#etora

"You chose him."

The words came out of nowhere.

Tatara had been kneeling before Eto while she sat on the edge of the tallest table in her apartment. Her socks, skirt, shorts, and underwear lay in a haphazard pile around him, and he'd been tonguing the spot between her legs for the past twenty minutes when he suddenly stopped, and said that.

"The king's made his decision." Which was the truth; Arima made his final pick, solidifying it with Hina's execution date. "We signed up to carry his will."

"That's not what I meant."

She smirked. "The great Tatara, questioning orders? Pigs must've started flying when I wasn't looking."

"Our lord's judgment is sound. I'm talking about you."

A squint from her. Tatara didn't ever talk back like this before. She knew, down to the letter, what feelings were storming about in that giant, muscled body of his, but voicing them came out of nowhere, which never happened. There was a reason they were coming out now of all times, and thankfully, it didn't take more than a glance down memory lane for her to realize why.

"Khaha!" She threw her head back, unfortunately not in pleasure. "Oh, I get it. I taste different to you, don't I? Your obsession with me is appalling."

"It was you who brought him up to our lord in the first place, but why go so far for him?"

"Stimulate a dog and he's loyal for life. Even when he pretends he isn't."

"But why this? Why him? Eto, I--"

"Will never understand," she finished. "Do I have to clean up now or are you gonna finish?"

He glared at her for a moment, held her gaze much longer than he usually did. It was like he was searching in her eyes for the version of her in his mind. The one that never existed to begin with.

"... Clean up." He stood up, and for himself for once. "I'm sure he'll give you what you want."

"Another spoiled brat." Eto sighed. "You both are."

"Well, you chose him." Tatara gathered her clothes and threw them in her naked lap. "You always do."

------------

Tatara reads the titular novel, struggling through the kanji in an effort to try and break apart this woman he thinks he's fallen in love with (he would never say it out loud, even though she's probably figured it out already). Unfortunately, the wrongness of violence and loss is lost on him, because he really only has the goal of killing Houji; he just also manages Aogiri out of obligation to Eto as well as having some small pity for souls like Ayato and eventually Yumitsu.

His takeaway from the novel is a strange one: he thinks she likes violence and death; why wouldn't she? The One-Eyed King kills mercilessly, and she's beneath him. She's also a prime cannibal and her kakuja is enormous. The only way to get something like that is the cannibalize in large amounts for years on end, and Eto fits the bill. So a part of why he kills so instantly and coldly is because he thinks Eto will approve of it.

Yet Eto asks how many died during the 11th ward raid. He doesn't understand her.

--

Softly she breathes, softly he watches. Lovely, she is lovely he thinks as he watches her slumber in the bed next to him. Such a small space separating them but he thinks it is galaxies. And oh how badly he wants to travel the universe for her.

Tatara did not love, he did not form crushes, he did not dabble in anything romantic. But he believes in higher powers and the respect and love one gives toward them. To him, Eto was a goddess and he’d follow her across the world if it meant she’d glance at him with those eyes swirling with knowledge.

Eto stirs in her slumber and Tatara watches the flicker of her lashes as she opens her eyes. In the darkness her childlike features are illuminated by the faint glow of the moon. Everything about her in this moment screams “believe in me, worship me.”

“Tatara-san.” She mumbles. Her words coated in sleep and her tone soft, barely audible. But he hears her nonetheless.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever sleep?”

“Yes, why would you think I didn’t?”

“Do you dream, Tatara-san?” She is songlike in her next question.

“I…”—how does he tell her that he dreams of nothing, how does he tell her that his dreams are nightmares and that he doesn’t believe in them. How?—“dreaming isn’t something I do.”

“Everyone dreams.” She muses. Tatara watches the way her lips form the words so softly. He wonders how she can be so venomous when in this moment she is just speaking off dreams.

“I don’t.”

“I do.”

“What do you dream of then?”

“I dream of a new world.”

“Oh.” He knows that. He has heard her mumbling to herself about a revolution for as long as he’s know her.

“I’m tired of trying to obtain it. I want the end.” She is so gentle in her words but he knows she’s talking of their countless vicious plans, all means to an end. The moon continues to dance along her face and he wishes something in him could dream.

“I do as well.”

“Let’s end it together, us against the world.” She declares. Her words like liquid gold melt into him. Tatara isn’t sure when he became so easily moved by her, but he is and he knows he’ll be this why till he dies.

“Maybe that’s something to dream about.” He nods. Eto giggles and the sound resonates in his very bones. All of her is a part of him. He shuts his eyes and lets the sound of breathing coax him to slumber.

And for once,