shadows of paradis [various!attack on titan x reader] [mafia!au]

(19) To the Naive Genius

5/5

A man with navy blue eyes and caramel skin leaned against the cold, concrete wall. His muscular frame was tense, his breaths shallow as his chest was bleeding from a recent knife wound. The alley was a stark contrast to the bustling city above, where neon lights danced and sirens sang their nightly serenade. The pain was a living thing, pulsing with every beat of his heart, but he didn't let it show. He was a rebel, a ghost in the underbelly of Paradis, and he knew that in this world, weakness meant death.

A second figure approached, his white hair a stark contrast to the shadows. His eyes, icy blue, were filled with a quiet fury that made the first man's blood run cold. The white haired man took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing a fiery orange in the gloom. The smell of tobacco mingled with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the coppery tang of blood. The second figure had been like a brother to her, the woman they both loved, and now he had to be the one to deliver the ultimate punishment. The mentor had taught [Y/N] everything she knew, had been there for her when no one else was. He had promised to protect her, and this was his way of keeping that promise.

The third man, lanky with dark curly hair and piercing dark brown eyes, held her back. She was a wisp of a thing, but the raw power of her grief made her surprisingly strong. Her eyes were swollen with tears, her face a canvas of anguish. He had always been there for her, too, a constant in her tumultuous life, and now he was her anchor, dragging her down. His grip was firm but gentle, and she knew he didn't want to see her get hurt any more than she already was, but this had to happen. The alley was a prison of their own making. Soon to be a cemetery.

The second man stepped closer, the flame from his cigarette casting an eerie glow on his face. The navy-eyed rebel stared back, a mix of defiance and regret etched into his features. They had been comrades once, bound by loyalty and a shared past, but that bond had been shattered. The white haired man flicked the cigarette away, the ember leaving a fleeting trail of light before it disappeared into the dark puddle. "This isn't about you," he said, his voice low and measured. "This is about her."

The wounded man nodded, understanding the second's reasoning. He had hurt her in ways that went beyond the physical, and for that, he knew there could be no forgiveness. The mentor pulled out a gun, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand.

Suddenly, the air was pierced by a scream. It was a sound that seemed to rip through the very fabric of the night, a scream that contained all the pain and rage of a broken heart. It was a sound that neither of them had ever heard from her before, and it froze them both in their tracks. The mentor's hand hovered over the gun, his gaze flickering between the rebel and the curly-haired man, who was now holding her back with all his might.

"What are you doing?" she sobbed, her voice trembling with an intensity that shook the very walls of the alley. "You can't do this! You can't just... end him like this!"

The white haired man's expression remained stoic, his icy blue eyes never leaving the rebel's face. "This is the only way," he said firmly. "He hurt you badly this time, and he has to pay for it."

The curly-haired man exchanged a quick glance with the brotherly figure of the [H/C] haired woman, an unspoken understanding passing between them. He knew he was right, but it didn't make his job any easier. Gently, he turned her around, his grip on her shoulders firm. "Look away," he murmured. She struggled against him, her [E/C] colored eyes wide with desperation, but he was stronger than he looked.

For a few minutes, it was quiet... and she felt relieved. She thought it would end like this.

But the click of the safety echoed through the alley, a sound that seemed to resonate in the very bones of the first man. He didn't flinch. He knew what was coming.