hissed with delight as his body went still, swaying in the branches with hunting creeks, the background a picture of fire and snapping wood.

They eventually lowered Alcott’s body to the floor, his face pale and blue with suffocation. The witch watched with delight as they swung the axe and parted the man’s head from his body. Alcott’s hair rushed into the air as his pale face was dropped before his wife. Lace covered hand reached from the crowd as his new bridge cupped his face in her hands. The men watched as blood painted her lace wedding dress, dripping down her arms and onto her legs as she turned back towards the crowd. It was silent. She leaned her head forwards to kiss his dead lips and smoothed his waves of black hair back before she howled. A great, ringing scream of agony tore from her throat as she clutched her husband’s head to her breast. Blood drenched the bodice of her gown as she walked back towards the manor, ignoring the burning village and the soldiers as they tried to take back his head.

They buried the horseman in the graveyard, a lonesome grave with no headstone. The villagers said that every year, on the day of his death, his young bride could be heard screaming from the church as she clutched his rotting head in agony. When the woman passed, the screams still resonated every year, on the date of the man’s death. The howling stopped only fifty years later, when a new resident took hold of the manor house on top of the hill and began to renovate and live on the property. No one ever spoke of the rotten, black oak tree, but still, it remained, looking over the town, facing the graveyard where the legend died.

It was cold. The small town of Peswick was far from civilization, beyond the normal hills and nestled in a valley, sheltered from the wind but not from the harshness of the bitter winter. There wasn’t any snow thankfully, but the cold October air was far from kind to you. You shivered as you closed the car door. The main road was small but around you sat a village, not big enough to be named a town, but with enough people for a town hall to be important. It was a fairy tale town. You laughed as you peered up at the old manor house. It was large, yet old fashioned, standing only because of the strength in its design. Outdated brick colours and a great amount of old looking timber. It made you It made you feel even colder as you just knew the boiler would be barely able to keep the place warm. It was a long drive to the small town and you stretched out in exhaustion, your back popping pleasantly.

“Well…This is home.” You whispered as you pulled the key out of the bubble mailer from the solicitor. Your few possessions looked measly, strapped in the back of your car and on top of it. The rest would arrive with the moving van. A few pieces of furniture, your mattress and other things. The key was new enough, and you took a deep breath as you gripped your suitcase and started up the cobbled path to the front door.

A cold shiver caught you as you passed through the black iron gate. You peered to the left and frowned at the gnarled, rotten oak tree, looming over the house with branched the colour of charcoal. Black. Dead. You continued up the path, looking back at the tree as you reached the steps to the porch and the new, fortified front door. You unlocked the door and peered inside. It was shady inside, dim with no sound. Dust swirled in the beam of light and you stepped inside, wiping your feet on the mat as you reached for the light switch and blinked. The yellow bulb blinked on and revealed a large entryway with a spiralling staircase up onto the second floor of the house. It wasn’t quite large enough to be a huge manor home, but there were five rooms on the ground floor and five large bedrooms with two en suites. It was a home big enough for a huge family. You flapped away the dust from your face as you stepped inside, to the bottom of the wooden staircase. It looked slippery. You stood your case up at the base and admired the walls, blue paper and dark wood panelling. Old world. It was like a home from a classical novel. You turned around in wonder, abandoning your case by the stairs as you opened the envelope again and pulled free the estate summary, walking and reading it as you looked around the estate. Once again, you found yourself looking through the new, double glazing, out at the tree that loomed over the side of the house, tall and decrepit.

“Why are you still in the ground?” You wondered as you looked through the glass. A woosh of gas made you jump. The heating had clicked on, and the old pipes creaked with the rush of hot water. The boiler gurgled in the large cupboard beneath the stairs, chugging away with water. It was an old system, but you were thankful for the functional heating system in the winter months. You shuddered and placed your hands near the old radiator as the beginnings of the sunset started. The sky was beginning to darken with the purple and orange curling into existence. The last of the light shone through the branches of the tree and you peered closer at the rotten rope clinging to the middle of one branch. Another, cold shudder made your spine curl and you shook your head, rushing back to collect your suitcase and place it upstairs. You finished that task and headed back out to your car parked at the end of the drive. Just as you unlocked the car a voice startled you.

“Are you the new geezer in the house?” A child asked from behind you.

With a gasp, you jumped, your head colliding with the roof of your car before you hissed and clutched at the forming lump on the back of your cranium.

“What?” You asked through the pain, teeth gritted as you tried to ease the pain.

“I asked if you were the idiot that bought old Miss Finch’s house?” The child asked.

“That’s a rude way of putting it.” You scowled at the little boy. He was small, and wrapped up in a thick parka coat, his mittens stitched into the cuffs of his coat. He looked up and scowled back at you with muddy brown eyes.

“Its haunted. Cursed, or so my Ma says…” He looked past you at the black tree, “Miss Finch died by that tree, ya know. When she died the screaming started again. The ghost came back to the cemetery.” He whispered conspiratorially, leaning in close to you, “But ever since its been sold, nowt. Silent. I can get to sleep now, so thanks.” He turned and you grabbed him by his arm before he could run away.

“What’s your name?” You asked the peculiar boy.

Muddy eyes glared at you again, “Matthew Shaw. Now lemme go! Ma will be…”

“Matthew!? You better get back in here and explain why your Pa is covered in sand, young man!” Matthew’s mother appeared on the drive; her feet planted firmly at the edge. She glanced at you but was quick to snatch her son’s hand, “I’m sorry for my son.” She muttered before she dragged her son away from you.

The idea of a curse made you wonder what had happened to the small town. Obviously, it was an isolated population so local myth and folk lore was often taken literally, but a curse? You doubted it. Still, you wondered what the story was. Unpacking was suddenly a lot less interesting than seeing the town and finding out about the legend they seemed to believe. You plonked the box of kitchen items into the kitchen and pushed at the cooker’s hobs, lighting a few of them before you made sure the electrics were working as well. It was curious that everything was so pristine and in such good working order for your late, distantly related aunt. Even more curious was why none of your other relatives would take the house. You opened the box and carefully placed your dishes into the empty cupboards. You opened the cupboard to the right of the cooker and smiled at the sight of an old, stainless steel teapot. It was a little grimy. You plucked it from the shelf and rubbed the top before turning it around and frowning at the crest emblazoned into the side. A great winged bird with two heads peered back at you, the top of the shield crest decorated with a knight’s helm and ribbons. The name at the bottom was faded but legible. Glyn. Your aunt wasn’t named Glyn.

“Maybe it’s a collector’s piece.” You mussed as you peered inside and smiled at the tea stains. It had been well used once upon a time.

Curious, you opened the rest of the cupboards. They were all empty in the kitchen. With a smile, like a small child, you rushed back into the other rooms and started pilfering through the cupboards. Most were cleared out and dusty. You huffed as you rushed into the lounge area and grinned at the great welsh dresser left in the far corner, by the fireplace. It was oak and old, made to last. You opened the glass and looked upwards. There was a heavy ornate box sat on the top shelf, covered by a small cloth. You looked at the ornate metal feet and gently eased it from its place in the dresser. The cloth fell away onto the floor to reveal a small chest about the size of your lower torso, deep enough to sit large perfume bottles in. It was old metal, shined with a metal cleaner many years ago. The lock was a simple key in the front. You gave the lid a tug and huffed. It was locked. Of course. With a frown, you placed the chest on the coffee table and turned back to your boxes in the hallway. The mysterious box would have to wait for you to be finished with your chores.

Night fell rapidly in the valley. It seemed only a minute since you looked at the sunset, and now the entire room was bathed in black. The old house creaked a little in the cold wind that blasted up the little incline. It was bitter. You checked the central heating before yawning and opening some of the food you had brought with you. Microwaved food would have to do. You threw the meal into the microwave and headed up to quickly shower and change into something more comfortable for the night. You returned, after a shower that was lukewarm, to your meal and tried not to scald yourself as you turned it out onto a plate for easy consumption. With a blanket in hand, you sat yourself in the lounge and flicked on your tv you had managed to set up on the large cabinet. It flicked to life but the picture was staticky with the remoteness of your new home. With a sigh, you watched the news reels and yawned between bites of food. The old chest sat ominously in front of you. With a brief glance, you noticed it was emblazed with the same crest at the teapot in the kitchen. Glyn. You eyed the bird on the front again. The same family. The idea of treasure made you grin. With a huff you reached into the basket on the coffee table and tugged the list of assets out again from the envelope along with the keys. You played with the metal keys as you searched for the chest.

It wasn’t listed.

With a frown you looked back at it and the tarnished hinges. There was something odd about it. It was like it had been forgotten about, shoved away in the back of the dresser in a hurry. Like it didn’t want to be found. You picked up the box and eyed the keyhole again with a scowl, infuriated by the idea of not being able to open it. The ring of keys in your hand had no such key. It was small, like one for a secret love affair diary. With a tut, you placed the box away again and yawned, looking at the time on the large, thumping grandfather clock. It suddenly bonged with the hour, the hands pointing to ten and twelve. It was late, and you’d spent the day tiredly unpacking. With a sigh, you stood up, wrapped in the blanket as you took your plate away and turned off the lights, leaving the metal chest on the coffee table as you drew all the curtains, and headed up to bed. You snuggled into your fresh seats, peering up at the canopy hung above you in wonder as the cold wind slammed against the glass panes of the windows. With another deep breath, you closed your eyes, and listened to the wind howl as your exhaustion caught up, and you fell asleep.

The noise of screaming woke you up. It was still pitch black. You scrambled from the sheets as the wind howled, carrying the sound of crying screams up into your room. There was a thunder of shoed hooves outside as you threw back the curtains. There was a man screaming up your drive, his hands thrown in front of him as he scrambled up the cobbles and reached your porch, howling blood murder before his fists started to collide with the door.

“Please! Please, let me in! I’m out passed the time! Please!” He screamed into the house as you rushed from your room, running down the stairs in time to hear a great braying cry of a horse. It screamed as you opened the front door and you looked down the path as the man rushed into the house, his eyes wide with fright and his jeans soaked from his own fear. He stank. He’d pissed himself in fear.

A great, black stallion reared at the end of the drive, its hooves batting the air before it landed with a slam, the metal shoes clattering against the stone as it whirred around and around. Its red eyes were wild, glaring at you as it snorted blood from its nose and screamed again, turning the other way. Its joints were exposed and bled fresh blood as it jumped and reared again. The clouds in the sky rolled and you watched black matted fur disappear in places to reveal bone and muscle. It was terrifying. A dead horse screaming at your doorstep. It thundered up the path and it was then that you saw the rider. A headless man sat perched on top of the war horse, his clothes tattered, and dirt ridden, as though he had crawled from the grave. The moonlight shone over his tarnished armour and you grimaced at the sight of the bloodied, exposed stump of his neck, the spine peaking from the flesh. It disappeared into shadow again as the clouds blocked the moonlight. The man tugged you from the door as the rider’s lance was thrown and skewered the wood before you. His horse brayed and he clenched at the supple reigns in anger before he threw himself clear of the beast and stood in the doorway. He tugged the end of the lance, which was outside of the doorway, and effortlessly pulled the lance free from the wood, splinters spraying against your ankles.

The headless man stood in the doorway for a moment, silent and still. With a twitch, he raised his hand and reached out his gauntlet towards the doorway. His metal covered fingers touched the wood before curling inside. His body appeared shocked by the revelation, but he was quickly inside, throwing you out of the way in the pursuit of his prey.

“Leave him alone!” You shouted, with as much conviction as you could muster.

The rider’s hands twitched but he ignored you and grabbed a hold of his victim, gauntlets gouging lines in the man’s face as he gripped at his cheeks as looked through him, with no eyes.

“I said,” You rushed to grab the creature’s arm and tugged, “Leave him alone!” You held on as the metal clad arm flinched and rushed back and forth, trying to shake you free. The horseman made no noise, but looked you dead in the eyes, his neck a black void until the moonlight cast over it and revealed muscle, bone and blood. A rush of air escaped the open hole of his trachea before it was cast into shadow again. He let go of the man but was quick to grip him by the back of his coat, holding him in place as he looked at you and your grip on his arm. His victim’s struggles were silence by a vicious punch to the back of the head, the metal creaking and leaving the hair, blood coating the joints of the knuckles. He leaned to the left and hefted the man’s weight before his free hand moved in your grasp.

In shock, you let go of the monster. His gauntlet moved up towards your face, the fingers grazing over your chin before it tapped against your cheek. Suddenly, his entire body went rigid, and you heard the noise of a clattering coming from your lounge. The chest. Light leaked from under the door, but the horseman didn’t move. He was rigid, still and listening. Dead. His victim was still firmly clamped in his hand. You rushed to the lounge and slammed open the door, looking at the tarnished chest as it leaked burning red light. It jumped on top of the wood again and you flinched as a scream echoed from within.

“What the fuck is going on?” You whispered as you rushed to grab the box and struggled to hold it as whatever was inside slammed up and down, “Please stop, please.” You cried as you gripped it to your chest, “He’s here please stop.” You babbled.

The light began to dim as the sound of greaves clicked in the doorway. The horseman took up the wooden opening, his gauntlet gripping the body behind him before he seemed to see the chest gripped in your hands. His body spasmed again, the hands turning into claws as he reached up to his neck and then clutched at his chest, as though he was in pain. The man in his grasp hit the floor with a thump.

“Witch!” The box screamed in your grasp, shaking violently left and right as the red light burned between the lid and base. Suddenly, it creaked violently in your arms, as though the hinges were about to burst, but remained closed, shuddering in your grasp. The horseman reached for his neck again and then grabbed the man by the collar once more, escaping out of your door, his boots and metal armour clinking as he left. He grabbed his lance again on his way out, air puffing from his neck before he threw the man over the back of his great war beast and turned back to the door, seeing without eyes, staring at you and the chest clutched in your hands. His arm raised, slowly yet purposefully, and he pointed towards the withered black oak at the end of the yard. You gazed over at the rotten rope and swallowed as your vision turned hazy. You felt the chest drop from your arms as you toppled over, back towards the inside of your house. You gasped at the ceiling and the burning red light that bathed the entrance before your world went black.

You awoke with a start and grabbed at the sheets around you as you bolted upright and peered around. You were back in your room. With a gasp you rushed out of the room, your vision still blurry and dark as you took the stairs and looked in the hall. It was pristine, as though nothing had ever happened. The hole from the lance was gone.

“What the fuck happened?” You asked yourself as you rushed into the lounge and looked around. The chest was gone. Then you remembered about the horseman and his final movement. You wrenched open the door and rushed to the black oak at the end of the garden. Its looming branches hung over the fence, dripping with dew from the foggy air. You heaved as you caught sight of the chest, placed at the base of the tree. You grabbed at it and revealed a hole between the gnarled roots. With a gasp you reached between the roots, flinching at the wet soil between your fingers until you hit a cold piece of iron. You snatched the metal and wriggled backwards, looking at the piece of metal. You brushed the dirt and cobwebs away to reveal a small key. It was rusted and in bad shape. You peered at the little key and immediately pushed it into the keyhole. The lock popped open with a sharp, grating squeak. With a shiver in the cold air, you pushed open the lid and peered inside the red velvet. A skull stared back at you from within the box, ivory and perfect, old and yellowed on the teeth. You reached for it, holding your breath, and held it up as you stood.

It was then that you peered up into the tree. A creaking swing sounded as you gazed upon a decapitated body. It was the man who was chased, his head missing, and his body bloodied with slashes. You held the skull tightly and screamed.

#headless horseman x reader #headless horseman x gender neutral reader #headless horseman #alcott glyn #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster x you #monster x human #gender neutral reader #monster bf #monster #monsters #alcott glyn x reader #ghost x reader #phantom x reader #my wriring

204 notes · View notes

jaepies · 3 years

Text

𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙣 - haikyuu!!

oikawa x fem!reader

mafia au

chapter 5 : fate

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

the air was suffocating.

like a thick blanket, it wrapped around you and was intertwining with your mouth; bubbling with putrid sensations. it trapped your airway shut preventing oxygen from entering the complex system of the lungs. you failed to breathe, your hands bound by ragged pieces of fabric that surprisingly halted every move you made.

every second ticked by, every second you grew weaker.

your eyelids felt heavy again, feeling dejected you submitted into the devil's wishes and let slumber sweep you into another fantasy. a world where the circumstances were different and life upheld its joyful status.

fate is a humorous thing, some are blessed with a fate that brings them glory and delight but every once in a while the jokester that is fate plays practical jokes on the lesser people. fate shrouded them with despair. you had accepted that you were simply one of these lesser people, like the sky; death seemed to be looming over your head at every corner you turned.

your poisoned fate was cemented; no escape could be seen so whatever was to befall your way in these fleeting moments - you would accept it with clenched teeth and slap a false smile on.

a rather powerful strike to the face is what gave you a rude awakening. your eyes springing open at the sensation of throbbing, only to view unfamiliar faces peering at you with disgust.

your eyes shot to the perpetrator of the slap, the guilty man made no effort to disguise himself as the bald man had his hand still raised in the air.

his hand had blushed with red colour as an aftereffect of waking you. silence sat on his lips; no words were needed as the frown he displayed spoke all the words for him.

"k-kageyama do you think she can hear us?"

to the left of the dingy room were two juvenile looking boys. one of which had an orange flame for hair and tentatively clung to the taller boy whom you assumed to be the aforementioned 'kageyama'. the young boy was evidently discomposed by your presence which was ironic since they were the one who captured you in the first place.

"idiot, she's awake of course she can. i thought you were dumb but i didn't realise you were this dumb."

"kageyama, you shouldn't say things like that to your friends and you aren't exactly the brightest star in the world either."

"you aren't even making sense right now? at least i'm not some crazy maniac who bounces off the walls all day, every day-"

"do you guys ever shut up? you are both as dumb as one another and that's final. you both are freaks who deserve each other."

a blonde boy with glasses interrupted the bickering pair, clearly bored at their antics as he wore a displeased scowl on his face.

"everyone please calm down, we have a guest present. we should at least be courteous and introduce ourselves."

the three students fell silent at the older man's stern voice and you did too. terror coursed through your veins causing you to freeze. one quick glance and these boys seemed harmless however if there was anything that you have learnt in the previous days is that there is always more than what meets the eye.

*cough* oikawa *cough*

the man spoke with such conviction that a small child could cry upon hearing his voice.

suddenly it clicked.

they appeared to be around the same age as you and caught you on your way to meeting up with another gang. when entering the gymnasium, it was like a ghost town. tumbleweed might as well have rolled along the slippery floor.

the aoba johsai volleyball team had been played with.

these boys were karasuno, the gang you were supposed to have had a peaceful and hassle-free transaction with.

"i guess there's no need to introduce ourselves then. you seemed to have figured it out yourself, smart girl you are."

when preparing for the transaction, a first-year called kunimi who you had gotten to know in the short space of time had written a profile on each of the members of karasuno. Iwaizumi ensured that you had it memorised like a second language.

it all came rushing back to you and these unfamiliar faces became clearer than they were a few seconds ago. the man who spoke to you held the same position as oikawa as the leader of the group, he was no other than sawamura daichi.

you were never able to grasp the ability to mask your emotions, daichi must have been able to pick up your abrupt hostility as a reaction to the epiphany.

"what do you want?"

the bitter-tone rolling naturally off your tongue, you kept your guard up.

the information on these men was limited as they were a slowly rising gang. with the various member changes, it was a frustration trying to gather knowledge on the fallen crows.

"we don't really want anything. only for the district to know that we are back."

the words were dripping in venom, you could tell that daichi enjoyed watching you squirm.

the toxicity being emitted by room was overriding your senses and it was taking everything in your will-power to maintain your composure in front of the gang.

"but why this way?"

"where's the fun in just assassinating people for power's sake? the most pleasurable way is to take an object so precious to someone that they are forced to do whatever you want. that's how you gain leverage."

bile steadily crept up in your throat, ready to make its exit if daichi were to utter one more syllable. subconsciously you had placed all your bets onto oikawa, hoping that he would storm in and rescue you.

"god that's sick and twisted. i hope karma slaps you in the face before i do. "

"oh sweetheart~"

hearing the nickname was like a punching bag to stomach. it disgusted you at how sickly sweet it sounded, at how easily he said it. behind the smirk he held was a sadistic and warped shell of a man who made you feel nauseated to the stomach.

"you have no idea who you have gotten yourself involved with. we are merely the tip of the iceberg, once you fall down this rabbit hole there is no crawling out of it. consider this experience a warning."

"i know what i have signed up for. since i have met you, i have met the worst already. there's not much more which the world could throw my way."

"you can try and fool me with your tough girl act-"

you could feel the hot breath of daichi fanning your face as he lowered his stance to your height. his sly gaze pierced right through you, creating an even more uncomfortable atmosphere. you turned your head as he spoke, not wanting your brain to endure the pain of even looking at the corrupt man.

"-but i see right through it."

droplets of spit took refuge on your hair as his words were accompanied by saliva escaping his dirty mouth.

then you realised,

you were a lesser person. fate did not want to treat you like you were royalty. instead, it thought of you as a dismal teenager whose life could easily be disposed of.

you were a damsel in distress with no prince charming coming to protect you and fight in your honour. no matter how hard you tried to fool yourself into believing that you were not alone. the reality was more genuine than the empty words which oikawa had spoken to you.

you were tired. this whole night had been incredibly taxing on your brain and regrettably, Daichi was right, you were afraid.

so afraid and fragile.

you were just going to shut your eyes and put your mind at ease. in time you would surely meet your demise...

it was as if lightning had struck the door,

an ear-splitting thud was heard from the mouldy door and a cloud of smoke had been created as a consequence of the intrusion. the silhouettes who were the cause of the disruption stood concealed by the fine, yellow dust.

maybe,

just maybe,

fate had allowed you a little more time.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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dat-town · 4 years

Text

love passes by

Characters: Hyunjae & You

Setting : childhood friends to lovers feat good old mutual pining and a sprinkle of angst

Summary: Hyunjae was too easy to fall in love with. Too bad you knew it was bound to end in a heartbreak.

Words: 4.7k

Partly inspired by his A to BoyZ video, IU’s When love passes by cover.

Gangneung was a relatively small town by the beach, where most people made a living of fishing or something related to that and countryside tourism. You never had the ambition to leave for a bigger city, to live the infamous Seoul life because you were content with the simple one you had.

After finishing high school, instead of pursuing further education, you started working as a waitress at your family's fried chicken restaurant. You used to do the same during summer breaks, so the regulars knew you already, greeted you as if you were their daughter just the same. Living in the suburbs of the town made it feel like a lovely village where everyone knew everyone and other than the mass of tourists in the summer season no new faces arrived. Nobody that could have turned your life upside down.

Not until Lee Jaehyun.

He wasn't a totally new face per se, but still, it had been years since the town had seen any of him and now he was back.

"Kwak Auntie's family visits her for the summer. Have you heard? Nobody knows why all of a sudden. We haven't seen them in years," you overheard a few murmurs in the restaurant about the news but didn't give it much thought even though the ahjumma lived right next to your family's home. You knew that if something was indeed going on, you would get to know it in time. And how right you were about it!

"Hm?" You looked up from your food when your mother called your name during dinner and she looked at you like she always did when she had something to ask. She always looked so apologetic about it even though you rarely said no because you had never been the rebellious kind and her requests weren't huge things either.

"You know, Mrs Kwak's daughter and grandson will come to town for the summer. I was thinking since you and Jaehyun used to play together, it would be nice if you could show him around, so he would see a familiar face."

You gulped down the spoonful of rice before nodding, throat closing up in a way that threatened to suffocate you.

"Sure," you croaked out, digging your own grave.

Truth was, seeing Hyunjae again was dangerous to your fragile heart but in such a small neighbourhood it was inevitable, so you might have as well bitten the bullet and taken it.

You just didn’t expect it to happen so soon, so sudden.

"Petite!"

The familiar, playful voice called your old nickname so affectionately that your lips trembled as you forced a smile, halting your movements. You needed to take a breather before turning around to face the boy who had grown into a young man over the years. After all, you had been sixteen and hopelessly in love with him when you had last seen him.

“Hyunjae...”

The name you used to call him fell from your tongue naturally as you saw him jogging up to you on the sidewalk a corner away from the street where you both resided and you felt your heart do a silly flip (or more like a slip) in the confines of your ribs as you caught the sight of him.

Your childhood friend had been handsome already once he had grown into his lanky limbs, face thinning with the years, eyes ever so mischievous but the good span of seven years that had passed since you had met matured his features. He was even taller, shoulders wide and his soft brown hair was styled sideways, still letting a few locks fall into his forehead. His thin lips were pulled into a wide smile and the dark of his irises sparkled with a giddiness. It was almost like he hadn’t changed a bit. He still wore clothes a bit too big on his slim frame, long, elegant fingers disappearing in the sleeves of his white shirt. His smile was so bright it outshone the Sun and small wrinkles appeared around his narrowing eyes. You needed to remind yourself to breathe.

“I heard you’re back… for the summer,” you fumbled with the words clumsily like a puppy learning to stand on its feet. Truth be told, you had no idea how to act around him without being awkward. You should have been over it, way over it, but seven years had passed and all those messy teenage feelings were back.

“Yeah, yeah I guess I am,” Hyunjae chuckled and the echoing sound of it messed up your heartbeat.

Oh if he knew how he made you feel! But despite him being so straightforward and sharp about everything else, he seemed so oblivious to your feelings that it made your heart ache. You had convinced yourself that he knew, he knew about it all too well and didn’t bring up only to save you from embarrassment, to save you from a hurtful rejection. You also convinced yourself it was better this way: he always left after all. He lived on the other end of the country and you didn’t want to be anyone’s summer fling.

“Where are you going?” Hyunjae inquired curiously, hands slipping deep into his pockets, eyes expectant as they were searching for yours but you refused to look up.

“Just running a few errands,” you shrugged and lifted the bag in your hand with a container full of fresh kimchi from Mrs. Kim a few streets down.

“For the restaurant? Gosh, I missed your mother’s fried chicken! Hers is the best. Just don’t tell my mom,” the boy next to you joked and you got startled when his fingers grazed against yours around the strap of the bag. You were so taken aback by the sudden action that you let go instinctively and the boy took the baggage from you.

“I can do it,” you protested, reaching for the strap after a moment of shock but Hyunjae’s mouth curled up in a smirk as he raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“Good luck taking it from me.”

For a second long you held the eye contact but then you were the first one to give up, of course you were. You turned your head, feeling your cheeks heat up at the depth of his dark eyes and his laughter filled the quiet streets with life. His steps resumed and you needed a moment to catch up under the scorching Sun.

“Have you been well?” he asked, sounding curious and your heart wished to tell him how much you had missed him all this time but it was too pitiful.

“Same old, same old. You know, nothing much changes down here. I’ve been doing well,” you answered instead because really, you had no complaints. Your life wasn’t exciting at all but you didn’t need it to be, you didn’t need heart attacks like Hyunjae to come more often than they did. Which also came to the fact that he was indeed there after all these years and you wondered why all of a sudden. However, you didn’t want to push, so your voice was kind and your tone was tentative as you asked: “And you?”

“Good. Seoul keeps me busy as always,” he said but he was short on words, didn’t tell you much, nothing specific and you were too afraid to ask, so instead you thanked him for his help with the container when you reached your house. It felt awkward not to know how to say goodbye. Your mother might have asked you to show him around but you weren’t kids anymore, he didn’t need a helping hand to get to know a town he had already been familiar with and you didn’t want to become a bother. But as soon as you turned around to go into the house, hand already on the handle, the boy called after you.

“When is your next day off? We could hang out a bit, catch up,” he suggested casually and it gave you a feeling similar to nausea.

“I’m free on Monday,” you told him and closed the door behind you so quickly that you missed his bitter smile.

The beach sand burnt under your bare feet.

“Remember when we were playing tag around here?” Hyunjae brought up suddenly and you hummed, grateful to the ice cream in your hand to cool you down a bit. You walked closeby, arms almost brushing, sharing stories here and there, nothing serious though, nothing that could have ruined the light atmosphere.

“Yeah. You always cheated,” you scoffed but with no malice and the gasp the boy let out was playful as well.

“Not my fault that I run faster,” he objected to your accusations to which you rolled your eyes.

“You just have longer legs,” you argued and as you started bickering about something so trivial like this, you could feel the tenseness melt in your bones and looking at him didn’t hurt that much anymore. By the time you both devoured your sweet treats, you had walked along the beach up to the famous white lighthouse and the ground turned more rocky than sandy. It didn’t stop the boy from chasing you to prove a point and laughter bubbled up your throat as you looked over your shoulder while trying to find your balance on the colder surface.

Hyunjae threatened that he would catch you and you weren’t going to let him, but you didn’t pay enough attention to the slipperiness of the rocks as you jumped from one to another and before you knew you lost your stable point. You had already gotten ready to land on your butt in the shallow sea water, but before that could have happened, slim fingers wrapped themselves around your waist, holding you in place. Hyunjae caught up with you just in time and the giggles stuck in your throat as he pulled you back into safety, close to his chest, looking down at you with worrisome eyes.

“I told you I’d catch you,” he murmured and you gulped. Oh how you wished he would have been there to catch you when you fell (deep in love with him).

Hyunjae became a regular at the restaurant your parents owned. He was always doted on, getting free treats just because he flashed a pretty smile. Or maybe it was because of his neverending compliments on which you called him out after a while.

“No, for real! Fried chicken became my favourite because of this place, so let me enjoy it,” he insisted and let out a moan at the taste of the crispy meat and you let out a laughter before running off to serve another customer.

You slowly got used to having him around, having him keep an eye on you from across the place. Sometimes he was there for hours long, a notebook in front of him, pencil in hand, hovering over the table, only looking up with a bright and mysterious smile when you walked by to refill the water jug on his table. He never showed you what he was working on.

Sometimes he stuck by until closing hours and then, no matter how much you objected, he stole a wet cloth for himself and helped you wipe off the tables, turning the volume on the radio up, having fun around the place. It was indeed more fun with him there, you had to admit and if it wasn’t for you fearing your heart, you might have admitted it out loud.

“Come on, dance with me,” Hyunjae held a hand out just when you wanted to get a mop and clean the floor but he saw through your weak protests and took your hand in his.

Your parents and other employees had left already, it was only the two of you for once in this cozy place you knew as your second home. An English song you liked came up on the radio and the boy had you twirl and laugh as you stumbled around in-between tables as if you were in a ball room. When he pulled you close and you felt his heartbeat over his chest, eyes boring deep into yours, you told yourself you only imagined the hammering speed of his heart and the longing of his eyes. It made it easier to laugh it off and to let go of his hand when the song ended.

Just one song, for that much you could let yourself be in love.

Again. Still.

Warm sand stuck to your water-soaked feet as you watched the waves play with your toes every other minute. It was getting dark, you were supposed to go back soon after another day off spent together. The silence wasn’t heavy, just nice and cozy, just like being next to him. So you didn’t expect him to tell you anything grande. Not until his quiet voice got lost in the wind.

“I dropped out of college,” he said, as if it was final but his voice wasn’t sad. You didn’t know what to say. Sorry? It sounded weird because turning your head to look at him, he didn’t seem like hurting. Just maybe a bit afraid of judgement. There was an answer on the tip of your tongue but he was faster. “I wanna do art. Something to let my voice heard. Business is not for me.”

The words felt rushed, as if he wanted to explain himself but he should have known better: there was nothing to explain to you, he didn’t need to.

“You’re still young. You have plenty of time to find your way. Don’t waste it on something you don’t like,” you said trying to soothe his pain, trying to mend his wounds and the smile he gave you had you catch your breath in the throat.

Suddenly he looked much older than your teenage selves. Suddenly you felt like adults who shouldn’t have made rash decisions and while you were okay letting life go with the flow, enjoying the calm serenity of your seaside days, Hyunjae had always had big dreams and big ambitions. He had grown out of this town, he belonged to the city with its buildings reaching for the skies.

“Tell me about your art,” you spoke up before he could have done anything that made your heart falter even more. You turned back to the sea, watching the Sun set on the horizon while Hyunjae told you about how he had picked up on drawing first and then photography. You listened to the way he talked about what he liked in these and there was a surreal kind of jealousy building in your chest as you realized he was in love with art.

“You could show me one day. If you’d like to,” you whispered and you thought the waves washed away your wish but the stars seemed to listen as Hyunjae didn’t even take his eyes off you.

It wasn’t the first time you were in his room but back then it was a child’s room, now it was just a guest room with barely anything personal. You felt like walking in a territory you weren’t supposed to but Hyunjae acted very casual, telling you to make yourself home while he brought drinks and snacks. Sitting cross legged on his bed, looking out of the window, seeing the same as you see from your own window made you feel some type of way.

The boyish smile that pulled on his mouth when he got back just added to it but then he pulled out his sketchbook and camera, laying them both on your lap, letting you look over them, seeing into the depth of his art. You were in awe at the way he was able to capture the sea and the sunset or the way he made ordinary things like an empty street seem serene and beautiful. It struck you even harder when you flipped through his drawings made with nothing but pencil and yet so delicate and amazing. Your hand trembled though when you found a few drawings of you.

“I was just messing around and you were there,” Hyunjae shrugged, skipping a few pages full of you as if you had been on his mind just as much as he was on yours.

You didn’t ask why though, you didn’t dare.

Yet, you agreed when the boy asked whether you would stay over for a movie night and he put on his favourite superhero film before settling on the bed next to you. One movie turned into two and then a whole marathon, him lending you more comfortable shorts and an oversized shirt to wear to bed. Both of you knew you could have just gone home to change but somehow you didn’t have it in you to reject his offer. So you sat by the headboard of his bed next to him, in a soft white tee smelling like his laundry detergent, smelling like him, while watching Tony Stark save the world again.

Summer was passing too fast.

You knew you were getting too attached with each second. You knew you should have stopped it before it was too late but you were already too deep, especially after that day in the arcade.

Hyunjae was still sometimes a kid at heart and you couldn’t say no to him when he dragged you into the corner arcade, playing a few rounds of games, giggling so loud as if he had the time of his life. He even promised to win you your favourite Pokémon plush but after wasting ten thousand won you stopped him from trying, telling him it didn’t matter that much but he wasn’t one to give up.

“Give me your hand,” he said as you were sitting on a wooden bench waiting for the bus to come and you frowned as you looked at his determined face. You let out a small huff of a sigh and gave up already. Hyunjae was too stubborn, so if he didn’t want to tell you why, he wasn’t going to no matter how much you begged him to. You held your right hand in front of you with palms up but the boy’s gentle fingers quickly turned it over, nails grazing over the back of your hand before you felt something cold slide onto your index finger. You could only stare when you noticed the thin band of pink toy ring he just put onto you.

You blinked at him, seeking the warmth of his brown eyes on you but when he looked back at you, his mouth was already pulled up into a mischievous kind of smile, washing away any other emotions.

“See? I won you something,” he said triumphant and you were too taken aback to notice the matching silly plastic ring on his hand.

You had always had a fascination with summer rains but you would have never thought you would be caught in one with the boy who made your heart beat so abnormally.

The two of you were out on the beach, running around in the warm sand bare feet, splashing water to each other and laughing about some story he was telling you before you would have let out sounds of shrieks at the cold raindrops on your skin. It didn’t take even a minute for the downpour to turn into a storm, pouring enough water on you to soak your clothes through.

“Come, let’s find a hideout,” Hyunjae grabbed your hand, your slippery fingers fitting perfectly as he pulled you away from the beach but both of you chuckled by the time you made it under a balcony to catch your breath. You were quietly panting as you watched the storm move the trees and sunshades.

“I told you it was going to rain! You never listen to me,” you nudged the boy’s shoulder next to you but only then you noticed that you were still holding hands, fingers intertwined and there were so many unsaid questions in your eyes as you looked up at him. His hair was almost in his eyes, the brown mop sticking to his pale skin like second skin while the raindrops looked like pearls against his smooth features and sitting on his eyelashes. He was the most beautiful daydream you had ever seen.

Hyunjae called your name, gently, almost like a stroking touch and a breath got stuck in your lungs as you kept eye contact. You felt yourself drowning in his eyes and you weren’t sure you shivered because of the chilly breeze the storm brought. Those dark orbs on you had something serious in them, something that pinned you into place.

Hyunjae’s thumb stroked your wrist and the sharp inhale of air he took had his mouth parted, had you follow the movement with your eyes, only to have him take a step, impossibly closer to you. You needed to raise your chin to look into his eyes and when you saw him leaning down, your eyes fluttered closed on instinct.

It felt like dreaming, the drawn out moments, until a loud thud made you open your eyes.

“Yah, come inside, both of you will get cold!” The ahjumma from the nearby café yelled at you and embarrassed, with pink ears, you stepped away from Hyunjae. On your lips you were missing the feeling of something you never experienced: his kiss.

You didn’t talk about it. Hyunjae didn’t say anything even when he walked you home after the storm passed, so you just watched him go with a thudding heart.

But you should have been a fool to not notice how he avoided you the next couple of days until you got enough of this weird awkwardness between the two of you and you went over to the neighbouring house only to face unexpected news: the house was on sale. It was clear on the table displaying a phone number and when you pushed your way through the entrance, you only saw wrapped up and covered furniture. Mrs. Kwak was moving, that much was obvious. That must have been why her family came: for a last time. You couldn’t let that pass without comment, so knocking on Hyunjae’s door, you didn’t even greet him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you raised your voice immediately. There was a storm inside you threatening to spill and you could barely hold it together. He was never supposed to stay, you knew that much but to act as if this summer was like any other when in reality it was your last together was unfair. To you at least.

“I just wanted a chance to say goodbye before we leave,” the boy gulped, shoulder tense and eyes swimming with sadness. But you were too busy fighting your own demons, the hurt in your body, the ache of your heart to care about that.

“You should have told me nevertheless. How was I supposed to find out that you will leave next week and never come back?” You questioned harsher than you wanted and seeing Hyunjae’s face crumble made you guilty right away.

“Why are you so angry? You knew I was going to leave. Like every single time! I never made you believe otherwise. I didn’t want to give you hope when I can’t stay,” he said and arguing from the two sides of a doorstep really made it feel like you were on opposite poles of the absolute truth, yelling something that the other wouldn't have heard anyway. All you could hear were excuses while he only heard accusations. His question - Why are you getting so angry? - rang in your ear and you just wanted him to understand, finally, after all these years.

“That’s exactly the problem! You always leave,” you claimed, putting the blame on something that you had known from the get go, so in that sense you should have been blamed just the same but Hyunjae with that desperate darkness in his eyes seemed to get it.

“No, the problem is what we make it to be. The thing is: you belong here and I don’t. I’m just passing by like summer, I come and go like the ocean waves but you never asked me to stay,” he said through gritted teeth, leaning closer. He looked very cozy in the shirt over his tee, off the shoulder as he kept his balance on the door frame. At his words, you felt like air was knocked out of your lungs but if someone then Hyunjae knew exactly how to take your breath away. “Why do you think I haven’t visited in the last few years? Why haven’t I told you I’m in love with you?”

“You… what?” you blinked because his words didn’t make sense. Not to you, not now and the boy you had known all your life was standing in front of you as if he had been standing at the edge of a cliff before diving forward until your back hit the wall of the corridor behind you. With a hand on your neck, he tilted your head and pressed his chapped lips against yours so gently and so loving that you had the urge to cry. It was a goodbye you knew, so no matter how sweet it tasted your salty tears broke your heart.

“You’re being unfair,” you told him as you shoved him away until he stumbled back. You looked into his heartachingly beautiful eyes one last time. “You never asked me to leave with you either.”

After Hyunjae left, the town got quiet and calm again.

Your days were just the same and you claimed you didn’t want anything more no matter how pitying your own mother looked at you. It was like she knew yet you didn’t want to share your heartbreak story with anyone. You told yourself it would go away and months after months it seemed you were right.

On winter nights, you missed his warmth and in spring you wished he would be there to see the cherry trees bloom. When songs reminding you of him played on the radio you could smile again after almost a year and then you only thought of him from time to time when storms passed by the beach, the sea and the rain singing their own ode to him. You convinced yourself you moved on, almost believed it was better this way until news of someone buying the house next to you came.

“What? It can’t be bought by just anyone,” you looked at your mother in horror after she told you that the house is going to be turned into a studio and abruptly, you stood up from the table.

Mrs Kwak’s house was a part of your childhood, a place you cherished and treasured as it held many of your memories with Hyunjae: hide-and-seeks, movie nights and a kiss desperate and regretted. You didn’t want a stranger there who would do who knows what. It was irrational, you knew that much but you just couldn’t help it, the urge to do something. So you took the welcome tarte from your mom and got out of the house before she could have protested. You walked up straight to the van of the moving company and asked where you could meet the new owner. One of the guys from those who carried those brown boxes pointed towards the sea. There, on the beach sat a man in the sand, knees pulled up and hugged close to his chest.

Your heart skipped a silly beat as you got closer because you knew this silhouette all too well. You almost dropped the dessert in your hands when he turned around, looking straight at you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked in a trembling voice, trying to hide the childish ring on your finger in the meantime but Hyunjae always had sharp eyes and the small movement made him crack a smile. A heartwarming, genuine one.

“Staying.”

#hyunjae x reader #tbz x reader #the boyz x reader #hyunjae scenarios #6daysofhyunjae #i managed to write sth for him eventually #happyhyunjaeday #stories

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