#((and asks of her a moment of agony simply so that they can be together forever; and it really goes to show))

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"Oh, I dunno," Randall ventured to say with a tiny smile, saying, "I, uh...I got a good feeling that, if you went back and picked it up again, it'd be like old hat to you...like no time had passed at all."

He couldn't explain why he felt that way, he just did-it was so funny, how certain he felt of these little things when it came to Emily; he hadn't known her all that long at all, and yet, he felt as if he'd known her all his life. It was a funny feeling, strange, but altogether not unpleasant. It was sort of pleasant, really, feeling this sort of connection with her-he still couldn't decide if they'd met before or not, but even without that confirmation one way or the other, he quite liked that connection anyhow.

"I, uh, I went to the ballet only once-it was a field trip when I was a kid," he continued, volunteering this memory with warm cheeks and a flustered, fluttering heart. "I don't think I really understood what the show was supposed to be about, but...I do remember the ballerinas being very beautiful. The leader of them, the, uh...prima ballerina, is that it? She was the most beautiful out of all of them, all dressed in pink with a great smile and golden blonde hair..."

He trailed off, realizing how closely this description skewed towards his hostess-he probably had that ballerina to blame for his eternal affection for blondes...

[dhampling]

one fem!reader, 2k

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?”

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

-

astarion is a newly-minted girldad. that's it. that's the plot.

word count: 2,028

an: fluff, fluff n more fluff. no smut this time. soon. promise. parts ONE and TWO linked respectively but can be read alone.

-

“She’s asleep, Astarion!” 

You are wide eyed, furious; speaking in a whispered shout at your husband.

His pale hands flit across the ties of your shirt, frisking every which way they turn. You slap them off like flies on fruit.

“Even more reason to take advantage of the situation, if you ask me.” He murmurs hungrily in your ear, hands now circling down to your waist to tug on your waistband.

“It’s a fine job I didn’t ask you then!” Gritted teeth. Eyes aflame. Cornered against the dresser.

The crib beside your bed holds your infant daughter - skittish and fresh to a world wholly unknown in every sense of the word. She rests rarely and wails often for company in these early months of being alive with you both. Pallid and red-eyed yet beautiful beyond comparison and entirely yours. 

Seeing you together brings him joy unparalleled. 

He has, genuinely; never been prouder of anything of his doing - saving the Sword Coast is a drop in the ocean that is completely and utterly awash with love for your youngling. The mistaken mess of his own bastard elven vampiric genetics now born unto another. This time it would be right. The hunger, the rot; the abuse and neglect, they were hundreds of miles away.

He would make it right. 

But it was already so. She was here, and you all cried together in that dark, sweaty birth chamber. His great guttural sob at her birth, wracked with emotion he never knew he could possibly be permitted to feel on this immortal coil. Your genuinely feral howls of pain turned weeping with pure joy.

Two full days of agony unlike any you’ve ever endured and she had arrived, breathing; wailing; skin of a changeling in birthing viscera and lungs keen to rival any bellow of the Gods.

Astarion weakly clinging to you both; tears salting your lips and wetting her tiny head for hours on end. 

The great weight of another being on your shoulders. His sincere - yet cliche - fervently whispered oath to her just moments after being placed in his arms.

She is home. She is loved beyond any unit of measure. She will want for nothing, and she will never know anguish like that of her parents and their complex lives. No matter who she is or what she becomes, she has two people who are in her corner. She will be fierce if she so desires. Cunning. Witty. Roguish. Barbaric. Horrid. 

It didn’t matter. It never would. 

She was yours, and his; and she would always have a choice.

He had spoken with her for hours, the nurse whispered to inform you once you had awoken from the deepest slumber of your life. Even then when you looked he was hanging over her small form in her cot, running his lithe fingers over her tiny hands and feet in a repetitive soothing pattern. 

When you queried the topic of conversation he simply looked at you with a grin so lovesick it would flip your stomach completely. Butterflies.

-

“We deserve a bit of fun though, darling. Mummy and Daddy’s evening off? No?” 

Astarion pouts, wrapping his arms around you - still pinned against the dresser - and inhaling your scent deeply. 

You return the gesture and cough reactively.

“You stink of Noblestalk. I know your tricks.”

You playfully shove him away and tiptoe from your room to the landing, the pale elf hot on your heels.

“I have never stunk in my life, thank you.” He sulks. 

You pointedly stop to look at him, before picking up a basket of waiting laundry and descending the stairs. He follows.

“I’m trying to fuck you, dear. Don’t make it weird.” He rolls his eyes and huffs. 

You hum. 

“Corpses tend to smell awful.” 

“Warning.”

“You started it.”

“Touché.”

A beat of silence.

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?” 

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

“You’re getting rusty.”

He captures you in a kiss as you reach the bottom of the stairs, slow and patient. Holding your free arm to keep you close. 

“Look at me. I’m the epitome of the fatherly jester!’

Waggles his free hand.

‘I have been blessed with brains and humour anew by the birth of our daughter, clearly.’

He grimaces.

‘Not necessarily superior versions of either, but I - am - changed.” 

From the moment of her conception you’d felt it. An old wives’ tale. The night you’d agreed to mother a brood alongside him, you knew she was there. That she was her. That she was brewing as something brilliant deep inside you and nothing would be as it was ever again. 

He’d called it ridiculous, gestured wildly and rolled his eyes to the deepest hells, but a hazardous hope never left them until you’d far missed your bleed and it was confirmed to be true.

From that moment onwards, something shifted even further in Astarion. 

The domestic tether to your townhouse in the city - no longer just a convenience to remain a steady base for you both, but a fundamental part of his scene setting, to plant roots and grow together. Two centuries of rot and abuse, and his reward was finally nearing completion.

His nesting phase began far earlier than yours and with greater intensity than you could’ve matched even without the issue of your later-heaving belly. Entire pinboards tacked with decadent fabric swatches for every occasion - be it swaddling or nursery curtains. Tailor’s tape around his neck each morning and notebook in hand to note your measurements and take inventory of your wardrobe; ensuring you never looked awry or felt anything less than wholly comfortable. 

Because gods forbid ill-fitted clothing stand in the way of you and your brutal vomiting spells, obviously. A pointed click of his tongue as he fixes your sleeve.

In the middle months of your gestation, the typically discerning clientele who visited you and Astarion in your tailor’s store at the dead of night were the first to become privy to the news. Rounder by the week, flushed; brimming with a deep fatigue and yet somehow absolutely aglow.

Children to be fitted for yet another presentation evening placed sleepy hands on your belly with a saccharine softness. Their parents jostle you - sometimes in congratulations, sometimes to whisper in sheer curiosity. Dhampir are a notoriously rare breed, and you’re certain there were rumours of a third party involvement in the process.

‘No, no. We just tried really, really hard.’ You’d smile, as if in a blissful stupor from just the recollection. He’d turn to you with his ridiculously brilliant hearing; needle between teeth, brow raised; lips upturned in a slight quirk. Devilishly handsome, never anything less.

-

You drop the laundry basket in the kitchen corner. A stuffed bear falls from it. Clive.

A pause.

“You never asked what I did with that shirt, you know.”

It takes you a moment to recall which shirt he’s referring to. He sits at the table and watches you lazily.

“Which? The one for Mr. Chugley? I didn’t think it needed much by way of adjustment, at least?”

A stale piece of burnt toast sits on the counter untouched. You bite and chew and bite and chew like a woman who has never once tasted a morsel so divine; so untainted by the evils of hot butter and a filling bronze crunch.

“Oh - Bunt? Gods, no.’

He sips his stone-cold tea. A fresh film wobbles on top.

‘Bunt Chugley.”

A snort of laughter sends it straight back through his nose and out onto the table. You begin to choke on your toast.

“Bunt Chugley.” You giggle, crumbs spilling from your mouth.

Astarion stands to wipe himself down, creasing over with an escalating laughter.

“Bunt Chugley.”

He waggles his hands, eyes heavy lidded with lack of rest. 

He looks purely maniacal.

“That’s- that’s what we should-’

You stop for breath, cackling now; hands over knees for a brief moment.

‘We should call the next one Bunt Chugley.”

He launches into a wheezing fit.

“How- How would that even work, darling? Like Bunt Chugley Ancunín, or- or-”

“No! No, no. Just that. Bunt Chugley.”

You hold both hands to your eye as if framing a canvas, looking through the gap at the ludicrous proposition in front of you. 

He takes a moment to still. Smiles at you dopily.

Crosses the floor and brings both hands down to your waist with a gentle grasp.

“I am so sorry, my love.” He grins and holds his forehead against yours.

You look at him, dazed.

“Hmm?’

He simply looks up. 

A profoundly gut-wrenching wail becomes apparent to you from above. Your face falls.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Astarion.”

-

He’s up the stairs before you can comment further, swiftly darting back into your chambers and grinning with an unbridled joy - though, you note, with lack of rest that grin is beginning to look more insane by the hour.

“Sweetheart! My darling girl. Shush now. You’re sounding something absolutely wicked.”

You watch on from the doorway, arms folded; stale toast in hand and jaws meeting in a firm chew.

He’s far too good with her. 

It somewhat surprised you at first just how innately fatherhood came to him, but as he picks her up and cradles her intently it’s as if there are fractures of his own childhood coming back. How he was loved, how he was held. 

A piece of him, now alive and breathing again after all these years of death.  

He coos at her, bouncing her small frame gently in his arms and hushing her with each wail. It takes very little for soft mewls to take their place as she reaches aimlessly in his direction. 

He leans towards her grasping fingers and allows her to take one of his ringlets from the front of his head as he kisses her tummy. She’s enthralled by him; recognises him. She wants to know more of him. 

As he lifts his head her grasp remains firm.

“We have some work to do on your sleight of hand, I think. Not to worry.” 

Ever so gently, he unpicks her fascinated fingers and kisses them all in tow. Her face looks almost ready to crumple before he reaches for one final kiss on the very top of her head.

“There, now. All better. Back to sleep?’

A gurgle. A puzzled blink.

‘Absolutely. Mummy does look particularly radiant today, doesn’t she? I’ll be sure to send your regards.”

He catches the smile on your face. Winks your way.

“You’re getting the baby to flirt on your behalf now?” You tease.

“That’s the lady of the house to you. She was simply passing on her praises.” He whispers as he places her back into her crib and steps back fondly. Sidles over to you as you finish the last bite of toast and pulls you in for a soft kiss.

“Stop playing coy. I know you feel the same way I do.’

He whispers down at you.

‘You want another one, don’t you?’

A kiss on the very top of your head.

“You’re projecting.” You smile.

You can’t deny him for long, he knows this. You don’t particularly want to. 

Since becoming a mother you’ve taken to parenthood almost as naturally as he has; and when the topic has come up since you’ve struggled to say no and mean it.

“Think, though. The sooner we try again, the sooner we can begin building our little mercenary force.” He looks at you with the face of a man who thinks he’s just had a really good idea.

“Oh! Yes! You’ve sold me!’

You pull him into a long kiss, the kind that still makes you swoon after all this time together. He tastes like cold tea and smells so clinical you can’t help but laugh heartily as you pull away.

‘That Noblestalk is getting to me. Have a bath and try again with a little less?”

He scowls before narrowing his eyes in thought.

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It just might, my darling dearest.” 

You wink this time.

The bath starts running before you’ve fully made it back down the stairs.

[novaursa]

a reader Velaryon was caught having an affair with her uncle Dareon Targaryen through letters and encounters. something that his mother or his brothers did not like very much She was locked in her chambers and then forced to marry her brother Jaracerys. After Lucerys almost died in Storm's Bastion if it weren't for the intervention of Reader who gave him a chance to escape. rader callus cold with fiber One day at dusk Dareon contacted one of Reader's maids who was still at his service after they had changed all the maids when they found out about the secret relationship they had. He asked her to help him get into Dragon Rock. He missed her after they locked her up and forced her to marry Jacaerys. He couldn't see her now. He knew she was sick. She needed him. the maid helped him She would wait outside in case someone came. They were scared to see Reader there alone in that bed, so weak, so fragile, consumed by fever when she touched her hands. She may have been delirious, but she whispered his name. She called him because she missed him. Then he heard the door open and turned around to see the maid being pointed at by Jacaerys's sword. jacaerys dareon stay away from my wife now could you write something like this please

Fevered Desires

- Summary: After you are stricken with fever in wake of saving your brother’s life above the Storm's End, you get an unexpected visitor.

- Paring: niece!reader/Daeron Targaryen

- Note: I hope this is what you had in mind. I've left in this only important information you've provided that can carry the scene in 1000 words and make it believable.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The faint sound of footsteps stirs in the halls of Dragonstone, though none but the most careful listener would hear them. The storm outside rages on, rain pelting against the stone walls, and the roar of the waves crashing below echoes faintly into the castle. You lie beneath heavy blankets, too fevered to notice much of the world around you. Sleep grips you tightly, yet it offers no solace, no respite from the heat that has settled deep within your bones. Sweat beads along your brow, dampening the pillows beneath your head. In your delirium, the fever carries you elsewhere, to memories and whispers that blur together like a forgotten dream.

A gentle touch brushes against your burning cheek. A familiar warmth lingers in the air, a presence you would know even in your sleep. You stir slightly, your lips parting to murmur his name. 

"Daeron..." The word is soft, barely more than a breath, but the sound is enough to reach his ears. His hand stills upon your face, his heart hammering beneath the layers of his cloak. In the dim light of your chambers, Daeron Targaryen stands over you, the hood of his cloak pulled low to shield his features. He shouldn't be here—he knows it, you know it—but he couldn't stay away. Not from you. Not when he heard of your fever, the illness that ravaged your body after the storm that nearly cost you your life. 

For a long moment, he simply watches you. Even in sickness, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, though the sight of your pallor stirs a sharp pain in his chest. His fingers linger against your skin, as if hoping his touch alone could soothe the fever. His heart aches at the thought of you in such agony, but his presence here, in your chambers, is dangerous—more dangerous than he could have ever anticipated.

The door creaks open behind him, and Daeron's hand falls away from your cheek, his gaze hardening as he turns to face the intruder. Jacaerys Velaryon stands in the doorway, sword drawn, his expression a mixture of fury and disbelief. 

"Stay away from her," Jacaerys growls, his voice low but edged with the sharpness of a blade. He steps forward, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword tightly as if ready to strike. His eyes are cold, dangerous, like the sea in the midst of a storm. "She is my wife."

Daeron's lips curve into a bitter smile, a cold, knowing smile. He straightens, turning slowly to face his nephew. "Your wife?" he repeats, his voice soft but dangerous. "She was mine long before she was yours."

The words hang in the air, sharp and heavy. Jacaerys' eyes narrow, and for a moment, it seems as though violence is inevitable. The tension between them hums like a tightly drawn bowstring, ready to snap. But before either can move, you stir again, your fevered body shifting beneath the blankets.

Your eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, but then they settle on Daeron. His face, half-shadowed by the dim light of the room, softens as he looks down at you. His hand, warm and familiar, is wrapped around yours, the rough calluses of his palm a stark contrast to your fevered skin. 

"Daeron..." you whisper again, confusion and longing tangled in your voice. Your mind is clouded, your body weak, but the sight of him brings a surge of something—something you can’t name but have always felt. 

"Shh," Daeron murmurs, his voice suddenly tender, as though the world beyond the two of you has ceased to exist. His fingers tighten slightly around yours, a silent promise, an unspoken vow that transcends the walls of Dragonstone, the blood that binds and divides you.

Jacaerys watches, his jaw clenched, his grip on his sword faltering for a moment as he sees the way you look at Daeron. He’s seen it before, but now, now it feels like a knife twisting in his chest. "You don’t belong here," he snaps, stepping forward. His gaze flickers to you, then back to Daeron. "She’s not yours anymore."

Daeron’s eyes flash, cold and sharp. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?" His voice is low, biting. "Do you think a few vows and a marriage bed can erase what we had? What we still have?"

Jacaerys’ face hardens, but before he can respond, a weak cough escapes your lips, your body trembling beneath the weight of the fever. Both men turn toward you, but it is Daeron who reaches you first, his hand brushing a strand of damp hair from your forehead.

"She needs rest," Daeron says quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. His thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. "Not your anger. Not your sword."

For a moment, there is only silence. Then Jacaerys lowers his blade, though the fury in his eyes remains. "You have no right," he says, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "You lost that the moment we found your letters."

Daeron’s jaw tightens. "I lost nothing," he says, his voice firm. He leans down, his lips brushing against your temple in a gesture so soft, so tender, it feels like a secret meant only for the two of you. "I will never lose her."

You stir again, your hand gripping his weakly, and Daeron glances down at you. "Rest now, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice like a balm. "I’m here."

Jacaerys stands there, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained fury, but in that moment, he knows he cannot banish Daeron. Not while you are like this. Not while the fever clings to you, making you vulnerable, fragile. But the storm within him is far from over, and as he steps back toward the door, he glances over his shoulder. 

"Don’t think this is finished, Daeron," Jacaerys warns, his voice low and dark. "I’ll make sure of it."

Daeron doesn’t look at him. His focus is entirely on you, his hand never leaving yours. "Do what you will," he says quietly, "but I will always come back for her."

[distracteddream]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks to @loki-is-my-kink-awakening for the tag!

I’m going to share more of my post-Roxxcart divorce WIP, “What They Didn’t Say”, until my brain figures out how to rework it.

Behind the cut for length.

Ah, Loki realizes through the haze of agony. He can influence the situation to a point. But there’s no warm bath. No glass of pleasant Vanaheim wine. Not here. No, all he gets is Sif’s cruelty, deserved though as it may be.

And Mobius chose this. Of all the moments in Loki’s life, he selected this one. There have been innumerable insults made against him. He’s been injured in a variety of ways. This interaction with Sif wouldn’t have come to mind at all if Loki had been asked for his worst memory. If Mobius had really wanted to torture him properly… Jotunheim. Odin’s Vault. The Sanctuary. Loki’s self-preservation quickly skirts away from that particular memory. The point being, that if Loki had chosen the worst moments of his life to be forced to relive, this would not have ranked at all.

So why this one? It’s something he ponders in the tiny respites between loops. Why would Mobius choose this specific memory? He’s got to think like an analyst.

Loki had slept with Sif. It had only happened the once, for obvious reasons, and he’d only done it specifically to pull the trick on her. It had been worth it, both the sex and the prank, even after she’d taken her retribution against him. Her comments hadn’t meant anything to him. So what if he was alone? He always had been and assumed that wouldn’t change. Loki definitely had not been looking to change that with Sif of all people. Sif didn’t actually like him so what would one night of intimacy between them have mattered? Loki thought it no more than a lark and hadn’t cared about Sif’s feelings over the whole thing.

He was on his knees again, wishing to be rid of the Time Collar so he could at least shift forms and avoid some of the agony on the next loop, when the puzzle pieces started fitting together.

Mobius would have known Loki had been intimate with Sif, if he’d chosen this as the loop. He would have known Sif’s physical assault on his person - and he would have heard her condemnation of Loki. There was a message there, intentional or not, and Loki very much doubted Mobius did anything without intention.

Loki had to see the situation from someone else’s point of view.

��he had used Sif. He’d used his own body too, but that had been his choice. It hadn’t been Sif’s. Loki had used intimacy to hurt Sif simply because it amused him.

Oh.

And her words damned him to be alone because that was his punishment for being so careless with another’s feelings. The physical pain wasn’t the point. That was merely the emphasis for the emotional pain he should regret inflicting on others.

Like Sif.

Like Mobius.

That was why he deserved to be alone. Not because of the tricks or careless intimacy he utilized to get his way. Not even because he was an asshole, as Mobius called him. Though he was indeed that.

He would always be alone because he never cared about anyone but himself.

Until recently.

[zapreportsblog]

Reader is a vampire who got her heart broken and went to the Volturi to try and get herself killed because of it, but she was so upset she failed to realize the spark she felt with the kings.

❝the flame that burns for you❞

✭ pairing : volturi kings x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (y/n) has her heart broken by a male who she thought out to be her mate turns out that was simply a mind trick he played on her to think, thinking she was to go without a true mate she seeks out the volturi to end her misery but blinded by sadness she doesn’t see the bond in the makings 

✭ twilight masterlist 2

The night was cool, and the moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows through the dense forest. (Y/N) moved silently through the trees, her senses sharp and keen. As a vampire, hunting was a necessity, and she had grown skilled at it over the centuries. Her crimson eyes scanned the darkness, searching for the telltale signs of prey.

But tonight, her thoughts were not solely focused on the hunt. She couldn't shake the unease that had settled in her chest since earlier in the evening. Leo, her vampire lover, had been acting strangely lately, distant and secretive. She couldn't pinpoint the source of his change in behavior, but it gnawed at her.

Eventually, (Y/N)'s hunt proved successful, and she returned to the secluded cabin she shared with Leo. She pushed through the creaky wooden door, her senses still on high alert. The scent of another woman hung heavily in the air, a scent she recognized all too well.

As she stepped further into the dimly lit cabin, her heart pounded in her chest. There, in their shared bedroom, she found Leo entangled with another woman, their bodies pressed together in an intimate embrace. (Y/N)'s voice trembled as she whispered his name, her world crumbling around her.

"Leo..."

Leo pulled away from the other woman, his eyes widening in shock as he turned to face (Y/N). Guilt etched across his features, but there was something else there, something sinister.

"(Y/N), I can explain," he stammered, but she couldn't bear to hear his excuses.

Tears welled up in her crimson eyes as she confronted him. "I trusted you, Leo. I thought we were mates, bound for eternity."

Leo's gaze shifted away from hers, and a cruel smile played at his lips. "Ah, yes, about that," he said, his voice dripping with deceit. "You see, I used my ability to force those thoughts into your mind. We were never true mates, (Y/N)."

Her heart shattered as Leo's confession hung in the air. All this time, she had believed in their love, in their eternal bond, and it had all been a lie. The tears spilled down her pale cheeks as she realized the depth of his betrayal.

"You're lying," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why, Leo? Why would you do this to me?"

Leo's smile widened, his true nature revealed. "Because, my dear (Y/N), I grew tired of you. It was time for a change, a new companion."

Her world collapsed around her, and she turned away from him, unable to bear the sight of the vampire she had thought was her mate. In that moment, she felt utterly alone, her heartache too much to bear.

Without another word, she fled the cabin, her mind consumed by despair and a newfound determination. She had lost everything, even the belief in her true mate. With nothing left to live for, she made a fateful decision.

She would seek out the Volturi, the ancient vampire council, and ask for the ultimate release from her immortal existence. For (Y/N) believed that without a true mate, her eternity was meaningless, and she would rather face the cold embrace of death than live with the agony of betrayal.

The grand halls of the Volturi castle were as imposing as the legends suggested. (Y/N) stood before the towering doors, her heart heavy with despair, as she awaited her audience with the three vampire kings. She had traveled a long, lonely journey to reach this point, and now she could only hope that they would grant her request for death.

Finally, the massive doors creaked open, revealing the regal figures of Aro, Caius, and Marcus, the rulers of the Volturi. (Y/N) stepped inside, her eyes locking onto Aro's penetrating gaze. She felt vulnerable and exposed under his scrutiny, but there was no turning back now.

"I have come to seek an audience," she said, her voice steady but laced with desperation.

Aro, his eyes gleaming with curiosity, gestured for her to approach. "Of course, my dear. What brings you to our doorstep?"

(Y/N) took a deep breath, her resolve firm, as she spoke her darkest desire. "I seek death, my lords. Please, end my immortal existence."

The three kings exchanged glances, and Caius, with a trace of disdain, remarked, "And why should we grant such a request? You have committed no crimes worthy of death."

Desperation clawed at her, and (Y/N) explained, "I have exposed our kind to humans. I led them to our presence before hunting them. I have brought shame upon our kind."

Aro's eyes lit up with intrigue as he leaned in closer. "Tell us more, my dear. How did you expose us?"

With a heavy heart, (Y/N) recounted the events that had transpired with Leo, the man she had believed to be her mate. She told of how they had shown themselves to humans before feeding on them, their reckless actions endangering the secrecy of the vampire world.

Aro listened intently, and when she finished, he spoke, "Indeed, this is a grave transgression. However, my dear, it is not you who killed those humans, but your mate. By our laws, you are not directly responsible."

(Y/N)'s hope dwindled as Aro continued, "And as for your request for death, we cannot grant it. Your actions, while reckless, do not warrant such a punishment."

Tears welled up in her crimson eyes, and she looked down, defeated. "Then what am I to do? I cannot bear the weight of my existence any longer."

It was Marcus who had remained silent throughout the exchange, his thoughtful gaze fixed on (Y/N). Suddenly, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper, "Aro, there is something I see."

Aro turned to Marcus, his interest piqued. "What do you see, my brother?"

Marcus gestured towards (Y/N), and his eyes met Aro's with a knowing look. "I see a bond forming, a connection between her and us, Aro."

Aro's eyes widened with realization, and he nodded slowly. "You are right, Marcus. There is an unseen bond, a unique connection between us."

(Y/N) was bewildered, unable to comprehend what they were discussing. "What are you talking about?"

Aro smiled, though it held a hint of mystery. "My dear, we have decided not to grant your request for death, but we will not tell you why. There is something about you, a connection that has intrigued us. You may stay with us, and we shall monitor this bond closely."

Confusion and uncertainty swirled within (Y/N), but she had little choice but to accept their decision. She had come seeking an end to her existence, and now she was tethered to the enigmatic Volturi kings, with a destiny she could not fathom.

As (Y/N) resigned herself to her fate, the bond between herself, Aro, Caius, and Marcus continued to strengthen, its purpose shrouded in secrecy and uncertainty, a mystery that would reshape her eternity in ways she could never have imagined.

Days turned into weeks within the chambers the Volturi had granted (Y/N). She had become a ghost of her former self, plagued by the weight of her existence and the enigmatic bond she shared with Aro, Caius, and Marcus. She couldn't understand why they kept her around, why they refused to grant her the death she so desperately craved.

Depression had settled in her heart like a never-ending storm, chaining her to the dark solitude of her chambers. She had little reason to venture beyond those walls, for her existence had become a relentless torment.

One gloomy evening, (Y/N) made a decision that would shatter the fragile status quo. She slipped out of her chambers and into the dimly lit corridors of the Volturi castle. Her crimson eyes, devoid of hope, glistened with tears as she walked towards the imposing front gates. She intended to reveal herself to the world, to expose her vampire nature, and force the Volturi's hand to end her suffering.

As she stepped into the moonlight just beyond the castle's entrance, a cold, iron grip seized her by the arm. Before she could react, Caius had her pinned to the castle wall with inhuman strength. Marcus and Aro appeared swiftly, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

Aro's voice carried a tone of confusion as he asked, "My dear (Y/N), why would you do such a thing?"

Tears streamed down her face as she choked out the painful truth. "I wished for you to have a crime to kill me for. To end this misery."

Marcus, usually serene and detached, grew serious. "You must not endanger yourself like that again."

"Why?" (Y/N) cried out in despair. "What is the point of keeping me here, torturing me with this existence?"

Caius, his voice harsh and unforgiving, finally spoke, "Because we are mates."

(Y/N) froze, her mind struggling to process the words. "What...what do you mean?"

Aro, always the one to explain, took a step forward. "When you first came to us seeking death, Marcus saw a bond forming between the four of us. A connection that defies explanation. That is why we keep you here."

Tears welled up in her crimson eyes once more, but this time it was disbelief that washed over her. "It's another mind trick, isn't it? A way to keep me here, to torment me further."

Marcus's voice held an uncharacteristic warmth as he assured her, "No, (Y/N), it is not a trick. We may not fully understand it ourselves, but this bond is real. We are connected, and that is why we cannot let you go."

Aro continued, "We believe that this bond serves a purpose, one that we are meant to discover together."

Overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, (Y/N) struggled to accept this revelation. She had come seeking an end to her existence, only to discover that her destiny was inexplicably tied to the enigmatic Volturi kings. As they surrounded her, their faces filled with a strange mixture of determination and compassion, she couldn't help but wonder what awaited them all in this unforeseen journey of their immortal lives.

Centuries had passed since (Y/N) had discovered her inexplicable bond with the Volturi kings, Aro, Caius, and Marcus. Their unique connection had grown stronger with time, forging a sense of unity that transcended the boundaries of conventional vampire relationships. Yet, one desire continued to linger in (Y/N)'s immortal heart—a longing for a family of their own.

However, the cruel irony of their existence was that vampires could not procreate, and so (Y/N) had resigned herself to the reality that they would never have children. It was a source of sorrow that cast a shadow over their otherwise harmonious existence.

But the Volturi kings were not ones to accept defeat easily. Their power and influence extended far and wide, and they were well aware of the extraordinary circumstances that had allowed Edward and Bella Cullen to conceive a child. It was a vampire-human hybrid, a rarity that defied nature itself.

One moonless night, the three kings convened in their chambers, their minds focused on a daring plan that could grant (Y/N)'s deepest wish. They had watched humans for months, identifying three women who lived on the fringes of society, with no family or loved ones to speak of.

Aro, his eyes gleaming with ambition, explained their audacious plan. "We shall offer these women unimaginable riches and comfort in exchange for their cooperation in carrying our children."

Caius, ever the pragmatist, added, "They mustn’t know that this childbirth will claim their lives. They will bear vampire-human hybrid children, a feat that defies nature and carries a heavy price."

Marcus, the most reserved of the trio, nodded in agreement. "As long as we must ensure that (Y/N)'s dream of a family is fulfilled."

With their plan firmly in place, the Volturi kings set out to find the three chosen women. They were drawn from the darkness of the streets with promises of wealth and luxury, but with full disclosure of the mortal peril that awaited them.

The women, each facing their own desperate circumstances, agreed to the pact. For them, the lure of riches and a comfortable life was too tempting to resist, even if the circumstances were unnatural.

As the months passed, (Y/N) watched over the three women, their bellies growing with the unnatural life they carried within them. The bond between her and the Volturi kings deepened, as they shared the anticipation of their unconventional family's arrival.

The day of the births arrived, and the Volturi kings were present, their power ensuring a safe and painless delivery for the women. Yet, as the first cry of a hybrid infant echoed through the room, a solemn truth hung in the air—the women had fulfilled their part of the bargain, but their mortal lives had come to an end.

As the women's life forces faded, their final breaths marked the beginning of a new chapter for (Y/N) and the Volturi kings. They had achieved the impossible, a family that defied the laws of nature itself.

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a soft glow over the chambers where (Y/N) and her three children, Hades, Rosemary, and Juliet, were gathered. It was a nightly ritual, a moment of connection and comfort as they settled in for a bedtime story.

Hades, with his ebony hair and piercing red eyes like his father Caius, nestled close to his mother. Rosemary, her dark hair cascading in waves like Marcus, and Juliet, with Aro's striking features, eagerly awaited their mother's story. They had always wondered why they looked different from their beloved mother.

(Y/N) smiled down at her inquisitive children and began her tale. "Once upon a time, my dear children, your fathers and I longed for a family, just like this one. But, you see, I am a vampire, and vampires cannot have children."

Hades, Rosemary, and Juliet exchanged curious glances, their young minds eager for the story to unfold.

"We knew we needed help from something greater than ourselves," (Y/N) continued, "so we asked the gods above for a miracle. The gods listened to our plea and decided to create you, my precious triplets."

The children's eyes widened with wonder, and Hades asked, "How did the gods make us, Mother?"

"They sculpted you from clay, molding each of you with care," (Y/N) explained. "They gave you looks that matched your fathers, so you would carry their essence within you."

Rosemary, her gift resembling Marcus's but with a unique twist, interjected, "Does that mean that our other sibling will look like you then someday, Mother?"

(Y/N) blinked in confusion, not aware of any such plans. "Another sibling? I'm not sure what you mean, my dear."

Hades, with his unusual ability to grant wishes, smiled warmly. "I wished for a sibling, Mother. I know I am not suppose to use my abilities but I couldn’t help it mama.”

Understanding dawned on (Y/N)'s face as she placed her hand over her stomach, a mixture of surprise and joy washing over her. "You wished for a sibling?"

The children nodded enthusiastically, and Rosemary added, "And the gods listened, just like they did for us."

A wave of emotion overcame (Y/N) as she realized the profound love and unity that bound her unique family together. She had longed for a family, and now, through a combination of divine intervention and her children's wishes, she was about to experience the joy of motherhood once more.

With a radiant smile, she whispered, "Yes, my darlings, it seems you will have another sibling soon, and this time, it will be a gift from your brother Hades and the gods who watch over us."

As (Y/N) tucked her three children into their beds, their hearts filled with excitement and anticipation for the arrival of a new member of their extraordinary family. The gods had indeed smiled upon them, bestowing them with a love that transcended the boundaries of existence.

(Y/N) gathered her three mates after three days of avoiding them. Aro, Caius, and Marcus, in their private chambers to share the astonishing news. The air was heavy with tension and curiosity as she began to speak.

"I have something incredible to tell you all," she began, her voice filled with awe. "Hades, our dear son, used his unique ability to make a wish."

The three Volturi kings exchanged puzzled glances. "A wish?" Aro inquired, intrigued.

(Y/N) nodded, her eyes shining with pride. "Yes, he wished for a sibling, a brother or sister to join our family."

Caius raised an eyebrow, skepticism in his gaze. "But, my love, we are vampires. We cannot conceive children."

A mischievous smile played on (Y/N)'s lips. "That's the remarkable part. Unlike a regular pregnancy, I have come to find out that I had only been pregnant for three days."

Aro's eyes widened with astonishment, and Marcus, usually the most reserved of the trio, leaned forward in anticipation. "Three days? How is that even possible?"

(Y/N) explained, "Just as our transformation into vampires takes three days, this pregnancy was swift, almost like a supernatural event. And now, I have given birth to our newest addition."

With that, she unveiled a small bundle in her arms, revealing a beautiful baby boy with the softest, snow-white hair any of them had ever seen. His pure appearance was a stark contrast to the vampiric features of his siblings.

Caius, Marcus, and Aro stared in awe at the newborn, their initial skepticism giving way to profound wonder and love. The bond that connected them all was as strong as ever, and they welcomed the newest member of their unique family with open hearts.

Hades, who had been waiting anxiously outside the chambers, entered and joined his mothers, his eyes filled with pride. "I wished for his existence, so I get to pick his name right?”

His three fathers exchanged amused glances and nodded in agreement. "Very well, Hades," Aro said, "What shall we name him?"

Hades grinned and announced proudly, "I name him 'Sunny,' because he brings light to our lives, and he's different from all of us, like a ray of sunshine."

The name 'Sunny' was met with smiles and nods of approval, and they all took turns cradling the precious newborn in their arms. Sunny's arrival had defied all expectations, but he was a cherished addition to their family, a symbol of the love and unity that bound them together.

In the days that followed, Hades proudly introduced his new baby brother to Rosemary and Juliet, who showered Sunny with affection and adoration. The Volturi castle echoed with the laughter and joy of their growing family, as they reveled in the miracle of Sunny's existence.

For (Y/N) and her mates, their family was like no other in the vampire world—a testament to the extraordinary bonds of love, sacrifice, and the unexpected miracles that could unfold even in their immortal lives.

[lealdern]

Fuck around/Find out

Explicit content: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader smut AO3 Link

Inspired by Send to All by Kerosceene

Dick asks you to be his fuck or die and you agree. There are consequences to having sex with someone you have feelings for. You're both about to find out.

second person/fuck or die/consent given/sex pollen/ she/her reader / reader has a vagina

“If I was going to die if I didn’t have sex, would you have sex with me?”

There’s no fanfare when Dick asks you this, and it’s so uncharacteristically serious that you can’t help but snort, watching him for that telltale grin of his, and when it doesn’t appear you wonder if you missed something.

“What?” you laugh, confused but still amused.

“If I needed to have sex with you to not die, would you have sex with me?” he clarifies, with a tilt of a smile that does worrying things to your heartbeat, not a skip in the rhythm but more of a stumble. You ignore it in favour of stirring the ice in your drink, listening to the soothing click clack of ice cubes against glass.

“Well yea, but… Blue balls isn’t real Dick, you can’t listen to what Jason tells you.” You lean your head back against the back of the settee and turn to Dick with a smirk on your face.

“One hundred percent you would?” He asks, like he’s needing to catalogue this somewhere in his mind and you frown.

“Well yea, you die or we have sex? We have sex,” you say simply like it’s a formula. “You’d do the same for me, right?” It only feels fair to ask the question back and he nods with an earnest expression.

“Of course.”  His nod is firm and it feels like something like a contract has been signed verbally, though you’re still a little unsure what actually just happened.

And that’s the last you think on it: Not the sex with Dick bit, you think on that a lot and its increasing frequency is getting worrying since he’s a friend, a very good close friend, and you don’t want to ruin that with something so messy as friends with benefits or, even messier, Love.

Yes, capital L, Love

It’s a late August afternoon when there’s a fist pounding at your door and you startle enough that you fumble your phone, juggling it for a moment in the air one handed before it falls to the floor. The hammer-fisted person at your door bangs again and you stride to the door ready to rip them a new one when you open the door and stop stock still.

Red Robin is at your door, but the most surprising part of this is that he’s supporting Dick, who is wincing and sweating like he’s in agony, clothes dishevelled like he’s been roughed up. They step into your apartment together, or more Dick stumbles while Red Robin guides him in.

“Dick, oh my god, are you ok,” you follow them to the settee Red Robin places him on, and your hand smooths over Dick’s bicep. There’s a low moan and a shudder that passes his lips and you pull back worrying you’ve hurt him. “Is he ok?” You look to Red Robin, his white eyes giving you nothing to work from, though the thin set of his mouth makes you worry.

“He’s been exposed to Poison Ivy’s latest pheromone, and if he doesn’t have penetrative sexual intercourse ending in fulfilling ejaculation he will die. He said you would help him through this.”

He almost sounds like he’s reciting something from a book, verbatim, impersonal as he speaks, except for the last bit, he sounds like he’s asking and apologising at the same time. For a moment your brain flatlines, only coming back to life when Dick shudders and groans.

“Gotham is so fucking weird- Alright, thanks for bringing him here, uh…you can go now?” If he finds your dismissal rude, he doesn’t say anything, and judging by the speed he leaves he seems glad to be gone. You crouch down in front of Dick, who looks like he’s in agony, knuckles white where he grips the fabric of his jeans. Reaching out you feel heat radiating from his skin and hesitate for a moment before cupping his cheek.

He leans into it with a sigh that wheedles off into a whine, and his eyes are lidded and heated in a way you’ve never seen before.

“You’re gonna be okay Dick, I’ll look after you.” The words sound like a filthy promise to his mind and he shudders in delight at the thought of all that that entails. It gives him renewed energy and he surges forward, hand sliding around the back of your neck bringing you close enough that he can kiss you messily, hungrily, while moaning into your mouth.

It’s startling but fuck it goes straight to your cunt, like lightning, and you gasp.

He deepens the kiss, tongue sliding deliciously over your lip and your eyes flutter shut as you groan, pushing further into him until his free arm manoeuvres you onto the couch with him, straddling him.

“Please,” he whines against your mouth, his hips jutting up searching for relief between your legs. His hands settle on your hips pushing you down against the solid erection you can feel through both of your clothes. His head falls backward, throat exposed and Adams apple bobbing up and then down as he swallows thickly, gasping at the sensation. It’s as though some sanity or sense comes back to him, his eyes finding yours, “Is this- Is this okay?” He asks, and you see the worry in his eyes and know that if you said ‘no’ he’d not let this go further.

But you don’t say no.

Instead you lean forward, hand sliding under his collar to touch the heated skin of his neck and feel the rumble of his moan along his throat, “Of course it is,” you murmur against his lips, capturing his full bottom lip between yours in a kiss that makes Dick thrust against you as breath catches in his throat.

It’s like your words are the starting gun, and you realise how much Dick has been holding back. His strong arms wrap around you, hands splayed open on your back and pulling you close like he can’t stand the air between your bodies. One hand cradles your head as his hips cant, and you’re moving and turning in one smooth motion and he’s above you now on the couch, his hips between your legs pressed against you.

It's like he doesn’t know what to do with himself: With you. One hand roams your side, clumsily sliding underneath your top so his hot hand can press against your hip and squeeze as he grinds slowly against you. His other hand finds your nipple through your t-shirt, when he realises you’re without a bra the softness of your breast and the hardness of your nipple through thin cotton has him growling against your neck where he bites and licks and sucks in frenzy.

But the noises you’re making in his ear, they are what’s driving him mad. The gasps stopped short by moans and hitching of breath as he does something that makes you writhe underneath him are making his cock weep precum messily, he can feel it. He feels greedy and drinks all of you in, the feel and sound of you underneath him is going to be seared into his memory forever, he thinks through the haze of the need to fuck you until you can only sob his name while you come undone on his cock.

“I knew you’d sound pretty,” he groans against your neck, “You’re so fucking pretty.”

He pulls back and you’re treated to the sight of Dick, sweating and panting as he takes off his black t-shirt. The vision of him, body rippling with heavy breaths, between your legs, stupefies you. You take too long to move for Dick and he’s pulling your top over your head, arms wrapping around you again to bring you against his heated skin. The feel of your bare skin against his has him panting hot breaths across your chest as he leans down to take a hard nipple in his mouth, flicking along it expertly with his tongue before capturing it between his teeth gently.

Your nails scrape along his scalp as your fingers thread through his hair and it makes him whine, “Oh god,” you breathe out, almost overwhelmed by the way he feels on you, it’s all encompassing and you’ve never been so present in your body before. All you can think of is the brush of his calloused hand against your side, the sharp bite of teeth, and the hot tongue that dances over your skin.

And his eyes.

He looks up at you, mouth still on your skin, his eyes are almost black with the way his pupils are blown, but they’re heated as they watch you: And they have been watching you, watching the way you gasp, mouth in a pretty little o shape as you writhe under him. He watches your face as his hand slips under the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear and through the wetness he finds there, fingers pressing into your wet pussy with ease. He could come just by the feel and the sight of you alone as he watches your face when his fingers slip past your lips, almost shocked at how good it feels.

Dick can’t help himself, he moves up your body, fingers still dancing up and down your folds, learning what makes you keen so deliciously. He wants those noises in his ear, like a secret just for him. He presses open mouthed kisses along your jawline as he pushes a finger into you, holding you close when your whole body bucks and the moan you breathe against his ear has him replying with his own.

It’s almost as good as the noise you make when, after a few stoking strokes of his one finger, he slides a second one in, coaxing expertly along your walls to find your g spot and press against it just right. The heel of his hand presses against your clit as he flexes his wrist and crooks his fingers inside of you, stealing your breath away as your arousal coats his fingers generously.

“Dick, let me- please-“ your hand slides down his front, nails grazing his skin in a light drag as your hands land clumsy on his waistband. Reaching underneath you find the hot head of his cock, already smeared with precum, “oh fuck,” you breathe and Dick swallows down the moan. When your fingers swirl through the sticky precum his hips push up, and your hand curls to sheathe him, to squeeze him. His eyes nearly roll back at the sensation, and his head falls to the crook of your neck when you roll your wrist and slide along the thick tip of him.

His skin is hot, almost feverish, and you run a hand through his hair, soothing his groans as you shift to remove your shorts. His hand grips your waist as he sits up to remove his bottoms, like he’s loathe to break contact with you.

When you’re both bare and naked in the midday sun on your couch it’s like time is caught, suspended, like a dust mote in a sunbeam. You both breathe heavy, taking the other in. Dick’s cock is hard and upright, precum glistening where it still beads freshly at the head, the perfect length for you and a thickness that has you biting your lip. Looking down at you from where he kneels between your legs he licks his lips, thirsty for the taste of your skin on his lips again.

It’s not frantic, or desperate when you reach out to him and he lays down above you pressing a kiss between your breasts as you wrap your leg around his waist. The sigh he breathes shudders as he enters you, resting his forehead against the place he’d set a kiss, almost reverent while your fingers tug at his hair and his breath heats the skin of your sternum.

When his arms tremble you know he’s restraining himself.

“Dick,” his name is soft and wanting on your lips and he stills, looking up to see your heated gaze, feels your hips move underneath him, urging him onward, “It’s okay.”

You don’t know what he’s going through, you don’t know how tomorrow will be, but you know you need him to know that now is okay, and you’re here for him.

It’s permission to let go completely.

He sits back then, on his knees still inside of you but not fully, not really. The first thrust goes so deep it’s almost painful, a sharp sudden stab deep within you. But that drag back out makes it all worth it. His hips roll, the sound of wetness against his groin rends the air and it makes everything feel like more. Dick’s eyes raise and he looks intoxicated, you think, eyes unfocused as he thrusts into you at a punishing pace but he looks good and he feels good and his hand is on your cheek, thumb caressing your wet lips before sliding into your mouth where you swirl your tongue and caress it as he digs his fingers into your hip. His thrusts shake you, the sensation of your tits bouncing while you suck on his thumb and god he’s looking at you so fucked out.

When he pulls his thumb out of your mouth there’s a string of spit that glistens for a moment, before breaking and the lewdness compared to your eyes looking up at him lidded and heated for him, because of him, sends him over.

The thrusts go longer, deeper, as he pushes into you as far as he can while he chokes out moans of your name, almost sobbing in relief and ecstasy.

You anchor him, as he comes down from the pheromones. His body collapses next to yours, exhausted and spent: You shift so he can have more space but he just reaches out to hold you close as he pants into your hair.

The hand on his side is soothing, and your body is soft against him, and he decides he just wants to be in this moment for a good long while, happy and content, if a little exhausted. He doesn’t want to think about what tomorrow might bring, hell he doesn’t want to think about what the next hour will bring.

Just now is good.

Next Chapter

[alespov]

The captain, the officer and a Offer. 18+

Synopsis: { preach til morning light pt2 } after the attack yesterday, you were left dazed and confused, luckily captain Wesker is here to make it better.

Tw: preacher Wesker! No mention of religion in this chapter. Dark fic, age gap! Smut to come in later chapter, perhaps in the next chapter. Pet names used like “bunny”

A/N : here’s chapter two! Hope you enjoy! Feedback is highly appreciated, and requests are open! Asks have been weird lately, so if you send me something lmk! Please don’t let this flop!

Part one

The wailing sirens in close proximity brought a wave of comfort washing over you. In the distance, the man who had rescued you engaged in a hushed yet heated conversation over the phone. Though his whispers were fervent, the furious wind rendered the exchange indecipherable, leaving you to wonder about the true nature of his call.

Police cars and ambulances rushed to the scene and the man suddenly ended his call. One of the officers were making his way to you.

“I’m officer Redfield, I’d like to ask you some questions.” You stared blankly at the man, wondering what questions he would be asking. You were too numb to answer anything, for gods sake you were almost eaten by a monster.

“I know it’s tough right now, but please try to answer honestly and to the best of your ability.” He paused and looked behind him to see the man talking to another female officer.

Then turned back to you, “what attacked you tonight?” He asked in a hushed whisper.

“I.. I’m no-“ you couldn’t couldn’t get your mind and mouth wired together and you softly began to cry. The officer tried to calm, while trying to get you to focus on the question.

“Redfield enough.” You looked up and the man who was standing right behind officer Redfield, with one of the safety blankets.

“Can’t you see, she’s had a rough night. I’ll ask her questions tomorrow.” He placed the blanket around your shoulder and shooed the officer away. But not before the officer protested.

“But captain, she’s the only who seen the monsters, that tore up the people in arklay.” You thought about what he said and the thoughts became evident on your face. The tears fell quicker and you leaned into the man for comfort.

“Chris that’s enough!” He stated sternly. “Go wait in the cruiser.”

“Bunny, it’s okay, you can answer questions when you feel better. For the time being let’s get you over to the ambulance.”

The sole source of discomfort on your body was your throbbing ankle. You acknowledged the pain with a nod, attempting to rise to your feet, yet faltering as the agony in your ankle overwhelmed you. Observing your struggle, he swiftly scooped you up in a bridal carry and whisked you towards the ambulance. Your head found solace on his shoulder, while your arms clung to him securely. As you glanced over his shoulder, you noticed onlookers capturing snapshots of the two of you in this intimate moment.

It seemed as though he couldn't be bothered, for he paid no heed to them. Eventually, you both reached the ambulance, where he tenderly settled you onto the stretcher. The paramedics came to your aid and started accessing your ankle and asking questions about it.

You guess the man was captain of the police force, simply because all of the officers were coming to him for directions.

The brain fog finally wore off and you could finally think clearly. Honestly you weren’t sure what attacked you, all you knew is that you were thankfully that the captain was there at the perfect time.

The captain walked back up to you, and introduced himself. “I’m captain Wesker, I apologize I should have introduced myself sooner.”

You told him your name and he informed you that he would be taking you home, once the ambulance cleared you. The finished wrapping your ankle and once the cast was secured, you were ready to leave.

He walked you to his car, and opened to door for you. He got into the driver side and started the car.

“What’s your address?” He asked after awhile of driving.

“266 Hallow lane, raccoon city rd .” You replied while gazing out the window.

As your gaze fell upon him, you couldn't help but admire his striking features. His golden locks flawlessly arranged, porcelain-like skin, and an impressive muscular build, while still retaining a slender figure. The only aspect that seemed out of place was the pair of dark sunglasses he donned. Their presence baffled you, especially considering the foggy ambiance and the late hour.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s with the sunglasses.” He hummed in response.

“Such a curious bunny aren’t you.” He cooed at you. “I just like them, that’s why. No particular reason.”

“Hmm interesting.” You giggled a bit and the rest of the drive was silent.

He steered onto the correct path and smoothly navigated onto the street. Deliberately unlocking only the driver's side, he strolled over to your door with a sense of care. Gently opening it, he offered his assistance as you carefully emerged, still hindered by a slight limp. The paramedics had insisted before your departure that a visit to the doctor was necessary to examine your ankle further in the morning.

You made it to your door and unlocked it so, you wouldn’t wake your mom. Before he left left, he invited you a gathering.

“Sunday morning, preacher issacs wants me to lead a service, mind joining me.” Although you weren’t religious, you just might accept. Just to see him more.

“Hmm didn’t take you for the religious type.” You stated and you saw a small smirk play across his face.

“That you’re right about, but he’s an old friend and I don’t mind helping him out.” With that he bid you a farewell and made his leave. You made your way to your bed and collapsed letting the sleep take you over.

Thanks for reading loves, I really hope you enjoy this! 💕

[marchtooctober]

Drabble contribution for twiyor prompt: "Don't Go"

▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎

"Y- Thorn Princess... This is not only about us. You need to leave me." He said as he held Yor's hands to his lips and kissed them. He could not look Yor in the eye as he himself teared up.

"No."

"If you won't, I will."

"No! You're not going anywhere! You can't lea-" Yor protested but was cut off.

"Don't you see? It's impossible! There's no future for us..."

Yor knew that all too well. She didn't need to hear those words.

If this is all there is between the two of them, then there's no more reason to hesitate. It's better for her to concede and ease the suffering. She's aware that they are simply, sacrificial soldiers. In their world where love is nothing but a liability, cutting ties is for their own good.

"Is this what you want? So be it. I will leave." Yor said and casted down her eyes.

She turned away and wiped the drying tears. After taking a deep breath, she picked up her weapon resting on the marble table. As she gets nearer to the door, she questioned her own resolve.

What else could she be waiting for? The only thing left for her to do is to leave. So simple yet so difficult.

Yor is so lost in her thoughts until a warm embrace from behind took her out of the abyss of misery.

"Loi- Twilight?" She said in surprise.

The man did not say anything and only responded by tightening his embrace. For a moment more he is silent before finally speaking.

"Please.... Thorn Princess. Call me by my name again." He asked, his voice filled with agony.

Yor started to tremble, her tears threatening to flow once more.

"No. Because you won't do the same." She said.

Their breathing and heartbeat are all tangled, raging in their chests. The blowing breeze and faint glow in the sky signaled the coming sunrise but they didn't care.

"Can I see your face one last time, Yor?"

At this, Yor mustered all her strength not to look back but the bittersweet voice in which she heard her name and the warm comfort of embrace anguished her. At last, yearning took over her and she dared to see him just one more time.

And turn she did.

But perhaps it was a mistake because before she could say a word, she was immediately cut off with a heated kiss. Fierce and filled with maddening rush of emotions. A fervent plea that begs for her mercy. When she felt like giving out, strong arms kept her upright as the prolonged kiss pushed her deeper.

Yor could only surrender as she gets completely intoxicated by him. She doesn't deny to herself that she wanted so much more.

"Loid... I don't want to leave."

Yor was out of breath when she spoke. Slowly, she raised her eyes to look at the man that she loves.

"Believe me. I... don't want to, either." Loid said in return, just as breathless.

Loid must have known that Yor can kill him easily. But to him, gambling away his life for this moment is his only salvation.

"I wish I did things differently but I don't regret being a spy of many names. Because if I wasn't, I wouldn't have met you." He said as he caressed Yor's cheek with his hand.

They're both wishing for a chance to be together. How happy would they be if they were given the freedom to do so.

"Of all that I had to be, there's one that I really like. Do you know which one? It's Loid Forger." He added.

"My husband..."

Yor leaned to his touch and smiled bitterly. She then wrapped her arms around him, craving for another kiss. Loid's cool azure eyes stared right back at the burning crimson ones of Yor.

But their eyes only reflected their future without each other.

▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎•▪︎

It is what it is 🤷‍♀️

I hope you liked the angst.

And I'll be honest, I'm so into writing loiyor/twiyor kisses lately. I'm going crazy.

[emptyheadwriting]

I Leave This Letter to You, Beloved (Alternative Ending)

Be sure to read CMBIPP and ILTLTYB first for background

Word count:1.3k

Warnings:reader death,talks of suicide, hallucinations, and a funeral

Wednesday’s hands shook rapidly, the letter ruffling from her force. How could she ever live with herself, her brain was tearing itself apart as she cowered further into her seat, terrified to lift her eyes and have them fall upon your lifeless body.

“Please” she whimpered, her hands shooting up to grip the sides of her face in agony. The letter floated down to the floor slowly, wavering sideways on its descent before it finally fell. The paper’s movements ceased, everything seemed to go quiet, until a constant beep filled the room.

It took Wednesday until doctors started to rush into the room to grasp what the noise was and what it meant. “no no no” she said, voice getting louder with each word, “save her, don’t just stand there, save my wife! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill all of you” rage was all she could manage to summon as she stood from her chair and berated the doctors.

No matter her fight, there was nothing she could do, you were no longer there laying on the hospital bed. Only a shell, a body no longer full of life and love remained, and she could do nothing more than collapse over your chest, sobs of how sorry she was pouring from her lips for the rest of the night.

—

Wednesday Addams the Widow, it was not a title the woman ever hoped to hold when she married you, but as she looked around the small group of people that were standing around the Addams Family graveyard she realized that it has been finalized.

“I am so sorry my storm cloud, I can not imagine how you are feeling” Gomez said honestly as he laid a hand on her shoulder in an attempt of comfort. There would be none from his words or his touch, he only received a dismissive hum.

“I can’t believe she’s gone Wednesday, I thought we would all end up in a retirement home together like we were back in school all over again” Enid said teary eyed, Ajax by her side nodded along silently, his eyes not leaving your casket.

“A ridiculous thought” Wednesday said softly with a shake of her head. She had always envisioned you and herself dying together in your sleep, fading off into nothingness together, intertwined one last time.

Uncle Fester did not bother to say anything on his approach. No he simply stood by her, and snuck his hand around her waist before pulling her into a side hug, the squeeze on his own side telling him all the words of appreciation she would not dare speak, even now after all that had come from not sharing her emotions or caring enough about others.

Wednesday gave one last kiss to your ring before you were lowered into the ground, she shoveled on all the dirt herself as everyone else watched too scared to offer a hand due to the determination on the widow’s brow.

Lurch added your tombstone, and the ceremony was complete, people started to filter out, many leaving a lingering hand across your tombstone on their pass.

Wednesday sat on the grass next to your grave, her sight being overtaken by a shadow as her mother stood over her. “What will you do now my dove?” She asked gently, frowning at the way the her normally stoic daughter’s lip quivered.

The two shared an embrace in front of you before parting, Wednesday had things to do as far as she was concerned.

—

She flew back to the cabin, packed all of her things. Installed more cameras than there already was and locked all the doors and windows for the last time, for she had quit her job and knew where she needed to go.

She flew to your hometown, she had bought the first house she could get her hands on the day after your death. It was so strange. The place she had never bothered to visit or even really pay attention to a story about your time there, was the place she had decided she would spend the rest of her days.

Wednesday was full of regret at each pleasant moment she had. She visited places she had heard you describe and would breathe them in, cursing herself for never getting to see them with you. She would wake up every morning to sounds that you endlessly compared to those that would fill the cabins walls. You were right when you said those of your hometown were more, gentle a harmony of soft chirps and people starting their days greeted her pale ears.

On one of her firsts nights she decided to order food from the one restaurant you had mentioned before, you had mentioned it once in your time together, how she could remember that from a random parents weekend and not remember to show her wife proper affection and care was a mystery to her.

She unpacked the bag and sat down with your go-to order, and when she looked up across the table she saw you, bloodied, cut up, but with a small smile on your face. She ate a small bite, as her eyes stayed trained on your glimmering image.

“How are you liking all of the things that made me, me?” You asked gently, placing your hands on the table, fingers interlocked with each other.

“I’ve missed your voice” she starts, and looks away at the look of disapproval written on your face, “I know that’s not what you asked, I wanted to express myself is all, I love them all” she says sadly, “I should have experienced them all with you” her eyes finally going back to you.

You shrugged with a laugh, the sound making your wife shudder and nearly moan, it was heavenly, and she wished she had worked harder to hear it while you were still alive, “well I’m dead now, atleast you’ve gotten around to it” a wide smile forms on your lips at the upturn of her lips.

“I could join you” she offers serious, she knows she’s talking to herself, much too smart to not realize that this image of you was only her mind’s doing, but the offer sounds favorable and reasonable to her.

“No my love, you still have so much to do” your voice floats into her ear as your image fades away.

That night after her meal she calls her mom for a favor.

—

Months have passed since she saw you at her dinner table, she had picked up a few new habits.

The plants by the windows and on the porch grew as best as they could due to her novice gardening skills.

A few drawings were hung around the house. All done in charcoal, her own style of commemorating you in art. Each one was inspired by a part of you, your smile, your eyes, the way you would pull her close, and everything in between.

The most important of all, nightly calls to a crystal ball that was positioned on your gravestone. She would talk about her day, new experiences, and reminisce on your life together.

“I miss you a lot today my love, I saw a little girl at the store, her laugh sounded so much like yours I almost cried, I settled on buying her a candy that her mother refused her”

The private conversation was muffled by the walls and distance between the graveyard and the house, but the Addams Family Manor was a quiet home these days and Morticia and Gomez heard it nonetheless.

“Do you think she will ever stop cara mia?” Gomez asks softly, fingers dancing on his wife’s arm.

“Would you ever stop darling?” She asked with a roll of her eyes, knowing the answer that was to come.

“Of course not” he said like it was the most ridiculous question he had ever been asked.

“then no, she will not stop, she did promise our daughter in law forever after all” Morticia says gently.

—

Tag List: @wandaszn @thedemoninme141 @oh-thats-cute @jinxscatbomb @glorioushamsterqueen

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

on the cusp between childhood and adulthood, the sudden onset of grief when you weren’t in the room where it happened, and the impossible art of growing up in a very short time: or, why the princess of france from love’s labour’s lost means a lot to me personally

on the heels of reading as the princess of france with @socialshakespeare

heads up, the rest of this is going to get Very Long Very Quickly, so i’m putting it under a cut. tw for discussions of cancer, parental death, and grief.

so when @socialshakespeare announced that it would be doing love’s labour’s lost this month, in the box where you can put any additional notes about your casting preferences, i pretty much begged the admins to let me have a turn as the princess of france. y’know, i said, as a sort of twenty-first birthday present. and i was cast as the princess of france! thank you, socshakes! <3

but there was a very specific reason why i asked to play the princess of france.

and that reason is simply: she reminds me of me. more particularly, she reminds me of me from 2020, but me from 2020 was really the germination point of me today.

“savannah, everyone changed in 2020, 2020 was a fucking unbelievable year and it changed us all. it changed our whole world.” yeah. i’m well aware. but there’s a specific reason for me.

***

see, in early 2020, i was having a pretty decent time, actually. it was my senior year of high school, i had a great group of friends (much like the princess had her three ladies except my core friend group was bigger than that), things with my family weren’t great but i knew that come august i would be able to move out.

that first period of covid was awful and it changed so much and at times it felt like i was having a mental breakdown, but it wasn’t what ultimately ripped me apart that year.

you see, in 2018, about a month before my fifteenth birthday, my father was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. for a good long while, though, it seemed like he might beat the odds. treatments were working, he went to one of the best hospitals in the country to get good care, and we believed that he just might make it.

and then in the summer of 2020, things rapidly took a turn for the worse.

on july 20, 2020, we all got sat down and told that the treatments weren’t working anymore, and they had elected to put my father on hospice care. i sobbed all that night and into the next morning, but i had a cashier job that summer at walmart. i was an essential worker and i had to power through.

in love’s labour’s lost, everyone knows even before the princess arrives that her father is extremely sick. for heaven’s sake, it’s why the princess is there in the first place instead of the king. and yet the princess powers through. there’s deals to be made, familial honor to be defended, and there’s also that tiny matter of falling in love and playing with the joy and laughter that come with it. and the princess embraces it.

she is young, she is optimistic, she is a bit sheltered maybe yet so smart, she has devoted friends, she has seemingly all the time in the world because no one knows when the time runs out so might as well believe it never will, right?

my high school graduation came five days later, on july 25. a rare opportunity to see friends then and, at long last, after a two-month delay and twelve years of study before that, a chance to celebrate. relatives came in. we had cake and flowers. we took photos on the soccer field in 90-degree weather but it didn’t matter because we were together and we were so full of joy on that blue-sky day.

and after that, only nineteen days until leaving. i had been counting the days for months, excited for new possibilities, not understanding the impact. it would be easy, i thought. all that needed done were to pack my bags and suitcases and buy some last-minute things, say my goodbyes for now to my favorite people, enjoy every moment i could, and wait in a haze of delightful agony and optimism until the morning of august 13 came.

this went as planned for about three days.

july 29, 2020, started like any other day. i got my things together, had an argument with my stepmom about doing the dishes (you said i can’t do the dishes when it’s late and everyone’s asleep after i get off work, when do you expect me to do them), decided to start the dishwasher right before i left for work (if she was mad about it, then she could unload the dishwasher as needed and we could have this conversation when i got home, i reasoned) and went to walmart for my shift that day. i cut one of my fingers on a taco seasoning packet, watched some of the salzburg 2007 production of berlioz’s benvenuto cellini on my lunch break, and in general otherwise it was a pretty normal shift. and like all normal shifts, i took my sweet time getting out and getting home.

at about 5:15 i was dawdling and trying to find an excuse to not get in my car just yet when i got a call from my stepmom that basically went like this:

me: hi

stepmom: hey. are you coming home yet?

me: i will be there in a little bit.

stepmom: it’s been raining so you need to be careful getting home.

me: it hasn’t rained that much and i know how to drive in the rain.

stepmom: just be careful getting home. bye.

so i sighed and went “well i can’t put this off any longer”, and got in my car and put some more berlioz on and drove home, thinking about how she sounded upset over the phone and oh i was going to get a tongue-lashing for leaving the dishes in the dishwasher all day.

and just as i was pulling up, i noticed my older brother’s truck outside. huh, i thought, that’s weird. why is he here?

i pulled into the driveway and saw my stepmom sitting on the step outside the side door by herself. two thoughts about what this meant went into my head at about the same time:

option 1: uh oh my stepmom is big mad and she waited out here just so she could tell me off right when i got home

option 2: uh oh my brother and my stepmom got into a fight again for whatever reason and she just can’t deal with it right now

(both of these, for the record, were entirely plausible things that could have happened)

so i parked and got out and decided to not commit to either of these but just play this very strange situation as coolly as possible. i believe my exact words were “hey, what are you doing out here by your lonesome?”

and like monsieur marcade, she could only get out a handful of words, and it was left to me to fill in the meaning.

the meaning: savannah, your father is dead.

and, to quote a different shakespeare play, “i must be from thence.”

my father died and i wasn’t there.

***

this is the same fate to befall the princess of france: her political mission mixed with girls’ trip has taken her to navarre, to a world full of annoying yet beloved men and delightful games and amateur theatre filled with passion. and then she learns that her father all the way in paris has died, and she wasn’t there.

now we don’t know what the princess’ relationship with her father was like; this is not something that is discussed at all in the play. but i know what my relationship with my father was like. we didn’t always understand each other or agree on everything, but i loved him. and in a childhood where the concept of family was a loose one due to an over decade-long stretch of family drama, he was the one constant.

and then four days after my high school graduation, he was simply gone, never to return.

now some folks will probably go back to those days of late july and early august 2020 and see that i posted exactly nothing about all this. why? i just needed a space where i could forget, where i could live in denial for a little longer, where i could cling to something in my life that wasn’t about this unimaginable loss until i couldn’t anymore.

living in the late 1500s, with a whole country to newly run, no social media, and a permanent existence in the public eye, the princess does not have this sort of escape. she knows right away the awful truth. it is inevitable; she must leave this happy sojourn, this newfound love.

her first line after she realizes her father is dead shows that plainly: “boyet, prepare. i will away tonight.” and even as she plans to shut herself up in a mourning-house, it is at the same time that she will be learning first hand how to run her kingdom.

sixteen days after my father’s death, i left home to learn how to live on my own. and even before that, i got only five days of bereavement leave from work, and i went back to work the day after my father’s funeral. let alone the rest of the frantic preparations for leaving home and starting a brand new life alone—in the middle of a pandemic and now, with this grief weighing on me.

life and the world do not wait for grief.

and sixteen days is too fast to grow up.

you can’t just flip the switch from child to adult, especially when you’re grieving.

and when the world forces you to do so, it is truly awful.

there’s no closure to it. as another character mourns in the closing moments of the play, “our wooing doth not end like an old play.” well, neither did the princess’ relationship with her father.

to continue with the shakespeare allusions, as much as i love and am heartbroken by the deathbed reconciliation between king henry iv and prince hal in henry iv, part 2 (a scene i was lucky to get to read with socshakes last september and which still lives in my head rent free), sometimes it simply doesn’t work out that way and you’re still left to pick up the pieces and forever wonder what might have been in those final moments on top of it.

living without that—without those answers, without closure, without any sort of comfort, on top of everything else—is so, so hard.

it is widely accepted that the love’s labour’s won mentioned in the catalogues is, in fact, a lost sequel and not an alternate name for any number of surviving shakespeare comedies. and while i have never found love in the manner of any shakespeare comedy, i believe nonetheless that i am living the princess’ story—a young woman, always grieving, trying to learn about life and figure out how to live it in a hostile world, trying to balance all the things, trying to come to terms with closure that will never come to her.

love’s labour’s lost fills me with an ache by the end. a true heartache, a deep emotional pain like few other stories i have ever come across. when i first saw it, i praised it for being messy and real. i saw me in it. i saw my own grief. i saw what i could have been, the kind of person i was before that fateful and fatal summer, the realization that we must leave that self behind because they can no longer navigate this new world, the not wanting to let go, the not understanding why but knowing you have to anyway. to know you have to take the other road.

***

recently, for a local exhibit, a museum asked people in the area to send in writing about their regrets, something they wished had happened differently. mine was eventually one of the ones selected for inclusion. here it is.

in another lifetime, i am there when my father dies.

i am there, holding his hand, feeling the blood that connects us rush through him, hearing his breaths—however shallow.

skin on skin.

i’m able to tell him one last time that i love him, i will always love him. perhaps through all the pain that comes with a pancreatic cancer diagnosis, the sleep-like state he was in for most of the last two days, he will hear me and even respond.

my family can all grieve together, knowing we all saw it happen and we all got a strange sort of closure.

my relationship with him on this earth would not feel like a perpetually unfinished story, with an ending written when i wasn’t even there.

but it is this lifetime.

someone once said grief is just love with no place to go. i believe that. and, well, this is my life. i have to muddle through and believe, make closure out of thin air and time, let love go nowhere and everywhere.

***

so, life imitates art and vice versa. and thank you @socialshakespeare for letting me have this story that has come to mean so much to me in the few short months since i first came across it. <3

[rqgnarok]

more than just a short time — jamie whelan

fandom: law & order organized crime

wc: 2,579 

warnings: SPOILERS for the season finale of law & order organized crime, canonical character death, canon mention of hospitals and violence. very self deprecating talk from a disabled character. ANGST. ANGST, ANGST, ANGST. female!reader

summary: Can someone be a widow if their partner only ever planned to propose?

author’s note at the end.

Jamie doesn’t wanna see her.

She’s on her way up, Bobby tells him gently. Jamie wishes the surge of relief that courses through him wasn’t mixed up with the abhorrent need to send her away, be as rude as possible to have her leave the room before she comes to terms with what he’s become.

He doesn’t. Jamie nods at Reyes and licks his lips. He feels his eyes burn when the door opens to (Y/N) walking in, clutching the strap of her purse like it’s a lifeline, eyes wide and terrified and determined all at once. Bobby cups her elbow in silent support as he leaves the room, and Jamie swallows the mean words that try to climb up his throat at the sight of someone else doing what he can’t; comfort her, touch her, be the steadiness she needs in a moment of chaos.

Neither of them speaks as they’re left alone, a bubble of something-not-quite-peace enveloping them and making the outside world a mere blur at the other side of the doors. It’s only them and the ticking clock, the smell of alcohol and disinfectant, and the lack of color and life one expects from this specific wing at Bellevue. 

They’d met in a bar around four years ago. Jamie had just made detective and some of his buddies at the four-nine were adamant about at least buying him some drinks in celebration. Just after finishing his first beer, another one had been delivered to the table, the waiter pointing to where (Y/N) was sitting at the bar, smile sheepish and face flushed at being caught. 

She’d heard them celebrating and figured there was no harm in inviting the next round. Jamie leaned into her space with a charming grin and said something stupid about being harmed by meeting someone so beautiful and not asking for their name. To this day (Y/N) calls it the worst pickup line she’s ever heard, but it got him a laugh and a date that very same weekend. 

It’s been good. It’s been great – the last time Jamie was so infatuated by someone he’d been thirteen and crushing after the next-door neighbor. He fell so hard for (Y/N) and simply kept falling as they moved in together before their second anniversary and started looking for rings a couple of months before he transferred to Organized Crime.

The development of their relationship has been both a whirlwind and the most obvious thing Jamie’s ever lived through. Of course he was supposed to meet her. Of course he fell in love with her from the very first night. He hasn’t been able to imagine his life without her since their first date. 

Jamie doesn’t want her here. Jamie needs her by his side. These are two things that have to coexist now, his new reality far from the idea he had for the rest of his life.

He doesn’t tell her to go.

“Hi, sweetheart,” (Y/N) talks first, breaking the silence and the distance between them all at once as if snapping out of a spell. She drops her things in the chair left behind by Bobby and is by his bed in an instant, hands hovering all over him like she’s unsure of what parts of him she can touch without hurting him. 

Jamie wills for his fingers to twitch, for his hand to wake the fuck up and reach for her, help her cross those last few inches she isn’t daring to do on her own. 

He remains limp against the bed. (Y/N) finally touches him, her fingers against his cheek. It’s enough for Jamie to shudder with a cry, turning his head so he can soak in the touch. She’s warm and steady against his skin and Jamie mourns his situation for the hundredth time in the last hour.

“Jamie,” she says, murmured and weepy. Jamie’s eyes close in agony but it feels too much like being dead already, so he opens them again. The sight that greets him is devastating: his almost-fiánce-never-to-be-wife, asking him for something he can’t give her. The lifetime together he’s been waiting to promise in his proposal has gone up in smoke in the blink of an eye.

It was the right thing to do. Jamie knew– not even the blinding pain that shocked through his nerves had been enough of a distraction to the urgency in Stabler’s voice– that the second Kyle died, the chance to put down Shadowerk would go with him. 

There really was nothing he could’ve done. The bullet had reached his spine the moment it entered his body. He was dead the second he walked into that godforsaken camp.

But (Y/N) hadn’t known that when she kissed him goodbye that morning. She’d stood on her tippy toes and wrapped her arms around his neck and joined their mouths together, tasting of toothpaste and languidly using her tongue to make him late for work.

“Hi,” he says, voice dry, trying not to sound as miserable as he is and failing. 

He’d already canceled a vacation on her earlier that week. A pre-honeymoon, he’d started calling it in his mind, maybe finally the right time to propose. He worries for a ridiculous moment if (Y/N)’s gonna be able to get a refund out of that, fretting terribly for what’ll happen to her after he’s gone.

He knows she can take care of herself but she’s not supposed to have to. Not while he’s alive and breathing.

Jamie’s overcome with how badly he wishes he’d called in sick. That he let (Y/N) drag him back to bed like she almost did and throw caution to the wind, burrow himself in her arms and her laugh, and leave the curtains drawn shut, embracing the safety of the darkness. He was so afraid of letting Bell and Stabler down, of having Reyes go out there without someone that cared for him watching his back, and where did that get him?

Without his body. Without a future with the love of his life.

The love of his life who can never find out what he asked of Bobby. Even if she loves him enough to do it for him– Jamie loves her too much to even ask. He won’t do that. He’s already planning on making her a widow, having her do it is just cruel. He made a promise a long time ago that he wouldn’t let the job make him someone he didn’t recognize and he’s not about to start bailing on it now.

Can someone be a widow if their partner only ever planned to propose? Jamie almost suggests they get a priest in here and use Bobby as a witness, but (Y/N) deserves better than that. And she’ll find it someday, Jamie’s sure of it, with an accountant or a banker or someone with a boring job who doesn’t leave the house to get shot at and get paid too little for it. 

“My day sucked,” he jokes weakly despite the inner monologue that’s rushing through his brain, trying to get her to smile and his voice cracking with emotion in the process. (Y/N) struggles with it but she manages an upward tilt of the lips, eyes wet. 

His pretty girl, so fucking resilient.

“I bet,” she tells him. She doesn’t stop touching him, which Jamie appreciates as much as he does the effort at light conversation. “Office coffee was that bad, huh.” 

Jamie’s laugh turns into a sob so quickly that he reasons it wasn’t really ever a laugh. His fragile good humor is gone in an instant, lip wobbling and features scrunching in agonized despair.

“I’m sorry,” he cries earnestly and without restraint for the first time since his mom died, probably. He shuts his eyes but it does nothing to stop the flow once it's started and (Y/N) can’t wipe all his tears fast enough. “We should’ve gone on vacation, I shouldn’t have gone to work at all, I’m so sorry–”

“Hey,” she cuts him off, equally as devastated. “Honey, it’s alright, it’s okay. You were doing the right thing, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”

He keeps apologizing anyway, fervently. Jamie isn’t strong enough to stop when (Y/N) starts to cry, too. She just holds him as best she can while they cry together. “You don’t deserve this, you don’t need less than half a–”

“You’re alive,” (Y/N) insists fiercely through tears. Jamie doesn’t tell her how this can’t be much of a life. “You came home to me, baby. That’s all that matters to me, you understand?”

Jamie hums an affirmative and keeps crying, and (Y/N) keeps soothing her fingers over his cheeks, his mouth, his temple, his hair. Jamie’s tremendously grateful for her, even if the need to make himself small and let (Y/N) hold him will never be satisfied again. 

“You’re not half of anything,” she continues to reassure him without room for discussion. “You’re my everything. My whole entire life, Jamie–”

“I kept thinking of you,” he weeps, his breaths coming fast and hurried without the usual feeling of his abdomen pulling with the force of his grief. “All the time I’m out there, all I do is think of you, and I thought this time, I– I– I–”

She says his name helplessly, pressing a fervent kiss to his temple while some of her tears fall into Jamie’s hair, her breath stuttering. (Y/N) wraps herself around him as best she can without disturbing his injuries and the machines that are keeping him alive, leaving her in a most awkward position she doesn’t complain about once. Jamie’s love for her is too strong to be contained inside his body.  

“I love you,” he tells her after enough time has passed that Jamie’s almost certain he won’t break into another sob. His voice quivers but that’s about it, and he thinks he’s allowed. (Y/N)’s fingers tremble against his temple. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” she answers without hesitation, her voice a little shaky, too. She scratches at his hair and Jamie’s shiver is cut down to his neck. “I love you, baby, and we’re gonna be alright. We’re gonna be okay.”

“I don’t think we’ll make it to Alaska,” he tries not to scoff in disappointment because he knows (Y/N) won’t like it, and she proves him right when she purses her lips like she does when trying to convince herself not to slap him in the back of the head.

“Don’t be stupid,” she says, but it’s so, so soft it sounds like a term of endearment. Idiot, like honey, sweetheart, baby . “I don’t care about that. We can get shitfaced and take pictures with your thumb on the lens at home, you know.”

“Hey,” he says, trying and failing not to think about wedding rings at the bottom of champagne glasses or hidden in chocolate mousse cakes. He’s always made fun of people who think proposing with a choking hazard is a good idea but Jamie now aches for that stupidity, that normalcy that won’t ever be for him. He refuses to propose in a hospital room when he can’t even put a ring on her hand himself. “We probably won’t get a refund out of that.”

“That’s okay,” (Y/N) soothes. Nothing is, but Jamie lets her try. Maybe she’ll have better luck at pretending than he did. “I don’t mind.” 

They fall into silence and he almost goes to sleep under her hands, pacified to unconsciousness half due to exhaustion and half due to her presence: the calm in the middle of the storm. Jamie isn’t mad anymore, can’t be when she’s got him wrapped around her finger.

“I love you,” he can’t tell her enough, sleepy and quiet. The rush of air she lets out is the only indication that (Y/N) heard him. 

Breathing’s getting harder, already a chore, and now the thought of the device running out of batteries or accidentally disconnecting from where it's keeping him alive makes him anxious. (Y/N)’s worried, he can tell even if she almost never voices it because she refuses to make him feel guilty about doing the job he loves. Jamie wishes she’d tell him off, scream and cry at him and not bottle it all up. It’ll only be worse when he–

He says, "Want every day with you," with sharp breaths between each word because he's too exhausted to say I want to spend the rest of my life with you. There's a ring in my locker at the station that I've been waiting for the right moment to give to you. He doesn't say, every moment is right when we're together and I'm sorry I'm only realizing that when I’m unable to breathe on my own.

(Y/N) smiles, shaky and watery, and the most gorgeous sight Jamie’s seen in his life. She knows, and Jamie knows she does. The knot that had built up the whole time he'd struggled to stay awake, waiting for her in this hospital bed, loosens.

It’s gonna be okay. She’s gonna be alright, even if she’ll miss him. She’ll grieve and move on knowing, without a doubt, that Jamie loved her like he’s never loved anyone before. It’s enough for him. He can only hope it’s enough for her, too. 

“Honey,” she rouses him gently from an accidental slumber hours later, the sun that gave little light to the room now gone behind the horizon, (Y/N)’s fingers still caressing his face. She looks exhausted and worried and the most beautiful Jamie’s ever seen her. Her smile is brittle and shaky. “Your dad’s here. I didn’t want to wake you up, but–”

“‘s okay,” he tells her. “Can you give us a few minutes?”

“Sure,” she says softly, hesitation clouding her features only for a second before she’s leaning in for a kiss, firm and lingering. Jamie exhales into it, something in his chest unfurling at the touch. He hadn’t realized they hadn’t kissed yet. “I’ll bring him in.”

“Wait,” he says, managing a boyish grin with lidded eyes. “Do that again.”

(Y/N)’s smile is bright, and Jamie’s glad to taste it when she goes in for another kiss on his mouth and then moves on to his cheek, his nose, his chin, his forehead. “Insatiable.”

“You love it.”

“God help me, I do,” she pats his chest carefully. “Let me go get your dad before he wonders what we’re doing in here.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, and once last time because he can’t help himself. “I love you.”

(Y/N) turns from where she already had one foot out the door, expression tender. “I love you back. See you in a minute.”

Later, after crying in the safety of his dad’s presence like a little boy and saying his goodbyes, Jamie closes his eyes as his breaths begin to recede. The shrill sound of his heart monitor, the panic that takes over the room when he stops breathing, he’s aware of none of it. 

Behind his lids isn’t death, but the Northern Lights and (Y/N) underneath them, showered in colors and smiling at him like she did that first night in a bar, young and unknowing. She offers him her hand and Jamie takes it. Nothing hurts.

 ________

this fic snuck up on me ngl but the season finale fucking wrecked me. i’m still thinking about writing a fix it.

short (considering my standards lol) and somewhat sweet? hope you enjoyed and if u want tell me what u think!

<3 

masterlist / ao3 / buy me a coffee

[youremyheaven]

Hello, I’ve got a question, if you don’t mind me asking. Are karmic relationships always challenging and end up with pain? Or can they be positive/good/less harsh (idk how to phrase it 😅) too? From what you’ve seen/know. Could you give an example of a karmic relationship, please? Like from when it started and how it evolved and then ended? Thank you in advance if you decide to respond 🫰 Have a good day!

Karmic relationships are by definition challenging in nature, yes. The other person is meant to teach you lessons. These need not necessarily be romantic. You can have karmic relationships with anybody (and not just a romantic partner). I feel like every relationship has its ups and downs so karmic relationships are no different, it's not like you're in agony the entire time lol, it's just that there's a heaviness to the bond and you know that who you are now is different from who you were before you met that person.

I've had some brutal karmic friendships. All of them had their pleasant moments but the karmic remnants were 🥲😤

I've also had karmic relationships and other karmic situations (?) I'm currently in my Saturn dasha so 🤧karma is just a big theme in my life lol

With my ex friend, we became friends very spontaneously and I kind of immediately got the ick from her and knew that we couldn't remain friends? She was insecure, jealous and very patronizing? Also very judgemental? I just hated her vibes from the get go

But we were karmically tied. No matter how hard I tried to cut her out, avoid her, ignore her, circumstances pushed us closer together and I had no choice but to try my best to be friends with her. It was a daily test of my tolerance and patience and I felt like I was walking on eggshells the entire time. She's the most toxic, vile, narcissistic person I have ever come across and she genuinely thrives off of other's misery. What they say about people who hate themselves hating others was so true in her case. I hated having to talk to her but I felt obligated to because she always acted like a kicked puppy if I ignored her for too long. She kept me isolated from everybody else and virtually put me in a position where I couldn't interact freely with others in her presence because she hated everybody and thought I was a "people pleaser" for wanting to talk to others lol (I probably did seem desperate for outside human contact 😭). She used every opportunity to insult me, drag me down, ruin my self esteem because she thought she was ugly and projected that on to me. One time I was looking into the mirror and feeling myself 😌and she said that "yk what's special about this mirror? it has a slimming effect and makes people look 10kgs lighter than they are" as if trying to imply that the only reason I looked good was because of the mirror??lol?? If boys checked me out, asked me out, complimented me, gave me attention etc she'd tell she felt bad for me because of how these boys thought I was "easy" and that it sucks how I'm perceived as a "slut" (random person: you're sooo pretty, my friend: such a shame that he thinks you're a whore 😔) she told me I did yoga because without it I'd be emotionally disturbed 🤧and I had to endure all this nonsense because I couldn't cut her out, I was stuck/trapped in a deeply abusive friendship. Finally, I decided I've had enough and I'll deal with the consequences of ending this friendship no matter how bad it gets and decided to end things. I think my karmic lesson was one in understanding that it's unwise to choose temporary comfort over long term suffering/harm. And that you have to be brave enough to walk into the unknown even when you feel like you have no idea what you're doing or how you'll survive. Don't continue to stay in toxic situations simply because that's all you've known. It can be hard to picture a different kind of future when all you've been exposed to is darkness and abuse but you have to have the strength to risk it, to believe that, even if you're alone, it's better than staying in a connection where you endure daily humiliation. Once I found that strength within myself and could walk away (we were friends for 3 years) everything around me started collapsing actually. Terrible things went down around me and it was the worst time in my life but it was like the air was being cleared for better things?? And life improved a lot after that. I couldn't fully be myself with her, I felt very restricted and the minute I left, it's like I could breathe again. The journey of this karmic relationship was a lesson in dependency and how it's genuinely better to be alone than it is to depend on someone awful. My friend had many good qualities and she genuinely took care of me in many ways but all of that came at a heavy price. I had to be willing to let go of the comfort and ease she provided me with and risk being on my own instead of wallowing in negativity and enduring disrespect. Everybody always says "you should just leave, you should just walk away" but if you've ever been in an abusive relationship, you know how hard it is and how it truly affects your psyche and worldview and the kind of strength it requires to walk away.

Obviously not all karmic relationships are going to be like this. And the lessons of each bond will be different but by and large, karmic relationships are connections that are inevitable. You were just sort of bound to each other, and even if you tried to walk away or leave, you end up going back because you have to reach a certain kind of growth to be able to evolve out of these karmic connections. Karmic connections are not supposed to last a lifetime (some do though because the karma is heavy, a lot of parent-child relationships and familial relationships are like this). They are meant to teach you things the hard way essentially.

[nyt1ba]

     Memory is a dagger through ribs,   a thorn's sting that grows sharper with the torment of time,   for wherever one would turn it would dig deeper,   not allowing a moment's respite away from its ache.   There used to be a time not long after the war,   that a mere sound,   a scent,   a shape in a familiar disfigurement that brings forth a flood of unwanted memories,   a heavy tide one cannot escape but to endure   &.   hope not to be swept along with it.   Back when his wounds were bleeding fresh,   blood a lingering taste in his mouth,   the stench of decay stuck to his being as though he was the one rotting.   A grief so raw he could not,   and would not forget despite the strain of such a long life ;   it was the last proof of humanity,   that deep feeling incomprehensible to those who claimed it,   and while senses had turned numb and his passion no more,   that sorrow remains,   intermingled with flesh and bones so that his body itself a personification of grief,   a state of being as thoughtless as breathing.   The horrors that lay hidden in the sand are apparitions only his eyes could see,   now bringing forth a bitterness rather than that old and more human fear.   Elektra hadn't seen the true depths of it,   but just as he was haunted by his own demons,   hers came and took residency along with his own.   Adam had long welcomed them in,   while hers still would barge in uninvited.

  He had seen it before,   the absent look that seemed to see something in an unseen dimension,   guarded nature turns to paranoia,   a constant looking over the shoulder while nails would dig into flesh to draw out feeling through blood.   It was a thoughtless act,   to come find her when she would succumb into the illusion,   drawing back into herself with a terror as real as it had been felt the first time.   It's useless to call,   to drag her attention away from a reality separate from the one in her mind.   So he settles with her on the sand,   hands gentle as they seize hers to stop her from picking at skin,   [   with little care to all the blood between their palms now.   ]   He pulls closer to him then and into a protective embrace.   Although her troubles remain invisible to him,   he would shield her away from them regardless.   Recognition manifests itself with a tightening grip upon the fabric of his jacket,   her hold desperate,  voice reduced to a whisper.   '   Just … hang onto me, please. I feel like – I might really go to pieces if you let go.   '        ❛❛   I'm here               I'll hold you together.   ❜❜        arms wrap tighter around her as he assures,   she can fall apart in his graps however she likes and not a single fragment will slip through.

     ❛ i didn’t want you to see me like this. ❜

  When he heard her voice again she was worn with exhaustion,   slumped limply within his hold in an inability to fight any longer,   her tone akin to shame,   a defeat someone as prideful as her finds difficult to profess.   Elektra Alrune never asks for help,   always dependent on herself even when she could barely walk.   He knows the feeling,   even if he wasn't as stubborn as her,   to ask for a shoulder to carry a fraction of his burden was not a kindness he's deserving of.   He still struggles with the concept,   prefers to retreat to the agony of his solitude than to utter a word.   She's the same in that regard,   all her pain was punishment hardly sufficient to compensate for all the bloodshed.   It was justice taking its course   ...   but he couldn't stand to see it tearing her apart,   he would take it all in her stead if he were able.        ❛❛   And yet I did,   there's nothing to be ashamed of.   ❜❜        he says simply,   moving slightly so can see her better,   a strand of ashen hair is gently pushed aside,   hand cradling her cheek with his thumb brushing at skin.   Her choice had little relevance in the matter,   he would have come to find her either way,   no matter how much she would kick and thrash at him,   he would stay,   there's nothing more terrible to him than having to endure this much all alone.        ❛❛   You're alright,   that's what matters.   ❜❜

@stilettaux // answering based on this because hehe

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 As Dawn Breaks: Chapter Seventeen

As Dawn Breaks: Mother Night and Father Time, after having sired seven Endless to personify life in the known universe, create Earth and human life begins. One last Endless is created: Dawn, the personification of illumination and hope, the beginning of a new day and a chance for happiness and improvement. A love will span thousands of millennia, breaking with every sunrise and renewing hope come sunset. Yet, even the personification of hope can lose the very notion of her existence from the sting of a broken heart.

Warnings: Petty Dawn, Idiot Dream Realizes What An Ass He Was.

To Note: Dream/Morpheus x Endless!FemaleReader(Dawn), This Involves Themes That Are Not For Everyone.

Word Count: ~2.3k

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You had felt the moment he had been bound by magic of old. It was the type of ancient magic that all Endless were linked with and intimately bound by. You could not refuse any summons if the right words were spoken and the right sigils were drawn. That’s how you knew that Dream had been summoned and subsequently trapped. All of the Endless had felt the harsh agony Dream has felt being summoned. But there was naught any you could do. Old magic was old magic. You were in the middle of reading some paperwork when you felt the call. Shifting your eyes from the paper in hand, you stared off into space as Death spoke.

I stand in my gallery and hold your sigil, may I visit you, Dawn? I fear we must have a conversation regarding a certain family member of ours.

You knew what she wanted to discuss with you, and you weren’t feeling inclined to help… but you weren’t a cruel Endless, so you sighed and responded.

“You may come,” You returned, lowering the paper in your hand and rolling it back up. You muttered your last thought. “Though I doubt you will be satisfied by what I have to say.”

You felt the ripple in your realm as Death entered The Garden, and wrapping a golden string back around the scroll you had been reading, you set it aside and waited for the older Endless to appear. She came swirling into your private courtyard in a cloud of worry and anxiety. You eyed her briefly as she came hurrying up to you.

“I am sure you felt what has happened,” She spoke to you, coming to a stop near the azalea bushes. You pursed your lips and slowly nodded.

“I did, I may be well sheltered here in my gardens but I am not impervious to the nature of old magic. I felt the power draw the moment he was summoned.” You told her, your face showing indifference to the topic that you spoke of. Perhaps it was a bit cold of you to speak of such a subject with such a blaśe attitude but in truth, you had already made up your mind regarding to Dream’s imprisonment. Death’s eyebrows crinkled at you.

“Then you know why I’ve come then?” You did. Naturally, you were probably in the best position to help Dream at the moment, probably the one that the rest of the Endless expected to go and help given your past indiscretions with him. Death sighed at you and gave you a pointed look. “Will you help him, Dawn?” You held in a snort.

“No,” You stated simply, your fingers weaving together in front of you. Death’s heart dropped in her chest. She had worried that ’no’ would be your answer. Certainly after what you had been through because of him.

“Dawn,” Death started, going to try and convince you to change your mind. Your eyes glittered with sternness and she held her tongue.

“I will not help him unless Dream explicitly asks for my help.” You further explained. Now that was cruel of you, because you both knew that Dream would never ask for help, certainly not from you. He was far too prideful. You knew that your words were hurtful. “I’m sorry Death, but I have made my decision. Unless Dream asks for my help, I will not offer it.” Death nodded in understanding, knowing just how much he had hurt you, and just how much agony you had suffered alone over the last several eons.

“I fear it may be a long time before Dream sees freedom,” Death quietly remarked. You stared at a shrub at the end of the courtyard.

“Perhaps, but it will be his doing should it come to that.”

Matthew and Dream were confronted with Lucifer Morningstar themself, and the fallen angel looked at the pair in amusement.

“Greetings to you, Lucifer Morningstar.” Dream spoke, bowing his head slightly in respect. “And to you, Mazikeen of the Lillim.” Lucifer’s face twitched ever so slightly.

“Greetings, Dream Lord.” Lucifer smoothly responded. “You look well, Dream. Are you well? And your family, Destiny, Death, Despair, the others? Precious little Dawn? She’s been rather… absent, these last few eons. Did she not seal her gates to all for eons? Even from you?” Lucifer wanted to laugh at the brief glimmer of warning that flashed through Dream’s eyes at the mention of the youngest Endless. Oh they knew of the tension between the older Endless and the youngest. It had been the talk since Dawn had sealed off The Garden’s from visitors eons ago… then there was that little juicy rumor of Dawn and Dream’s relationship.

“I presume the Ruler of Hell knows this is no social call.” Dream said, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. The returning of Dream’s helm.

“Have you come to join forces then?” Lucifer offered haughtily. “To ally your realm to ours? To acknowledge the sovereignty of Hell?”

“You know my feelings on that, Lightbringer.” Dream warned, his lips curling into a smirk. An amused looked crossed Lucifer’s face.

“Feelings change.”  Lucifer replied. “Especially when one has been caught and imprisoned by mortals. We expected better of you, sweet Morpheus.”

“I have come because my Helm of State was stolen from me. I believe one of your demons has it. I should like it back. Now.” Morpheus explained darkly.

“Dream, if only it were that easy. But there are rules, you see. Protocols which must be followed.” Lucifer turned around and strode over to their balcony. “Which demon has your helm? Name it and we will bring it here.”

“I confess I do not know the name.”

“Then we will have to summon all of them.” Lucifer raised their hand, summoning the billions of demon lords. “There, now, Dream, you may inquire. Which demon has your helmet?”  Dream approached and stared down at the crowd. “Shall we interview them one at a time, or…”

“That won't be necessary.” He told Lucifer before turning and walking away.

“It surprises us how easily you would give up, Dream. We know how you relied upon your tools.” Dream slowly came to a stop at Lucifer’s taunting. “But tools are the subtlest of traps. We become reliant upon them and in their absence we are vulnerable, weak, defenseless.”

“Not entirely.” Dream stated, pulling out his pouch of sand. “I have recovered my sand. It brought me to Hell and…” He started pouring it out. “…now it brings that which is mine in Hell to me.” The sand blew around in a vortex, summoning the demon which held the helm. A demon now stood before Dream and slowly turning around, Dream settled his eyes on his helm. Then glanced into the eyes of the demon. “Tell me your name, demon.”

“Do I have to tell him?”

“That is Choronzon. A Duke of Hell.” Lucifer supplied.

“Choronzon…” Dream repeated lowly. “The helm is mine. You must return it to me.”

“No. It's mine now. I traded it from a mortal for a paltry thing. It was a fair trade. I've broken no laws.” Choronzon said in a taunting voice. “And if the Dream King wants his helm back, he will have to fight me for it.”

“Very well. I challenge you, Choronzon.” The demon snorted.

“You know the rules, Dream Lord.”

“If I win, you will return my helmet.

“And if you lose, you'll serve as my slave in Hell for eternity.” Choronzon replied all too gleefully.

“I accept the terms.” Morpheus only had to think about those terms for but a few moments. The helm, after all, was rightfully his.

“And whom will you choose to represent you in the battle?” Lucifer questioned.

“I shall represent myself.”

“Choronzon, whom will you choose to represent you?”

“Hmm…” The dmeon sounded, sizing up the Dream Lord. “I choose you, sire.” Lucifer moved to stand directly behind Dream.

“Apologies, Dream, but the laws of Hell demand that I become his champion. But if you would not fight me…” Dream cut the Morningstar off.

“I have accepted the terms.” He stated, looking into Lucifer’s eyes. “Let the challenge begin.”

Matthew should have known better than to blindly think that Dream would win this little game between him and Lucifer of all creatures. Sure, he had started out strong, and had kept up with every counter Lucifer made… but this last one… anti-life? What could survive anti life? Matthew had to do something. So fluttering down to stand near Dream’s prone figure loosing life, Matthew took a chance.

“Boss? Hey, boss!” He called. Lucifer chuckled, already feeling the high of winning against an Endless

“Still with us, Dream?” They taunted.

“He is and it's his move, Your Majesty.” Matthew chattered back, ruffling his wings.

“There are no more moves.” Lucifer told the raven, their lips twitching triumphantly. “What can survive the anti-life?” Matthew turned back to Dream.

“Hey, boss. Listen to me. You know what can survive the anti-life?” Matthew told him, his head cocking side to side and his brain went into hyperdrive. “You. Dreams don't fucking die. Not if you believe in them, that’s why we got hope, yeah? Nothing can kill hope and hope is the base of all dreams, right? I believe Dream of the Endless would never leave his raven here alone, in Hell with Lucifer.”

Hope. That one little word that Dream had tried so hard to not think of in the last few eons, was now echoing in his mind like a beacon in the night. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope… Dawn. What was life without hope? What were dreams without hope? What was Dream without hope? What was Dream without Dawn?

You were lying within your lovers arms within Fiddler’s Green, nestled on a soft bed of leaves as you and Morpheus stared up at the night sky of The Dreaming. Your fingertips were sparking with bursts of stardust, echoing your happiness. This was what Morpheus started craving the moment you left his realm to return to your own. He never felt complete unless you were by his side. Turning his head, Morpheus looked down into your face. You were smiling up at him, eyes filled with adoration and pure love. Morpheus had never felt more loved than he did in that moment.

His hand was trapped by yours as you pulled Morpheus through the market of the lower river delta. Merchants and goods surrounded him, there were delicious looking fruits and vegetables, handmade trinkets crafted by the most skilled crafters, jewels, gems, precious metals… Morpheus was surrounded by beauty and splendor. The only thing that captured his attention was you, beaming and giggling as you dragged him towards a new garden you wanted to show him. Yes, Morpheus could be surrounded by the most beautiful things in the universe, but in the end, he would only see you.

You had once again arrived in his realm filthy. Your excuse? The Will’o’-the-wisp colony in the swamp had been playing tricks on the hydras and you had been sucked into one… and then you being little you, had joined in on what soon became a mud fight. You had blinked your stardust eyes at Morpheus in complete innocence, but Morpheus could see the delight and mischief lingering within their depths. You giggled the entire way he carried you to the bath.

Little Flōs was receiving a lesson on controlling her powers, but of course, it wasn’t really a lesson. No, you had simply taken the little dream out to Fiddler’s Green and had her unleash all of her frustration and fear… and what magic she had made. Plants had exploded outwards, growing into towering structures that twisted and bloomed with life even you were impressed with. She was such a little dream, still so new at her job, but what she could create was awe-inspiring. As you praised Flōs for her work, Morpheus couldn’t help but look upon the sight fondly.

“Boss!” Matthew called again. “Come on, boss, don’t give up.” Never. Dream had so much he needed to fix, so much he needed to change, so much he needed back. Opening his eyes and finding the strength to rising to his feet once more, Dream stared Lucifer in the eyes.

“I… Am… Hope.” He whispered, but enunciating each word. “I am hope.” Dream questioned, his eyes red from the gravity of the pain he had forced onto the one who had held his essence ever so gently. “Well, Lightbringer? It's your move. What is it that kills hope?”

“Choronzon, give him his helm.” Lucifer commanded, tears burning in their own eyes. For Dream to taunt such a thing in front of them, he really was cruel.

“No. I won’t.” The demon responded, shaking his head int refusal. “It's mine. Please.” Mazikeen walked up to the demon and hoisted him by the throat over the balcony. She ripped the helm from his grasp and let Choronzon fall to the masses below. Turning on her heel, Mazikeen marched to Dream and offered the helm. He took it with a slight bow of his head.

“Thank you, Mazikeen.” He echoed, tucking the helm beneath his arm. Then he turned to Lucifer. “Thank you, Lightbringer. The Ruler of Hell is honorable, indeed. I will not forget this.”

“Honorable?” Lucifer repeated in disgust. “You joke, surely. Look out there, Morpheus. The billion Lords of Hell stand arrayed about you.” Dream could feel the threat looming in their words. “Tell us. Why should we let you leave? Helmet or no, you have no power here. After all… What power have dreams in Hell?”

“You say I have no power here.” Dream said, he tilted his head to the side and smirked. “Perhaps you speak truly. But to say dreams have no power in Hell… Tell me, Lucifer Morningstar, what power would Hell have if those here imprisoned were not able to dream… Of Heaven?” It was a cruel blow to the fallen angel, but a necessary and true one.

“One day, Morpheus… We shall destroy you.” Lucifer uttered, eyes simmering with rage.

“Until that day, Lightbringer.” Dream bowed with yet another smirk. With his helm in hand, he turned around and walked out away, Matthew on his heels.

Date Published: 3/13/23

Last Edit: 3/13/23

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[yeahthatwouldbedark]

Yen per second

tropes: death trope, friends to lovers (if you have won a golden medal in squinting really hard), rivals to lovers, bully romance bestie, college au, friends with benefits, Oikawa and reader have known each other since childhood.

trigger warnings (for the entire series): child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, bullying, depression, child neglect, terminal illness at some point, broken home, mental breakdowns, panic attacks, anxiety, death, injuries (Oikawa’s bad knee for example), substance abuse. 

Chapter 6 

22.9k words 

December 15th

Her hands sting as she applies soothing cream on her palm on which there lies a network of channels of dry, inflamed skin. December is anything but kind. But is the weather to blame for forgetting to care for her body and appearance? Yet, it seems she is not alone in her suffering because the moment Rin starts rubbing his hand together after she has squirted some cream onto the back of Rin’s hand, he winces and cusses out loud. There is no one to hear them anyway. She doubts anyone would stumble upon them if they were to run around naked.

Y/n almost wonders why it was that they chose to sit down here of all places; on the grass when the sidewalk is right up the hill and a few kilometers to the south there is a convenience store where they could slurp some spicy ramen. I suppose they wished for the privacy of utter solitude, ruptured occasionally only by the cars rushing by, few and far between. They need the sporadic interruption to bring them down to earth when their conversations have soared too far above. There goes another car, the passengers utterly oblivious to their existence.

“So…” He starts, grimacing as he spreads the cream between his cold fingers. “You’ve made up your mind then.”

At first, she doesn’t understand what he’s getting at. But there’s only one thing she could be contemplating, that they would have caught wind of from Ayame.

Y/n shrugs and thrusts the tube inside her backpack among her books and pens.

“Pretty much.” She confirms. Beside her, Suna glances at her before looking forward to avoid being caught. “Why?”  

Rin sighs just as a gust of cold wind blows their way. Both of them shiver and look at each other as if to confirm they are not alone in the agony stemming from their unfathomable stupidity.

Successfully suppressing a smile, he says, “Not gonna tell you what to do but…

His trailing off has her staring intently as he expects her to simply guess the remainder of his sentence.

“But what?” Y/n tilts her head and places her fist near his mouth. “Speak into the mic, Suna-sama.”

Sighing, Rin rests his forearms on his knees. “You could move into an apartment in the building where I live.”

“Why?” She asks, lowering her fist on her lap.

“To keep an eye on you?” Upon meeting her gaze, he adds, “Someone has to.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes and is about to respond with a light-hearted jab at his irresponsible nature being far worse than hers, when his ringtone beats her to it as he fishes it out of the pocket of his black padded coat (they’re matching by the way) and grimaces at the screen. Breath coming out in puffs of steam, he brings the device to his ear.

“I’ve been busy.” He says.

In the meantime, Y/n pulls out blades of grass and starts dividing them into strips as thin as she can make them. She often does this when the silence is too loud, a silence that asphyxiates instead of alleviating the unease of the person that dwells in it. One by one, bit by bit, the blades of grass are as thin as individual strands of hair, something in which she finds comfort. Now the grass is something she can relate to.

Next to her, Rin tenses and presses his knuckles against his thigh, cracking them as if to provide some relief for the discomfiting conversation he’s been thrust into. At least, Y/n deduces it is discomfiting by the frown that has his face contorted in an expression of barely suppressed frustration. He could explode at any moment, Y/n thinks, and might go as far as to catapult the poor phone further down the hill.

“Yeah.” He speaks again. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

When she glances at him, Y/n meets his eyes. A small smile rises triumphantly on his lips. But it is gone as soon as it appears, leaving her less than two seconds to enjoy it, to respond to it with a tilt of her own lips.

“No.” He responds with a deadpan face, and the voice on the other end becomes louder, nearing a shrill cry, and Rin pulls the phone away from his ear as if to lessen the blow. “Because I don’t wan- okay fine, fine. Don’t yell. Your blood pressure’s gonna skyrocket. Bye. Yes, I will. Now, bye. See you.”

Rin makes no effort to conceal his discontent with how he sighs, grunts, shoves the phone in his pocket and viciously zips it up to the point where he has to check he hasn’t accidentally ruined the zipper. As soon as he calms down, Y/n abandons the blades of grass, leaving them at the mercy of the wind, wraps her arms around her bent legs, and lays her head upon her knees. She’s glad for the padded coat, as it serves as a cushion. Were it not for Rin seething with malcontent she would allow her consciousness to be swept off its feet, carried away by the wind. The cold be damned.

“Your grandma?” Y/n asks, knowing only his grandma could force him to do things he normally would never care to do.

He nods. “She wants to parade me to her circle of friends in hopes of getting me to settle down with one of their nieces.”

At this, Y/n makes a sound resembling the lovechild of a snort and a snicker.  

“Good luck to her.”

Only a few moments pass after which Rin turns to her with an expression bordering on… pleading? He reaches for her and sinks his fingers into her frizzy mane (the cold isn’t doing her any favors). The sensation of ice-cold fingers gently pressing into her scalp has her almost wanting to lean into his touch and trying to escape the soothing contact in equal measure.

When his words reach her ear, they sound just as pleading and annoyed as his bearing appears. “Can you do me a favor?”

Y/n’s eyebrows join in confusion.

“What kind?” She inquires.

Before every uncomfortable revelation, comes the comical pause.

“Come with me and pretend we’re dating so I can get my grandma and those hags off my back.”

Seeing as he has, for years, pretended to be her “boyfriend” during gatherings, his shouldn’t come as a surprise to her. Yet, she sits there, stunned and rooted to the spot. Even she can understand that what he’s asking of her is vastly different from pulling pranks or joking around. His grandma is not one of the douchebags at random parties or the waiters they lie to in order to get free couples’ desert. If he takes this thing a step further, it would be as if they are truly together. It wouldn’t matter that they knew the truth, because the person who raised him would be living in a separate reality.

She racks her brains for a satisfying response. All the while, Rin’s eyes roam her face in search of a definite answer.

“I think you’d have better chances convincing her you’re dating someone else.” Is what she settles for.

Exhausted, Rin presses on, “Because the people I’m fucking definitely wouldn’t start deluding themselves.”

For some reason, Y/n finds his exasperation funny.

“No, I just think they’re better actors.” She says, pausing for effect and watching as his curious gaze sweeps over her, “Seeing how they have to fake their orgasms nightly.”

Just as she predicted he would, Rin scoffs and laughs it off, letting go of her. On the other hand, Y/n is overcome by the desire to indulge him, to make good on her promise to him and herself; no more outside looking in. This is so far out of her comfort zone that nausea builds up in her throat at the mere thought of him being seen with someone like her. Because what if an acquaintance of hers spotted them roaming the streets? What would they say of Rin? Would they embarrass her in public, thus humiliating him? Suddenly, the cruelty of the cold seems unbearable. Around her legs, her arms tighten.  

“I don’t mind coming with you if you don’t.”

Her answer lightens the mood. A tilt of his lips is more than enough to light up his entire face. Contentment bleeds through his glittering irises. Y/n wishes for nothing more than to chase the sparkles in his eyes like fireflies, and she is given the chance to do just that when his fingers find shelter in her hair once more, pulling her ever so close.

Face less than three inches from hers, he whispers teasingly, “My favorite person.”

If she had any inkling of the ferity of his thoughts, she might be able to understand that the atmosphere is that of sexual tension. But she’s neither high, nor drunk, so this state of sobriety renders her incapable of playfulness of that degree. This and the fact that she doesn’t believe he would flirt with her with the intent to seduce her. It’s just to tease her, she convinces herself.

That’s why, when another gust of wind depletes the last remnants of warmth, Y/n finds herself rolling her eyes.

“Your favorite person is about to freeze to death.” She mutters, burying her face further into her knees.

His grip on the roots of her hair tightens for an instant before he lets go. “Better take you home then.”

And all of a sudden, she’s being hauled to her feet by two strong arms, and the hood of her padded jacket is thrown over her head. Feeling stupid for having forgotten to cover her head, she instantly buttons up the front, securing the hood so the wind can’t knock it back. Of course, Rin gives her small teasing smile, joining her in their journey up the hill.

“Yeah, before Ayame and Haru come back.” She mutters, hoping Rin won’t hear.

“I’m taking you to mine, baby.”

Her head snaps up at him. He merely takes her hand in his and begins walking faster to work up their muscles and generate warmth. Lord knows why he even brought her here. Rin himself is at a loss for how fucking stupid he can be to be honest. If she gets sick, he’s bringing her to his dorm and feeding her shrimp pizza to make up for it. Opportunistic and proud.

“We gotta rehearse all the possible scenarios my grandma could hit us with.” He can tell they’re close to the top by the sound of a car whooshing by. She tries to keep up but slips more than once, and each time he helps her back on her feet. “Let’s hope we don’t slip up in front of her.”

  December 20th

It should be noted that… Rin doesn’t like going home. By home I mean the place where he was raised by his grandma. All she does is pester him, smother him, and tell him he should settle down now that he is an adult. Her views on what constitutes virtue, a noble way of life, and a decent human being differ from his. In the end, they quarrel. He goes to his childhood bedroom as she begs him to listen to her because she only wants what’s best for him. Rin always refuses.

Yet, there is only so much running he can do before he once again succumbs to his grandmother’s wishes and returns to the hearth. Every time, he has been alone, listening to the other hags badmouth him to his face with a smile as his grandma watches on, eyes cast down. This time, however, he has an ally, a ride-or-die whose presence will surely make them hold their tongues. After all, he’s now “taken”. They can no longer force him to date their granddaughters.

During the train ride, Rin is aware of her flitting, anxious gaze that settles on a random part of him before once again relocating. Her behavior reminds him of the mannerisms of a skittish animal in a small cage, fighting against the slim metal bars, forever distrustful of the human observing it, fearing that the next moment will bring a fate close to death but far crueler. And Y/n is nothing if not distrustful of everyone around her. The only things she doesn’t seem to regard with dread are natural phenomena. Cloistered inside her room beneath at least four layers of blankets, there is no storm so rancorous as to shake the foundations of her peace. Even now, she sits in front of him, her gaze at last settling on the hail laying waste to crops as the train flashes past them. The sky darkens, and the sweat on her forehead gradually evaporates. The storms ravage the fields, and her breathing slows to a rhythm as serene as Christmas lights turning on and off at a drowsy pace. Without Rin noticing, his chest mimics hers.

They’re hauling their luggage out of the train when Rin decides to make a promise wholly unusual of him.

“One of these days I’ll take you dancing in a snowstorm.”

Fixing her scarf so it covers her pink nose, Y/n says, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“I’ll make you dance until you fall.”

He takes hold of her suitcase before she has a chance to protest and leads them both away from the tracks and to where taxi drivers have parked in search of potential passengers. The trip is long enough to allow them some time to take in the sight of the buildings, the frozen buckets filled with water that has frozen entirely, people scurrying to find shelter in cafes and convenience stores… until the sky runs out of rain so that snow can pelt the streets again. Nothing impresses Rin (he grew up here anyway). What eats away at him is the possibility that Y/n might not like his childhood home, however slight it may be. To cope with these thoughts, he takes to scrolling on his phone before his eyes shift to where she sits with her head angled toward the glass, gloved fingertips trapped between her lips. A picture wouldn’t hurt, right? Not if she’s in the dark about it.

His childhood home is by no means small. In fact, his grandmother was so successful as a sex worker back in the day that she was able to purchase a home that could comfortably house four people. As a child, Rin had always found it odd that there were so many rooms when relatives rarely visited and never stayed the night. The two of them were, for lack of better circumstances, alone in the world. Now he understood, as best as he could, that there had always burned an inextinguishable yearning for a family within his grandmother. His mother and the rest had always looked the other way and let it burn alone. Rin was the only one who stood before it, soaking up its warmth.

So why is his voice nearly trembling as he wraps his arms around his grandmother’s shoulders? Why is he shivering inside a home so warm?

“How have you been?” He asks her, not having the courage to pull away from someone who is overjoyed to see him after months of being absent from home. So, he lets himself float in this uncertainty, glancing at Y/n. Their eyes meet. “You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”

His grandmother pulls away first. Her smile lines deepen as she cradles his face in her callused palms.

“I’m better now that you’re here,” She tells him and he could swear she sounds out of breath, “And that you’ve brought your girlfriend with you.”

To be clear, the entire world and their mothers know that Rin is not a shy person. Truth be told he’s perplexingly blunt and unapologetic about plenty of things. However, having a girlfriend and Y/n being that supposed girlfriend is nothing short of uncharted territory, especially when being labeled as such by someone other than the two of them. This is part of the reason why he is momentarily stunned upon hearing those words mentioned in the same sentence.

Shaking it off with a slight smile, Rin places his palm on his grandma’s shoulder.

“Grandma, this is L/n Y/n.” He introduces, watching the glint of contentment come back to life in the old woman’s eyes, “Y/n, grandma.”

Y/n gives a 90-degree bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

This time, his grandmother’s teeth can be seen as she finds it impossible to suppress a grin. Y/n takes the time to study her features. She can’t help but compare them to Rin’s. Kobayashi Tadame and Suna Rintaro, she determines look nothing alike. His features are angular whereas hers are round, be it their eyes or their cheekbones. His eyes are green while hers are brown like tree bark. His lips are full with a slight sharpness to the cupid bow and hers are small and pouty. He has to lean down to hug her for she is shorter even than Y/n. Where he is slightly unruly and direct, she is all ironed shirts and propriety. Overall, there isn’t much likeness to be found between Rin and his grandmother.

“The pleasure is all mine. You look lovely, dear.” The grandmother turns to Rin as if to help him remember what he could never forget, “She is lovely.”  

The compliment is received with a whispered gratitude on Y/n’s end. “Thank you, grandma.”

“Come on, the living room is warm. I got it all ready for you.”

Without further ado, his grandmother starts ushering them forward, the suitcases rattling from behind as they speed walk down the corridor. On the walls hang pictures of his grandmother and him throughout the years; the first time he ate cotton candy after his mother passed away, that one time he made a snowman out of dough, his first volleyball match, him and his teammates the night before they all set off to college, and so on. Y/n takes it in like wine, already drunk on the evidence of his experiences. One could say she perceives the world through the memorabilia of other people’s lives.

She is pulled back to the present when Rin points out the kotatsu in the living room, all but running toward it to sneak under it like a toddler being left off the parental leash at a playground. To Y/n’s surprise, grandma gently guides her to where Rin is currently lying on his back, scrolling through his phone. Unbeknownst to her or his grandma, he’s hyperaware of every bit of interaction between the two and is willingly excluding himself from the narrative. If he intervenes, he fears it will only be for the worse.

“My grandson has come home with the girl he loves.” His grandmother says, now making her way to the kitchen, “I want you to be warm and comfortable.”

Once the elderly woman has disappeared behind the curtain that separates the two rooms, Y/n occupies the space in the kotatsu next to Rin who puts his phone down and speaks in a low voice.

“I guarantee she’s made shrimp pizza from scratch.”  

Curious, she turns to look at him, “Why?”

Rin shrugs. “Because I told her that’s your favorite. Look.”

As if on cue, grandma pushes aside the curtain and enters the living room carrying two plates of steaming slices of godliness.

“She’s hell-bent on making you stay.” He elbows her on the arm. “You can’t leave me now that you’re being spoiled rotten by my granny.”

“Watch me.”

“Uhuh. Gonna give you a head start.”

After placing both plates on the table along with the two cans of coke, grandma relishes the two of them as they dig in.

“Here, are you two warm?” The kind woman asks, “Do you need me to bring you some more tea?”

The two of them shake their heads.

If you wish to know, I could tell you what is running through her mind at present. How could she be thinking about anything other than the fact that her grandson has finally found someone to care for in the way she wishes she had been cared for in her youth? Both the boy and the girl are deserving of these slivers of joy that companionship can grant them, far and few between though they may be. She can see it… the slivers coming to life as they trade slices, shoving them into their mouths, licking their fingers one second, and snickering about it the next. The moment turns turbulent when a knock comes at the door.

Their mirth dies down as the rapping of the knuckles at the door becomes more insistent. Rin looks at his grandma, trying to glean a response from his grandma. In turn, she avoids his gaze as if meeting it would brand the truth on her eyelids.

“That’ll be Mrs. Nakamura and Mrs. Fujimoto.” She mutters instead, wiping her hands on the midnight blue apron. “They insisted to know when you were coming. I will go let them in.”

She’s barely out of the living room when Y/n hears Rin groan exasperatedly.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath.

Before she can ask him if these guests are the ones who insult him every time he comes home, she gets her answer as Rin takes to just punching random apps on his phone the moment the two women peek inside. Like most old women middle-aged women do when presented with fresh meat whose insecurities they can identify and exploit, these women are not even two introductions in, when they do what they do best.  

“She’s so petite.” Mrs. Fujimoto, a woman of stout build, chortles as she takes a seat next to Y/n. “Are you sure you can handle him?”

Frowning at the woman, Y/n shifts closer to Rin.

“Handle him?” She asks, conscious that her thigh is pressing against his.

“Oh, you know,” Laughs Mrs. Nakamura, waving her confusion off as something negligible. “When he gets angry at you, can you hit him back?”

No, I can’t. That is the first thing that pops into her head, her involuntary response. Ashamed that she would think to respond with that, she looks everywhere but Rin, whose gaze is trained on her side profile. It is as if he’s waiting for her to speak, to defend him, to make good on her promise. Yet her lips are sealed and her throat is clogged as if with blocks of cement. Now aware of the situation, Rin takes matters into his own hands.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

Mrs. Nakamura’s eyes narrow with feigned mirth.

“Oh, come on,” She “jests”, “You’re young and you’ve always been an impulsive boy. It’s only normal that you would get angry from time to time.”

As if the insinuation that Rin is abusive wasn’t cruel enough, Mrs. Fujimoto picks up where her friend left off.

“My granddaughter is still heartbroken, you little rascal.” She says with just as much forced amusement, laughing as she reaches out to “playfully” smack Rin on the arm.

Finding her touch repulsive, he instinctively retracts his arm and hides it under the kotatsu, where he tries to erase her touch with the scrape of his nails. I shouldn’t have trimmed them, he thinks.

“What does that have anything to do with this?” He groans, “I never hit her.”

Mrs. Fujimoto doesn’t take kindly to being defied, “Do not-

“Rin doesn’t get angry at me.”

The words have passed the threshold of her lips before Y/n can think to stop them. She can feel Rin ceasing to rub his arm raw beneath the thick blanket, his gaze trailing up to her face once more. For the first time, she’s glad for the stubbornness of her thoughts.

“He asks how I’m doing even when I want to be alone, hugs me even if I can’t always do the same.” The more she speaks, the bolder she feels, “Only people who don’t understand him would assume he’s a violent person.”

A tense sort of silence settles in the living room. Each second is viscous, stretchy, refusing to fall down or clatter by all at once. The five of them are submerged in a substance akin to amber, preventing them from forging ahead, preserving the audacity of her words in their original state. Yet for her words to fossilize, they must first die in their ears.

“How rude.” Scoffs Mrs. Nakamura, her face turned up in distaste.

Before Y/n can say anything to make things escalate, Rin gently takes hold of her hand.

“Let’s go upstairs, angel.” He says, helping her to her feet.

So, they leave the two women to their incessant, ill-intended murmuring, as the desperate calls of Rin’s grandmother follow them up to his bedroom. He can only sigh, ashamed that Y/n had to witness all that, had to become part of the schemes of bored middle-aged women so dissatisfied with the life they have made for themselves (or the lack of it) that the most interesting topic they can bring up is the sex life of a soon-to-be nineteen-year-old. Truly, he wishes he could dig a grave and lie there naked in the snow, eaten raw by the winter storm.

The key is turned. Stars spill into the hallway from the aperture in the door before it opens wide and everything inside is awash in starlight. Inside they go and the door clicks shut behind them, dulling the sound of conversation in the living room downstairs. Mouth open in awe, Y/n gazes up at the ceiling, engraving the sight of fluorescent galaxies in her brain⸺ magenta, aquamarine, bottle green, silver, sapphire, neon pink, and baby blue. She swears she can feel the breath of the universe on her cheeks, the fog, and the clarity of it surrounding her. Her eyes swim in it.  

She thinks about how Rin must have stayed awake as a child to look at them. Ensorcelled by them. He must have been so adorable.

“Did you or your grandma paint this?” She says, her eyes glued to the ceiling.

“I did. First year in high school.” Answers Rin, who fishes his phone out of the pocket of his padded coat and places discards it on the bed. “Before there were only stars up there. The kind you see in cartoons. The moon was in the center.” Only when his finger comes into view, pointing up at the center of the ceiling, does Y/n notice him standing next to her. “Right there.”

As difficult as it is to tear her gaze from the work of art, she does so in favor of rendering her words as sincerely as possible.

“It’s ethereal.” She tells him.

In turn, Rin regards her with a look of bewilderment and amusement.

“That look.” He begins, hand tenderly resting on her shoulder as he leans down to her eye level, “It’s just like the first time I saw you.”

She can’t know in great detail how it felt for him to catch sight of her for the very first time. She’d been sitting on the front steps of her aunt’s house, scratching her ankle from time to time after a mosquito had bitten her. Summer shit. And he was looking from his cousin’s balcony, thinking that she looked high enough to invite a stranger into her home and stare at them until they confessed to having committed war crimes. To this day he doesn’t know how he was able to perceive her as anything but a Roblox character with him having just woken up from an afternoon nap. But he’d known then, that her eyes were piercing, scrutinizing, and so soft. Upon meeting her he’d decided that her lips must feel as soft as her eyes looked.

Even now, as she returns his gaze and cracks a small smile, he is glad to be proven right once again.  

“Leaving my mark on the world I see.” She jokes, moving toward the bed.

He follows right after, taking his shirt off. “And you weren’t even high.”

“Achievement unlocked.” She pulls the sweater over her head, giggling.

After changing into their pajamas which for Y/n involved more than simply putting their clothes on, meaning that skincare was mandatory and an absolute non-negotiable, they both sneak beneath the sheets. Instantly, Rin is the first to get close enough that Y/n can count the fleck of stardust in his eyes. Rin can tell… he can tell she wants to hold his face in her hands, more so because her hands twitch where she rests them on the pillowed space between them. Consequently, he decides to be the one to, once again, put himself forward like a sacrificial offering to an entity of unpredictable disposition.

“I think…” He whispers, resting his forehead against hers, “I think I would’ve been much happier had I brought you here sooner.”

A beat later she whispers back, her voice rife with nervousness, “Why?”

Her mint breath fans his lips and it makes him smile.

“We would have been able to do this every weekend if we’d lived in the same neighborhood.” Feeling more audacious than usual, he angles his face so that she can feel him too, “Even if your parents didn’t let you.”

Bold of you to assume they would notice I was gone. “You would’ve let me steal into your bedroom?”

Rin hums in affirmation, “And my bed.”

The way that line is delivered, teasingly and humorously, would have made anyone laugh. But Suna Rintaro is in no way joking. So, it is at once relieving and disappointing when he feels her breath on his parted lips and her precious giggle in his ears once more.

“You know?”

Her voice has his eyes fluttering open. Rin doesn’t have to try his hardest to look into her eyes. That soft, intrusive gaze is all that is required to transfix him.

The boy manages to get two words out, “Know what?”

“Your eyes sparkle.” She doesn’t miss a beat, “Like there’s this type of glitter in your irises. It makes your eyes look even prettier.”

This isn’t the first time Rin is complimented about his eyes and it won’t be the last. But he wants to hear it more. Wants her to look into him and gather all the glitters she sees in his eyes so that he can be as much in awe of them as she is. He wants that glitter scattered on her eyelids. He wants it painted on her lips. To help her understand, he takes her hand and rests the thumb on the corner of his eye. As if pulled by some gravitational force greater than that of Earth, his eyelids droop until he can see nothing and feel everything. The coldness of her skin. The light scrape of her nails as she runs her fingers across the lid and then his lower lashes. Her breathing as it slows down so it matches his.

 The following day, December 21st, they do nothing of importance except for helping Grandma around the house (things are still a bit awkward after the mishap of the night before but she always smiles at them) and run errands here and there. Other than that, the two of them spend their day lying on his bed wearing pajamas, scrolling through Pinterest for aesthetic pictures, listening to Lana Del Rey and The Weeknd, and watching movies on his laptop, namely the Avatar movies. It’s not like they haven’t watched the first Avatar movie before but it’s just one of those movies you don’t tire of revisiting time and time again.

Outside, it is dark when Rin drops an enlightening thought.

“Imagine if humans could do that too.” He says, pointing at Jake and Neytiri connecting through their hair, “Orgasms everywhere.”

Y/n nods, “Especially on all fours.”

Rin doesn’t let that shit go until they both fall asleep, his chest pressed against her back. Being her friend, he can’t help but want to be near her always, stuck to her skin like hardened wax. Isn’t it convenient that it’s December? Now he can sling his arm across her middle as they drift off, which she doesn’t seem to mind given that her fingertips lazily dance across his knuckles. Then they rest.

 It's December 22nd and they’re headed to Miya Osamu’s restaurant just 30 minutes on foot. Both of them are in their padded coats (since the other kinds just won’t cut it if the snow painting the sidewalks white is to be used as a criterion for judgment), thick scarves, and gloves so thick that neither of them can feel their fingers. Both of them are also lost because Rin claims to never have been to this part of the town.

“Are you sure you know the way?” Y/n asks for the seventh time (I’ve counted).

Rin groans and tries to figure out the bullshit on the screenshot of google maps he took prior to leaving the house.

“Cut me some slack.” The picture refuses to be zoomed in as he is wearing gloves. The snow isn’t helping either. “This is my first time visiting his place.”

Y/n mirrors his groan. “Well, now I’m embarrassed for both of us.”

“This isn’t a doctor’s appointment.” He peels off his right glove and wipes the screen on the inside of his pocket. “He isn’t expecting us to be there by 6 PM sharp.”

“But what if he’s upset because we ruined his schedule?”

Rin raises an eyebrow at her. “He isn’t like you.”

Scoffing, Y/n adjusts the scarf so that not even a quarter of an inch is exposed to the cold.

“I expect nothing less from an Aquarius headass.” She mumbles.

Confident that he finally got it right, Rin puts his glove back on and then grabs her by the shoulders, spinning her so they’re both facing the road.

“It’s right across the park after that condo building.” His mouth is right at her ear, “Do all of you Cancers mumble what you want to say or is it just you?”

“Shut up, what would you know about astrology?”

“Just your entire birth chart.” He shrugs. “Cancer sun, Virgo rising, Aquarius moon, Cancer venus, Virgo mercury, Cancer mars. That cancer stellium in 11th house isn’t doing you any favors.”

Y/n skids to a halt. “Stellium? What? How and when did you learn all this?”

“Heard Atsumu’s girlfriend talking about astrology while they were eating the ice cream I bought. So, I asked her to explain the fuck she was talking about in exchange for eating my food.” To piss her off, Rin links their arms as he whispers the following, “That’s how I learned why you’re the way you are.”

Scoffing, Y/n makes to kick him in the shin but he skillfully avoids her boot. “Shut up with your Aquarius sun, Scorpio rising, Aries moon, Capricorn mercury, Pisces venus, Aquarius mars ass.”

By the time they reach their destination, snow lays thick on their shoulders (they should’ve just taken a taxi or something, but Rin wanted to show her around while he could.). They dust the frost off their padded coats before they step inside the brightly lit restaurant so that it doesn’t thaw on the fabric, resulting in them reeking of wet dogs. Once inside, the warmth of the sizeable fireplace at the center hits them like a heatwave in July. Their nostrils fill with the smell of delightful food.

One of the waitresses leads them both to their reserved table, which stands by the window, neither too close nor too far from the entrance yet close to the fireplace. Osamu promised to book them the best seat there was and he delivered.

After shrugging off their coats and unwrapping their scarves, the two of them try to make boats out of tissue paper until Osamu joins them at the table. They take turns doing so, both failing equally miserably. The paper just won’t hold. It tears at the edges and then the fissures reach the heart of it. It frustrates them to the point that they just tear it in half.

At that moment, a voice can be heard that unshackles them from this annoyance.

“You look fried, Rin.”

His height is the first thing Y/n notices about the boy. He is almost as tall as Rin, with bleached hair dyed grey and an undercut that would look very Karen on someone whose head isn’t shaped like his. Unlike Rin’s, his arms are not inked with designs of any kind, at least none that she can see with how little upward he has rolled the sleeves of his black uniform. Most importantly… his eyes are equal parts tired and soft as he stares at Rin.

“Good evening to your greasy ass too.” Shoots Rin and the other boy pulls him into a hug.

And then… it’s her turn to greet and be greeted. It is her turn to be scrutinized and have her appearance and mannerisms dissected by this stranger, one of Rin’s closest friends and former teammate.

“Is this her?” He asks, bowing.

His voice is even; as if any and all personal judgment has been ironed out.

“L/n Y/n. Pleased to meet you.” She bows and then, as she and Rin sit back down and Osamu occupies the seat opposite them, she gestures at their surroundings. “I like your restaurant.”

He seems glad to hear that. Who wouldn’t be, really?

“What do you like most about it?”  Osamu asks, crossing his arms as he leans forward.

Y/n swipes her finger on the table. “Great hygiene and the whole place smells great.”

Osamu thanks her and they get to talking about random things. They’re in a world of their own and she’s locked out with no way of understanding its rules and inside jokes. Seeing as it is useless to understand anything at the speed that the conversation is flowing, Y/n takes to studying her surroundings; the light goldenrod yellow walls, the snow piling up on the sill outside, and the pictures on the wall. The subject of one of them is the Inarizaki High volleyball team.  

“Guess he’s always looked like Barry the bee.” She mutters. “Look at that smug asshole smile.”

Y/n doesn’t exactly try to hide the fact that she’s talking about his brother but she hadn’t thought his twin would actually catch her calling him Barry the bee, seeing as how he’d been so immersed in his conversation with Rin. So, it’s a bit of an amusing predicament when he turns to her, tilting his head. Well… amusing for them because for her she’s sifting through the million anxiety-born scenarios in order to choose the least devastating. What if he's upset? She had meant for it to be a joke gone unnoticed but what if?

“How do you know my dick of a twin?” Asks Osamu.

Somewhat relieved, Y/n straightens up but it’s Rin who speaks first.

“I lost a bet to him once,” He throws his arm around her shoulders and rests his head on hers for a second, “And he used my phone for an entire day.”

Staring blankly at Rin, the boy speaks in a low voice, “Don’t tell me he called her.”

“Rin knows I don’t like surprise phone calls,” Y/n says, glancing at Rin’s hand, fingers tracing lazy circles on her collarbone. “His name popping up on my phone screen at 9 PM was a clear indication that something was up.”

“Basically, he video-called her to mess with me. The entire time I thought he was just downloading porn to piss me off.”

“Instead, he kept pestering me until I stopped declining his calls.”

The state of the boy sitting opposite them is a curious blend of shame and being entirely unfazed. In every timeline, being born as Atsumu’s twin came with built-in emotional stamina, patience, and preparation for the unexpected. A full-time job really. Yet at last, Osamu lets out a sigh of exasperation, sweeping a hand over his face.

“So fucking embarrassing.” He drones, then casts her a glance, “Did he do anything inappropriate?”

“Honestly, I thought he would at first.” She nods, the weight of anxious thoughts now shaken off her shoulders. “But he was just asking for tips on how to talk to this extremely shy girl and telling me embarrassing stories about Rin.”

“Apologies for not boiling him like the egg that he is while I had the chance.”

Y/n shakes her head. “No, he was really nice when I visited.”

Osamu regards her with what can only be identified as doubt.

“Really?” The word ends more like a statement than a question.

“Even ordered food for us all. Besides,” Her fingers drift to Rin’s, the soft flesh of the tips pressing against his. “If it hadn’t been for Atsumu calling then I would never have learned that he dared Rin to wear his cumrag shirt or answer with truth.”

A grimace passes over Osamu’s face at the memory of that party and the events that preceded it. Rin removes his arm from around her shoulders and brings it to her lap, fingers laced with hers.

“Go big or go home,” he says proudly.  

Osamu doesn’t miss a beat, “Should’ve gone home.”

“And be grilled about my whorish ways by my grandma? No, thanks. Cumrag it is.”

While Rin has taken to idly caressing her thumb with his, Osamu takes a few moments to study the boy’s demeanor; how he seems most in his element around her, shoulders brushing, a hint of mischief glazed over his yellow-green eyes to mask the longing.

“Well,” Osamu starts, recapturing their attention, “At least now she has no reason to cross-examine you.”

  They’re walking side by side, hands in their pockets and scarves around their neck, when his voice comes out in puffs of steam, all the more visible as they leave one of the many lampposts behind.

“Why are people obsessed with the idea of setting people up with other people?”

The question has Y/n coming to a halt, only for a moment, then catches up to him before Rin can notice. She doesn’t know he already has.

“Beats me.” She shrugs. “Maybe influence. Power.” A car speeds by, then silence settles once more. Until she adds, “The satisfaction at seeing someone you love fall in love as well.”

Maybe it’s that they’re spent from all the talking they did back at the restaurant, engaging with Osamu in the most ludicrous debates over trivial matters from the past and the present. It could also be that the quiet of this area feels too innocent to pollute with nonsensical talk. Maybe they’re afraid words could poison whatever they cherish. No matter the reasons, the fact remains that they walk side by side, arms brushing, snow crunching under their footwear, and the biting wind mocking their attempts to warm their own breaths underneath the scarves.

Yet the words striving to be heard challenge the silence, and win.

“There’s something elusive about it,” Y/n says, just loud enough to be heard.

Rin turns his head to look at her. “About what?”

She expertly dodges his gaze, staring ahead into the traffic lights as they switch to green.

“The fascination with love.” Y/n breathes.

Well… he didn’t expect that from her. And he didn’t expect or appreciate himself feeling green with envy at the thought of him not being even a small part of the image at the front of her mind right now. Because, to his knowledge, there is only one person she’s had romantic feelings for, and that person is vile vermin that she never speaks of. He’s in the past. Rin is here, beside her. Still, he feels the need to vomit the words that have the contents of his stomach turning to poison.

“Didn’t you have feelings for that guy in high school?”

They cross the road.

“My personal sentiments seem… impersonal to me now.” She confesses, shutting her eyes for a second. “It wasn’t me. I must have imagined it for sure.”

“Imagined it?”

“Yeah, you know,” Y/n removes her hands from her pockets to paint some abstract concept in the air, “Hallucinations.”

She can’t see his lips curve upwards in that distinct smile of mischief he always uses to playfully taunt her with, but the round curvature of his cheekbones, as they peek above the scarf, tells her that he, at the very least, finds the conversation slightly amusing. The truth is… she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disheartened.

“Y/n I’m like 98 percent sure you aren’t doping up on psychedelics and shit.”

“And…” She wavers, eyes flitting between him and the pavement beneath their feet, “The other 2 percent?”

“That’s where this convo is headed.”

Well… that’s it, isn’t it? Every bit of her is like injecting drugs straight into your vein. An ephemeral, translucent, gossamer-like being, woven from ghosts and wraiths, she never feels real. Her words are odd. Each utterance is made obsolete by the sole fact that it is her lungs breathing life into them. Even Rin thinks so, doesn’t he? He cannot believe that she of all people would speak of love. Remember, this is all in her head.

“Yeah, it’s getting weird,” she mumbles, staring straight ahead.

For his part, Rin doesn’t think it’s odd that she’s speaking of love. Surprising? Without a doubt. But there is no way she could ever speak of love and sound like anything other than the flesh in which it resides. And he can feel it in the deepest layers of his skin, goosebumps beneath the padded coat, in his chest as it is weighed down by the regret at his choice of words, and in the way he has to swallow that same regret.

“Did he fuck around?” This is what he asks instead.

It’s almost comical how she almost breaks her neck to look him in the eye. He doesn’t break eye contact, and neither does she. Slowly, she nods.

“Was he any good?”

This time looking down, she nods again.

Sighing, Rin mutters, “He’s just like me for real.”

Y/n side-eyes him until neither of them can suppress the mirth. Eventually, the laughter dies down and they settle back into the quiet as they wait for the light to turn green.

“My bedroom and his were… they were separated by a wall.” Y/n can feel his gaze boring into her, “So, I could hear them going at it. Free lessons really.”

Rin’s eyes go wide. Then, gradually, they soften upon witnessing the emptiness in hers, how the blankness of her expression is betrayed only by the involuntary fluttering of her eyelashes as if she can bear neither the present nor the past. Having a mind of their own, his hands reach for hers. Slowly, he shelters them in his pocket.

But Rin, being too inquisitive and possessing little tact at the moment, inquires the following:

“Between him and I, who do you think is the best?”

Scoffing, Y/n makes to untangle herself from Rin but his fingers become a gauntlet around hers. She can only groan and submit.

“Well,” She begins, “It’s not like I know what it’s like to be fucked by either of you to be able to compare.”

That can be fixed, is his knee-jerk impulsive thought. If he were anyone else, Rin would lower his head in shame at the filth that infests his every imagined scenario involving her and him, especially at a time such as this, when she’s stripping layer after layer of vulnerability. But he’s the same boy he was at the age of 15; clueless as to how to connect with people in a way that isn’t carnal, careless, and crude in the way friends ought not to be. He has to justify the epithets he’s given, doesn’t he?

Wasn’t he being irrationally jealous some minutes ago? What was it that triggered his sexual urges out of nowhere? The boy can only look at her with slightly narrowed eyes as her lips start to move once again.

“But you’re not like him.” Her voice is soft. “You’re the sort of person who is pleasant to be around. It’s subtle. Understated. Like, if I were to compare… I’d say you’re like this intoxicating scent that you eventually get used to. Like when you enter the room, you know it’s safe to be there, to close your eyes, or to just exist.” She pauses and inhales deeply before continuing, “What he has is overwhelming charisma. He is the leader of his friend group. People flock to him, listen to him, believe in him… trust him. His every word is received wholeheartedly.”

She doesn’t need to keep going, firing arrow after arrow, but she does. Rin listens.

“He inspires devotion.” Each word is a letter of resignation.

Pulling up his scarf to hide the blush dusting his cheeks, he swallows his pride.

“This entire time you’ve been talking like he still is all those things,” Rin points out.

“Because I’m certain it’s true still.”

It’s the immediacy of her response that shuts him up. Rin has never dreamed of being someone else as much as he does right now. It’s like her portrait of him has been washed out by the corrosive agent that is her description of a man that Rin doesn’t know yet loathes.

“Your charm is just as powerful.” She continues, fingers tightening around Rin’s. “True, people don’t bully certain people just because you harbor some sort of dislike for them. But they can rest assured that you won’t lead them astray. You put others at ease without realizing it. Like, if you asked me to play truth or dare, I’d probably say yes because I know you wouldn’t cross the line.”

Rin can’t help the lazy smile that takes over.

“Probably?” He teases.

“Who knows? Might make me make out with the toilet seat.” She answers honestly and Rin laughs because he knows it’s true. “Point is, you don’t weaponize your presence to hurt.”

Y/n gives him a small smile and then checks both sides of the street.

“You’re a good person when you’re not breaking hearts.” She jokes, intending for him to hear.

He laughs but it’s the kind of laugh that only serves to distract oneself from their most urgent thoughts and desires. Right now, Rin doesn’t care about the rumors, malicious remarks, or the hearts broken over the years. His only concern lay with how to best help her understand his gratitude towards her. How does he let her know she’s the first to have an understanding of him that exceeds his sexual escapades or smoking? How does he make her understand he feels the most cared for when in her presence?

“Y/n?”

Rin’s voice has always had that drowsy quality to it, like waking up from a nap on a Sunday evening, and it still is. Even if he swiftly pulls her toward the other side of the road without elaborating any further.

She can’t help looking up at him as he lowers his scarf.

“Yeah?” The scarf muffles the word.

His free hand finds itself on her cheek, slowly pulling down the worn fabric to reveal rosy cheeks. A bit lower and her upper lip peeks above the piece of cloth. As he contemplates whether to succumb to this gnawing need, his focus flits between her curious gaze and her lips. In the end, he decides to play it safe, convincing himself that this is a step forward.

The boy presses his lips against her cheek. It burns… having her so close, having his lips touching a part of her. It’s not the first time. He’s pecked her cheeks time and time again, be it under the effect of alcohol or drugs, sober, or hungover (when he wants no one to as much as breathe within a square kilometer as him). He’s held back for so long. So why does it hurt so bad trying to keep his lips from straying?

“For defending me.” He clarifies, still struggling not to kiss her very breaths, “I owe you one.”

What Rin doesn’t know is that her cheek burns too.

  December 27th

There is nothing quite like academic validation. Because when it’s all said and done, the numbers will be there to remind you that this is how much you’re worth, whether you deserve to eat and enjoy that movie, whether you deserve to step out into the balcony and just breathe in the chilly 3:00 AM air and the view of the bustling city. All of it is determined by how well you do in your classes, and how pleasing your opinions are to people whose words matter infinitely more than yours.

So why not be worthy of those numbers and wear them like a badge of honor? Why not toil away when others are putting their plates away? Why see yourself as remotely human, as if you have any right? How could Y/n give a second thought to the rumbling of her stomach when the buzzing doom in her head kept vibrating in all the wrong crevices of her mind?

“Hey.”

Being the narrator, I hear it. Not Y/n, though. Speaking to her right now is no different from trying to converse with an animated corpse in a tomb; the soil and the casket tune everything out.

Just as Chiharu is about to change her mind, her friend’s stomach decides to summon fire from the pit. Of course, Y/n still doesn’t notice she needs sustenance. Now Chiharu knows what to do in order to get the girl’s attention without having her draw further into her shell; dinner. It’s about 9 PM but it will be a welcome change of pace for both. Chiharu buys herself some more time to think and Y/n gets to eat something she didn’t “waste” time making.

Setting the plate beside the laptop, Chiharu tries again.

“Hey,” she says.

This grabs Y/n’s attention, who almost recoils at the sight of the sandwich, Caesar salad, and the girl hovering above her.

Removing her headphones, she responds, “Sup.”

In a room as devoid of lighting as Y/n’s bedroom, the only way for Chiharu to see is to squint. But she’s not about to do all that. Instead, she switches on the light.

“I know you don’t like wasting time so I’ll just cut to the chase.” She takes a deep breath, “Come to the New Year’s Eve party.”

Fingers tensing on the keyboard, Y/n answers, “Don’t know if I can make it.”

“We don’t have classes ‘till January and I know you took extra shifts before winter break started to make up for the hours.”

“Yeah, but-

“Ayame feels really bad, you know?”

And Y/n feels like painting her sight black and flattening the sounds that Chiharu is producing. The thought of someone feeling any manner of discomfort, anything remotely negative because of her absence, is foreign, a cryptid. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t understand. Therefore, she is as much afraid as she is intrigued. Looking back at the screen, she absentmindedly types “a” after “a”.

“She can’t look you in the eye without feeling like bursting into tears.”

Well, that sounds familiar. It isn’t like Chiharu to guilt trip others into bending over backward to fulfill her wishes. However, the girl has known Kuroo for a long time. They’ve been at each other’s throats, tussling since they were toddlers barely on their feet, and adopted traits of each other over the years they have spent making fun of those same traits. Kuroo is a phenomenal guilt-tripper. Full stop. The worst part is that in most cases his way is the way that works best, even if he has to seek Y/n’s input beforehand.

“Is it guilt-tripping I detect?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

Chiharu smiles sheepishly.

“Maybe? Look,” She says, shaking her head, “I just think it would be a nice change of pace. Beneficial for everyone, not just me or Ayame or that obnoxious hellcat.”

Y/n’s fingers come to a halt, the cursor still pulsating on the screen.

“Who else is coming?” She inquires.

“Tooru gave a vague answer so I don’t know if he’s planning to join us.” Chiharu answers and Y/n hopes that the girl isn’t able to detect the small relief washing over her, “But Rin is and so is Kenma. Kenma, if you remember him, has been asking about you by the way. Haven’t you gotten his texts?”

Rolling her eyes, Y/n mutters, “You know I have. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Bingo!” Chiharu exclaims, “If you come with us, you’ll be halfway there. Once you see each other I’m sure conversation between you two will flow like period blood.”

That’s enough for one night, Y/n decides as she turns to properly face the verbal massacre on her screen. Chiharu’s similitude of choice was simply too out-of-pocket even for her.

“I’ll come if you promise never to use that comparison again,” she says.

“Great!” She can feel Chiharu raising a triumphant fist. “Finally, I did something right. Okay, so I’ll leave you be now. Night- night!”

Shutting the door behind her, Chiharu lets out a sigh of contentment. This might just be her greatest achievement of the year.

“Chiharu,” She whisper-yells to herself, a smile on her face, “You dumb fucking bitch. You made it.”

On the other side of the door, Y/n carefully picks up the sandwich. She brings it to her lips and the first bite tastes like food that is neither exquisite nor too bland, merely meant to stave off the hunger while not tasting horribly too much like hay. The second bite is a log in her throat, hard to swallow. The third tastes like ‘loss’.

“Mama, your belly is so pretty,” she says.

They’re sitting on the sofa in their old apartment, the fabric of the cover soft to the touch, like the fuzz of the peaches that her auntie has just sliced nicely and placed on a plate for them to enjoy. It’s summer but the evening is caressed by a beautiful breeze. The day is hot enough to remind everyone it’s still the hottest season of the year but not so much so that they have to wipe off their sweat every two minutes.

Her mom is near her, gently rubbing her belly and smiling down at it. Y/n thinks her mom is very beautiful. Her light brown eyes are always so much prettier when she smiles and sunlight adores her hair. How Y/n wishes she could be like her.

“It’s true, baby.” Her auntie lifts her up and sits Y/n down on her lap, “Mama is so pretty.”

Her mom laughs and kisses Y/n on the cheek. The little girl can’t help but giggle. Then her stomach rumbles; a noise that can’t go unheard in a house as quiet as theirs, especially with the TV turned off. Her mom and auntie look at one another before shrieking with laughter.

“Is my little girl hungry?” Her mom asks.

Y/n nods and quietly says, “Yes, mama.”

“Okay, sit here, baby. Auntie will make you a sandwich.”

Just as her aunt is about to lift Y/n off her lap, her mom gets up, one hand supporting her back and the other on her belly still drawing soothing circles.

“No, stay there.” She says, making her way to the kitchen. “You must be tired of cooking and cleaning since dawn.”

Her aunt sighs. “It’s nothing. You’re the one that’s pregnant.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make my little girl a sandwich, does it?”

While her mom prepares her sandwich, which will undoubtedly make her eat less at dinner, her auntie takes to tickle the life out of her. Tears pool in her eyes as she tries to wriggle out of the woman’s hold, giggling all the while. Then, finally managing to do so, she throws her arms around her auntie’s neck and asks for a piggyback around the living room. So, the woman does and Y/n feels safe and content at the speed at which her auntie is marching and with her head buried in the crook of the woman’s neck. She could just doze off.

“It’s readyyyyy!” Her mom calls as she walks out of the kitchen.

Instantly, Y/n asks to be let down (which her aunt doe) and dashes across the living room to where her mom is, wrapping her arms around her legs. She feels her mom’s hand rest atop her head as they both head toward the dining table. Y/n climbs on the chair, eager to taste the sandwich.

It has everything in it that she likes; ham, arugula, pesto sauce, peanut butter, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, and walnuts. Her mouth is assaulted by the flavors all at once. Every bite is a bit of worldly joy reserved for her alone, even the crumbs. She listens to her mom and auntie talk about the dinner planned for tonight, one in celebration of her dad’s promotion at work. An invitation has been sent to her dad’s superior, who is also his friend.

There is too much happiness in her heart because everyone is happy and she’s just had her favorite meal. I guess the universe decided she’d had too much of it. A few months later, they were on their way to a different prefecture. And the fault, they had decided, was hers. No longer was the sandwich made for her. Her mom didn’t kiss her cheek, whether she was blissful or blue.

But years down the line she’d make this sandwich for her friends at her auntie’s house during summer break. For one month, she’d take a bite out of joy with them, have her fill then starve again.

Even now, with that awareness in mind, Y/n devours it all.

   December 31st, New Year’s Eve

Her eyes cannot stand the light that bleeds from the lampposts so she squints, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kuroo’s apartment. Chiharu and Ayame walk ahead of her, careful not to leave her too far behind. The elevator is filled with their giggles and the mirror is a movie. Y/n watches on with a smile as they tug on each other’s arms and reapply their lipstick. Then they’re out and walking towards Kuroo’s apartment (a penthouse really).

The door swings open and there stands the host in all his rabid glory. He pulls Ayame in for a kiss then wrestles Chiharu for a hug. At Godspeed, his eyes land on Y/n. A maniacal smile that would incense anyone that isn’t his friend grows on his face at the sight of her.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, crushing her in his embrace, “Where have you been loca? It’s been ages!”

Patting him on the back, she immediately starts to tease him.

“Do I discern the absence of a comb, Jacob?”

Kuroo kicks the door closed. “I am ever so poor, Y/n!”

“Positively destitute.” She shoots, rolling her eyes.

He laughs and leads the way to the living room.

“Without you around to bully me lovingly?” He whines theatrically, “Of course, I’ve been destitute! Forlorn even!”

He hugs her a bit tighter before finally letting her go.

“Kenma’s in his room.” He tells her. “The sly bastard promised he would join the party. I should have known his words were but sweet deceit.”

Y/n laughs softly at his words. She’s always loved Kuroo’s theatrics. He never means for his jokes or dramatic displays to be malicious. Though, he does lack the tact to say the right things on a day-to-day basis. Nevertheless, he always apologizes, practically begging on his knees for forgiveness. Kuroo is someone everyone needs in their life. Y/n realizes she wants to make him feel like a friend that she wants in her life. It’s time she stopped treating him like a stranger.

So, she keeps the conversation going. They talk about their health, studies, movies they’ve watched, and books they’ve read. They gossip about everything and everyone, laughing at each other’s jokes until Ayame joyfully pulls him away to dance. Y/n waves at them before heading toward Kenma’s ‘hideout’.

Rapping her fingers against the door, she waits for the sound of his voice. After the second time, she hears him yell ‘I’ll be there in a bit, Kuroo!’. She hasn’t been here in a while. The atmosphere is one she’s not used to and usually, it wouldn’t be something to shy away from. But it’s Kenma and everything about him used to be familiar, like every time they talked their planes of existence found a common solution.

Grabbing the door handle, she tries to silence all the chastising voices in her head. In his chair, Kenma remains unmoving, clicking away with his mouse. This leads her to believe that he’s still unaware that it’s her standing in his room, not Kuroo. Did they forget to tell him? Could it be that he’s purposefully acting like she’s not even here? Is she overstepping by entering? Has she ruined everything?

Then, something seems to snap in him. Maybe it’s the silence that follows the pattern of her footsteps as she halts in the center of the room. It might be the hope that she hasn’t flaked on her promise to show up for her friends. It could be the hope that his friend is finally back. Kenma spins in his chair and his eyes widen at the sight of her. Before she can even raise her hand in a greeting he springs from his seat and wraps his arms around her shoulders.

“Missed you.” He breathes.

Her chest feels heavy as if loaded with stones and there’s a noose around her neck as she says, “I missed you too.”

Somewhere between her being scared of being turned away and him lunging for her, the fear of rejection had turned into confusion. But it’s okay because as she and Kenma sit at one of his desks, what came seems like a foggy memory. The first thing he asks about is whether she’s okay, whatever that means. Y/n responds with a shrug and a ‘better’, recalling the past few weeks; her fight with Oikawa, her departure from his apartment, and the visit to Rin’s childhood home. She asks him the same question, which he answers with a slight smile and a ‘better now’. After that they talk about random things; the plant they ‘adopted’, how Kuroo keeps blasting phonk music through the speakers at 7 in the morning, how Chiharu talked to Kenma about wanting to make things right, and so on.

“How are things going with your company?” Y/n inquires while munching on a tangerine.

“Smoothly for now.” Kenma takes another tangerine from the bowl and peels it. “We’ve been developing this game but we can’t seem to get the designs right.”

“Can I take a look?”

“Sure.”

He clicks on the file the designer emailed him. She scans the entire document, tilting her head in thought.

“A bit repetitive.” Y/n concludes, popping another slice in her mouth, and Kenma nods. “Tell me more about the lore within the game. I know you kept what we discussed at the beginning but Rin told me you’ve expanded on it.”

He tells her all about it, fishing the old sketches and diagrams out of the drawer. They go through it one more time before he tells her about the additions to the lore. She, in turn, offers advice on how to apply these changes to the characters’ dialogues and designs. If things remain as disjointed as they are at the moment then it will only be detrimental down the line.  She jots down everything for him to keep in mind and discuss with the designer when at their next meeting.

Just as the dust of their efforts begins to settle, Kenma hits her with a most befuddling question.

“What would you do if your best friend confessed to you?”

Y/n frowns. “Best friend? Confession?”

“Yeah, like…” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and his nervous gaze flits between his feet and the screen. “How would you react if they disclosed their feelings for you?”

“As in… romantic feelings?” Y/n asks and Kenma nods shyly. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

Kenma turns to her, eyes roaming her face. “But you’ve had feelings for someone before.”

“He was never my friend. Never wanted to be.” She shrugs. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

There’s a beat of silence, during which Kenma can’t decide whether to look his friend in the eye or zone out. Ultimately, he decides to tell her the truth of it.

“The guy I like is in a relationship with someone else.”

Confessing is like cutting of the straps of a bag loaded with stones and letting it fall to the ground. His shoulders feel light and his lungs can finally fill with air. It’s not like coming out is a big deal in their friend group. Chiharu is asexual and Y/n, Rin, and Oikawa are bisexual. Only Kuroo and Ayame seem to be straight (Kuroo not so much lol).

Y/n’s frown deepens. “Why would you fall for someone who looks like he has hellcats style his hair on the daily?”  

Kenma holds back a gasp. He hadn’t imagined she’d figure him out so easily.

“How did you know it was him?” He groans in embarrassment, dragging his hands down his face.  

“Kenma, you and I barely go out.” Y/n points out. “I don’t think people in relationships, other than Kuroo, are a common sight for you.”

Defeated, he mouths. “Brutal.”

After gorging on tangerines some more, Kenma decides to make good on his promise to Kuroo and the party. The hellcat wastes no time in dragging the unwilling gamer to the dance floor. If the taller boy takes notice of how his friend at once flinches at and melts under his touch, he doesn’t give it away. Instead, he spins the boy around and gather’s the boy’s hair in a ponytail. Before Kenma can make his escape, Kuroo throws his arm around his waist and pulls him toward a group of guys dancing their worries away, 100% under the influence.

In the kitchen, Y/n finds Chiharu shoving a rolled slice of pizza in her mouth with zero concern for the choking hazard she has created and Ayame encouraging her in true cheerleader fashion. The latter waves Y/n over and hands her a slice of the shrimp pizza she’s been keeping an eye on since it was delivered. For the next 20 minutes or so, the three of them chatter by shouting over the music and can only manage to grasp about half of what the other is saying.

“Tooru-kun is coming, isn’t he?” Ayame asks at one point, having had to repeat the question for the third time.

Y/n notices how Chiharu slows down, only taking a small bite of the pepperoni after the daredevil atrocity she swallowed before.

“He said he’d think it over.” She says, blowing a wisp of neon green and black hair away from her face. “He’s been really busy with practice lately. Which is fine, I guess. As long as he’s not drinking.”

Ayame’s face twists with concern, “Is he getting any help?”

“Don’t think so.” Chiharu sighs. “He’s so stubborn, claiming it’s just a passing phase. That he can quit whenever he wants but just chooses not to.”

Y/n looks away from the two. This conversation couldn’t be further from what she wanted it to be. It only serves as a reminder of how insensitive she was with regard to his alcohol dependency the last time she saw him, how she’d cornered him because of how cornered she’d felt herself.

“What about you?” She asks Chiharu and when she turns to look at them the girl looks almost surprised to hear her ask.

“I’m tired, to be honest,” Chiharu answers with a sigh, the beginning of a smile detectable in her voice. “I just want to fly to Iceland and sleep for a year. So many fucking assignments piling up that I can’t see over them.” She shakes her head. “I almost asked for your help.”

Y/n holds back a scoff. “As if I would have been of any help.”

“No, but you would have been there to listen to me ranting while I look for the brush I’m holding.”

“I would have let you look for hours until you finally realized.”

Ayame and Chiharu laugh at that, already drunk off their wits. Y/n briefly wonders whether the jolly and spirited girl would remain as such if Kenma’s feelings for her boyfriend. Their friend group would certainly crumble. Nothing would be the same. There was no reason for her to be in the know since Kenma had no intention of confessing to Kuroo anyway.

Suddenly, Chiharu nudges her with her elbow. “Rin was looking for you before he decided that hotboxing in Kuroo’s bedroom was a good idea.”

Y/n looks at the crowd in the living room, past which lay the stairs to the second floor where Kenma’s and Kuroo’s respective bedrooms are.

“Is he still there?” she asks.

Ayame nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

Y/n nods and finishes the slice of pizza in her hand.

“Tell him to get his ass over here!” Chiharu yells over the music as Y/n heads out of the kitchen. “There’s pizza!”

None of them are coming down to eat and Chiharu knows that.

Y/n navigates around the sweaty bodies and takes the stairs. Once she’s in front of Kuroo’s bedroom, she knocks, then knocks again. Before she entirely surrenders, the door is thrown open and the face of Suna Rintaro looms over hers. The smile is slow to grow but once it does, there is nothing quite as inviting. Though even if he were frowning that wouldn’t change how he tugs her into the room, turning the key so that nobody dares disturb their peace. In but a few seconds, she finds herself in his embrace as his arms wind around her shoulders. Fabric softener and the earthy tones of his perfume curl inside her lungs and, in turn, her insides curl with a feeling that isn’t altogether unfamiliar.  The same is happening on his end.

I hope you can understand my frustration when I tell you that they each believe themselves to be utterly alone in this flurry of sensations. But it gets bearable, both for them, me, and you, once they plop down on the bed beside each other, ruffling Kuroo’s silky bedsheets as they get comfortable.

Y/n turns her head to the right to look at him only to find him already gazing.

“I was expecting to find you passed out,” She confesses.

Rin crosses his arms beneath his head. “Felt like lying to people for fun tonight.”

“Finishing the year strong.”

“Now that you’re here looking like this? Yes.”

As if his words weren’t enough to fluster and confound her, he turns and, supporting his weight on his elbow, brings his other palm to her face. Rin has always been observant. Always scrutinizing. Always picking up on what others can’t be bothered to spare a second look at. It’s no surprise that he’s able to tell she didn’t do the makeup herself, save for one thing.

“Did Ayame do your makeup?” His thumb rests on her cheek, careful not to press too hard on the artwork.

Y/n’s eyes try to search his but they’re someplace else. “Not all of it.”

“Figured. Your eyes have your touch.” Rin’s eyes shoot up to meet hers. Picking up on the bubbling self-consciousness, he adds. “In a good way.”

He wishes he could kiss her eyelids, the glitter painting his lips with the same brilliance that it has bestowed upon her eyes. Rin thinks that she looks much like what he imagines the universe to feel; the galaxies scattered above and below, within and around it, feed something lonely, and a black eye that beholds and consumes them. Her gaze feels like the joy of adolescence come to life, only better, more thrilling, and intimate. He wishes he could kiss them because he desperately wants to. Because he can’t look into them for too long without losing himself completely.

“I was kinda afraid to enter.”

Rin’s eyebrows shoot up. Then they furrow. His hand, on the other hand, stays still.

“Why would you be afraid?” He asks.  

She shrugs. “Thought you might be with someone.”

His chuckle, though inaudible to everyone else, bounces inside her skull. Not even the music coursing through the veins of the entire building (Kuroo has paid good money for the neighbors to tolerate this level of acoustic pollution) can drown it out. Y/n can feel his chest vibrate. It’s as if each gulp of air has him drawing closer.

“That’s not a reason, angel.” He finally says.  

“What would constitute a reason then?”

“You’re the only one that doesn’t need one.”

Her reluctance comes out in the elongated but fading. “Why?”

Well, what should he say to that? What would be considered a response that wouldn’t have her shutting down right before his eyes; face turned away, lids shut tight, feed padding across the floor as he watches her leave? How can he prevent that from happening while telling the truth? Because you’re the only part of me I can’t reject. Suna Rintaro is observant but words often fail him when it matters most. The stronger he feels about something, the more excruciating it is for him to express it. If I had to describe it, it would be; the truth of his soul is the flesh beneath all the misperceptions and alter egos. He never bares it, never lets it bleed.

“If you hadn’t shown up,” He leans down to whisper in her ear, I’d have spray-painted 2012 Tumblr poetry on your bedroom door.”

Y/n groans and pushes him away, face scrunching in disgust at the stupid tilt of his lips. “That’s torturous, Rin. I’d rather you choked me.”

If she weren’t too busy cringing at the flashbacks of 2012 Tumblr poetry, she would see his eyes darken by small degrees until the final sparkle in them is replaced by a glint of mischief and lust. Never before has he felt the urge to tease someone so primally. It’s either he gets to touch her in some way or his dick hardens in his jeans and he has to look for some stranger to spend the night with.

His breath catches in his throat as it occurs to him that this might be it. If this worked, it could end up with them kissing. Worst case scenario, he could play it off as teasing.

“Like this?”

Bringing his fingers to her neck, he watches her questioning eyes flit from his hand to his eyes. The pad of his thumb relaxes on her vein, feeling it pulsate. Slowly, his gaze travels upwards to her lips. They part with a sigh just as he applies a bit of pressure on both sides of her neck. He alternates between slow caresses, teasing, little scratches, and using ‘force’, a combination that builds up anticipation even amidst puzzlement. It’s a rhythm he doesn’t care to create with anyone else truth be told, as it is too intimate. But she is aware of none of this.

Then her hand clasps around his wrist, putting a stop to his ministrations. For a moment, he thinks she’ll tell him he’s getting ahead of himself.

“Why do you touch me like the people you sleep with?” She asks instead.

There it is… obliviousness. He can take confusion. He can understand not being used to having your friends kink-choke you. What he won’t stand for is mentioning others while he’s literally dying to get a taste of her mouth.

“You don’t know how I touch them.” He states.

Her grip relaxes around his wrists but his touch doesn’t abandon her neck. The skin tingles from his earlier attentions, sending intervals of want straight to her lower regions.

“Maybe not while you fuck them.” Y/n adds, “But I’ve seen you flirt.”

“Is that so?” Rin raises a brow. “Tell me how I touch them then.”

The encouragement isn’t all that convincing. So, she hesitates at first. But the expectant hum coming from him urges her to try and describe to him how his sexual encounters are filtered through the perception of the one person that mattered.

“You rest your hand on their thighs. Rub your thumb in circles.” She begins, “Like this.”

Before she can even lift her hand off the covers, Rin’s fingers have already left her neck in favor of her thigh, making sure to slide smoothly across her torso. If only she wasn’t wearing tights, he thinks, I could feel the warmth of her skin seep into mine so much faster.

“Go on.” He says, rubbing circles on her covered thigh, just where her black corduroy skirt ends.

“Then, when you pull them toward the dance floor, your hand goes around their middle.” Her breath hitches as his actions follow each gasping word, “Sometimes your fingers press into their sides.”

Getting above her, Rin uses his knee to part her thighs. Her skirt rides up a little as he does so, though not nearly as much as he wishes it did. Therefore, he takes matters into his own hands and lifts her thighs off the bed enough for his fingers to slide the skirt further up a few more inches. His nails then dig into her supple flesh only to abandon the area for her waist, settling there as he leans ever so close. Barely 3 inches stand between their lips now.

“And when you kiss them…” Y/n trails off, unable to decide whether to stare at his lips or into his eyes.

Rin hums, nodding. “When I kiss them?”

“You wrap your hand around their neck, lifting up their chin.”

Having been desperate for an opening, Rin doesn’t hesitate to make his way up to her throat, ‘forcefully’ cupping her jaw, eliciting a small gasp from her. One hand on her waist, the other on her face, he goes in for the kill, his own lips parting in response to hers. Fuck’s sake he can’t wait to have her at last, to feel her all around him, be intoxicated by her touch, drowning in her sighs and whimpers as he takes from and gives to her again and again and again. With the way her hands come up his shoulders, holding on for dear life as if he’s about to turn into thin air. As if he’d so much as think about replacing the feeling of her around him for the mindless snogging with someone random.

Rin has always imagined he could take it slow with her when the time came. But the present is unfolding quite differently. Two seconds in and he can’t handle the way their lips are simply touching, as if his mouth isn’t dying to devour hers, as if his teeth aren’t suddenly sharper in want of her lips. So, he initiates a deeper kiss by being the first to introduce his tongue, sliding it into her mouth and waiting for her to reciprocate. Y/n does so soon enough, getting to feel it toying with hers just for a second or two before it draws back to get a taste of her lips. After flicking her lower lip, he starts to nip at it, tugging and releasing as she moans in response. Then he adds tongue again, this time bringing the hand resting on her waist up to her chest, fondling her breasts as she leans forward for more.

The moment he stops the kiss to smile down at her with his eyes closed in bliss is the moment Y/n unwittingly spoils the mood.

“Then you disappear.”

Rin peers down at her in confusion but doesn’t draw farther from her.

“Do I disappear when I’m with you?”

“No.” But it comes out more as a question.

“I see no crowd here.” His jaw flexes. “For all our friends know, I’m currently fucking the shit out of you right now.”

He wishes his dick didn’t twitch at his own words and so does she. But more than horny, Rin is frustrated and, somehow, hurt. That’s why he can’t help but draw back, kneeling between her thighs as he contemplates asking an extremely risky question.

“Why do you think I don’t disappear with you?” He asks instead.

She looks to the side before he cups her jaw to redirect her gaze to him.

“Because,” She says, swallowing, “You don’t see me that way.”

There it is, Rin groans internally, that stubborn need to assume everything about me. If only she could stop thinking I don’t desire her, just because she believes no one else ever has. If she were to ask me straight-up, I would tell her. But how can I convince her that I want to kiss her, fuck her, and be with her, if she hasn’t understood it by now? I literally had my tongue inside her mouth two seconds ago. Even now, I’m kneeling between her legs with a boner I can’t tame.

“You don’t understand how I see you.” He mutters, relinquishing her.

Her chest burns as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, seemingly in thought as he stares at the door.

“Are you leaving?” Why is her voice suddenly so small, she wonders.

“The party? No.” Rin answers, getting off the bed and heading for the door. “Just this room.”

Rin knows he feels the most cared for in her presence. What he doesn’t know is the feeling of being that one item at the store that is no one’s first, second, or final pick because it’s at the very front. The item is some random person’s final resort when there is no one they can turn to. Then discarded without a second thought. He doesn’t know that speaking his mind would put an end to this agonizing wait for his feelings to be perceived in their purest form. He doesn’t realize that he wouldn’t be disposed of by someone who knows what it’s like to be treated as such. And because none of this occurs to him, he shuts the door behind him and joins the mindless mayhem in the living room, feeling none of the joy and excitement, and all of the disdain and exasperation for himself and the way things turned out.

Y/n’s chest still burns, even as she rubs her palms raw over her thighs to make her brain think it’s her hand that hurts.  

   Tooru is one lousy bastard to come here unfashionably late, knowing well and clear that he’s about to slink away from the party just 30 minutes after his arrival. Even that’s being generous. This is neither the time nor the place for him to be all smiley and shit. All he wants to do right now is pop a can open and drain his poison of choice. It’s the final night of the year after all. Aren’t they all supposed to get irrevocably wasted and make decisions they would loathe to make while sober? At least, that’s what he tells himself as he turns off the engine and steps out of the car with a sigh.

He doesn’t catch the anxious murmurs at first as he locks the car doors. But as he takes to the steps a voice, small and whispery, seeps into his ears. If it were anyone else, he might have hurried over and asked if they needed any help. But it’s her voice and the thought of her turning him away once again is daunting, to say the least. Reluctant, however, he makes for the benches among the trees lining the perimeter of the apartment building. Here, Tooru notices, the wind beats the earth much more gently.

“Fuck, I messed up.”

His eyebrows come together in confusion. Because there she’s standing, crouching with her palms planted on her face as if she wishes she could skin it alive, one strip of skin at a time. Tooru has no time to take in her outfit⸺ the knee-length gray wool coat, the black corduroy skirt from before, the iron-grey turtleneck, and the black shoes⸺ because her tirade goes on, becoming more hurried by the second.

“Hey.” He says, making his way to her. At the sound of his voice, she flinches and immediately stands, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you out here in the cold?”

Tooru tries to sneak a peek at her face, but she pushes him away.

“Leave me alone.” She mutters, waiting for him to leave.

But Tooru is nothing if not stubborn.

Taking hold of her elbow gently, he asks, “Y/n what happened?”

Y/n groans and shakes him off of her.

“You happened.” She bites out and pushes against his chest, forcing him to stumble back a step. “Go away.”

“Y/n-

“No!”

The breath catches in his throat, and for a few wintry moments, in which she glares at him with incomparable loathing, Tooru dares neither to inhale nor exhale. He can only stand still, wishing he could reshape the course of time, remodeling history so she didn’t have to hurt. But he only waits for her to carry on.

“Ever since-” She begins, eyes shut tight and words cut short as it physically pains her to speak them and look at him as she does. With a newfound ache, she glares at him again, forefinger digging into his chest. “Ever since you showed up everything is all wrong. It’s all wrong! I was okay. Everything was okay. It was over. I was- I had left you behind! And now you won’t disappear! Why won’t you disappear? Go away.”

It's clear to Tooru that he has absolutely no right to be hurt, and that he deserves every manner of abuse in existence. But he’d be lying if he were to claim that her wanting him out of her life isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to him for quite some time. The Tooru from before, the one always in denial and going around laying waste to everything in search of refuge from his fears, would have been ecstatic. Right? Yes… and no. But that is a matter reserved for later.

The concern of the present is her breaking down in front of him, face crumpling like a wet shirt as her eyes fill with tears and she crouches again, covering her ears as if doing so will lessen the gravity of what she believes to be true. Unable to take it anymore, Tooru crouches before her, wrapping his fingers around her wrists. But she shakes her head and continues.

“I messed up. It’s my fault. I messed up. Messed up. I’m sorry. I messed up. I’m-  

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He soothes the girl, rubbing circles on her skin. “It’s fine. Here, sit with me. Let’s regulate your breathing. Breathe with me, won’t you.”

They stay like that for some time, 10 minutes or so, until she finally opens her eyes and slowly removes her hands from her ears.

“Can you speak now?” Tooru asks when he feels it is safe to do so. She doesn’t answer so he tries a different route. “Do you want to?”

She stands and, too ashamed to meet his worried gaze, looks at her shoes. By now, he’s released her wrists and she’s free to run away if she so wishes. Though he can’t promise he won’t follow her as he’s worried sick her state of mind might be too muddled to trust her to look at both sides of the road before crossing.

“Do you not want it to be me who listens?” He tries again. Y/n nods and he glances up at the building. “Let me go get Suna or Kenma.”

Before he can bolt for the entrance, she grabs onto his coat.

“No, I, ngh.” She turns her face to the side, wiping at her nose with her coat sleeve (which would be disgusting if she hadn’t just broken-down minutes before). “I just- I hate that you found me.”

Tooru takes in her facial expressions. The way she averts her eyes, utterly ashamed of what he had witnessed and the way she was holding onto him. He places his hand on hers and her eyes shoot straight to where they touch.

“Do you hate that you want to tell me?” He says, all too aware of the answer.

Again, she looks away, this time nodding slowly.

“It’s okay. I understand.” Tooru faces her fully, acting as if he doesn’t want to crawl into a hole and eat dirt. “I’m not leaving unless you’re leaving with me.” He smiles even though she still refuses to look at him. “I would flip the coin again but I’m not certain I’ll be able to accept whatever fate the coin chooses for us. I’d end up sitting here, by your side, until the very end.”

She looks at him now. It’s nothing more than fleeting glances at first. Then their gazes lock and Tooru has to fight the urge to dust the snowflakes off her cheeks and melt the frost, which is steadily settling on her lashes from all the crying, between his gloved fingers.

Instead, he takes her by the hand and leads her toward his car and for the first time Y/n doesn’t question his motives. Tooru drives them to a quiet café that has yet to close as it wants to milk whatever customers might be wandering about the city of Tokyo at this hour. She doesn’t seem ready to speak yet so he takes the liberty to place both of their orders. Coffee would be downright catastrophic to her mental state at the moment. It was known for worsening symptoms of anxiety and the last thing she needed was a repeat of what had happened not even half an hour ago. So, he orders tea for both; peppermint for her and chamomile for himself. He pays and joins her at the table near the air conditioner.

After the waiter has served the tea, it takes a long moment for Y/n to look up from the crumpled napkin currently being picked to shreds.

“I messed up.” It comes out like a whimper and her face crumples up again. “I really did. Like I always do.”  

Tooru doesn’t know where to begin. Truly, he doesn’t know.

“Why do you say that?” But this question seems like a decent place to start.

Her fingers work faster at picking apart the napkin and she says, “I went there, thinking it would be like nothing had happened.”

“And it isn’t?”

How could it be? Kenma had only stopped texting under the assumption that she needed a break from what had happened, not because he’d thought the damage irreparable. Kuroo missed the way she would argue a point to the finish line (the line being Kuroo either smiling at the depth of information or admitting defeat with a theatrical sigh of exasperation). Chiharu and Ayame were wicked anxious about how things might turn out between them if she decided to go through with the whole moving-out thing. Which was more than likely by this point. Suna would do anything for her, that much was clear to anyone. And Tooru… he would do anything she wanted. He’d be anything she wanted him to be. Even if that meant he’d be gone.

All any of them wished for when it came to Y/n and her relation to the rest was for her to let herself be cared for. But as he watches her try and fight back tears, Tooru says none of this and just hears her out to the end.

“Kenma has been trying to meet with me and this is the first time I’ve seen him since then. And none of them will ever forgive me for that night.” Abandoning the napkin, her hands come up to her ears scratching at the skin behind the shell. “I ruined everything. I want to run away. Never see anyone I know ever again.”

Suna won’t forgive her. She is sure he won’t because she’s repulsive, stupid, and cowardly. If only they knew each other’s hearts and their own the way that I do.

“Iwa-chan said he hopes you see none of us again.”

His voice, a careful and soothing voice, is filtered through the scratching noise that so provides her comfort. But the words are as confusing as this version of Oikawa Tooru, the one that doesn’t seem to mind her presence.

“Although now it’s impossible since we’ve already crossed paths.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “But yes. He feels responsible for your situation even though he knows it’s not his fault. He thinks of you like family, the same way he considers me his brother. So, it’s complicated for him.”

Noticing the crinkle in her brow, he smiles a little and clarifies. “I think he’d love to see you again, to know you’re not going to run away because of mistakes that aren’t his to bear.”

Her hands relax but stay put.

“Why are you telling me this?” She asks.

Tooru wastes no time providing ample evidence.

“Kuroo made sure to buy your favorite snacks.” He begins counting on his fingers. “Ayame and Kenma picked your favorite songs. Chiharu convinced you to come. And Suna… I trust I don’t need to explain.” He ignores the grimace that passes over her face at the mention of the boy. “You’re mistaken in thinking you’ve laid waste to everything. They may not know and therefore not understand everything fully, but they wouldn’t let your absence dictate the way they see you.”

But that makes zero sense. She isn’t there, hasn’t been part of their lives for weeks, and hasn’t deigned to ask what has happened in her absence. Even then, that doesn’t explain how Iwaizumi is in any way related to the new life she has made of herself and her convoluted relationships if you could call them that.

Y/n brings her hands to the table, toying with the napkin before shooting a glance at the steaming cup of peppermint tea.

“How could Maki, Mattsun, and Iwa not hate me?” Her gaze snaps to him. “You do.”

His chest tightens. His throat constricts. All of a sudden, the air conditioner is bringing his lungs to a boil and the high-quality fabric of the turtleneck makes him itch. He wants out. But that would mean failing to succeed in being let in by her.

Tooru pulls at the fabric around his neck to let the skin breathe.

“Even if that were true, that doesn’t mean it should be their truth.” He hopes he sounds reassuring but knows he doesn’t. Seeing the distrust in the way she slightly purses her lips and the barely noticeable narrowing of her eyes, Tooru tries to plead his case. “I am trying to make up for what I did. Please, believe me. I’m aware it might prove futile. Still… it’s not the only reason why I’m in this café with you right now.”

Her expression tells him that he has yet to make himself understood or appear trustworthy in her eyes. Tooru leans back in his chair and places his left hand on the table, drumming his fingers to a ghostly beat.

“I’m here because you shouldn’t have to turn your back on everything a second time.” He says in one breath. I don’t ever want to look at your back while you run away again. “Because I don’t want you to think it’s your fault.”

The thing about blame and guilt, Tooru begins to understand as her face scrunches once again and she looks away in shame, is that they’re obsessive lovers. Please, have me. I’m all yours. I won’t ever leave you. Everyone says we’re meant to be. What would people think if you divorced us? Please, don’t let go.

Tooru’s fingers still and he reaches out and takes her left hand in his. Y/n flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“It isn’t your fault.” He repeats.

The young man doesn’t expect his words to be the cure, however much he wishes that were the case.

“You’re here trying to lie that I’m not to blame.” She uses her coat sleeve to wipe her eyes, now all red and swollen, with traces of mascara on her waterline from the smudging. “But it’s easy for you to say because you’ve always known that if not your mom, then your friends would have your back. And if your friends abandoned you, you’d still have a place to crash-land softly into.”

His thumb traces the outline of her knuckles. Once Tooru has fully processed her words, a thought occurs to him. He decides to be brave.

“From now on, each time you make mistakes let me be the one you crash-land into.” He looks at her with hope and sincerity in his eyes. “Second by second, I’ll try to make it all better.”

Y/n sniffles. “A part of my brain keeps telling me it’s too soon to trust you.”

“And the other part?” He smirks. “What does it whisper?”

“It says that you are kind.”

His breath hitches. Her dark eyes are too honest, too straightforward for him.

“Which one are you going to put your faith in?” He asks, slowly but playfully still.

Y/n tucks her hair behind her ear and looks to the side. “I don’t- I don’t know.”

While vague, the answer is decidedly honest. Tooru can’t ask for more than that.

“Can I be honest with you?” He says, pulling his chair a bit forward so he can comfortably rest his elbows on the table while still holding her hand.

“Might as well.” She mutters. “Since you already brought me here.”

Tooru clears his throat.

“I had planned on asking you to move in with me. But then.” He smiles sheepishly. “Then I thought about how delusional I was being, how illogical it would be for me to assume you would even consider my offer. I thought ‘Are you that selfish’, ‘Are you that stupid’. Yet, when I told the others, they immediately thought I was being strange but kind.”

Y/n tilts her head as if considering him and everything coming out of his mouth, then looks down. She doesn’t seem surprised, almost as if she’s heard of this before.

“You say that as if you think they’re wrong.” She points out the distrust in his tone. “People have always believed you to be considerate… generous.”

He lets out an awkward chuckle. “I was just desperate. Selfish too.”

The good thing about the silence that ensues is her hand in his. There is no protest as he caresses the back of it, following the curve of her bones. They’ve always been thin, delicate. Each time he had yanked and pulled at her, the fragility of those bones had filled him with instant regret. Yet, every single time, he’d managed to hold on a bit tighter, anxious to keep her there at any cost. Now, he can’t help but shoot furtive admiring glances at the slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her eyebrows, and the dainty cheekbones. All too afraid to so much as gaze at them for too long, lest she catches on and perceives his presence as threatening.

But he wants to say so many things, and they’re all locked in his chest like one big sigh begging to be released.

For more than a year, I’ve been thinking about how it must have been for you when you helped Emiko paint those posters for my games, only for her to follow my lead and hurt you in the end.

When you took care of your little brother after he got scraped his knees playing outside, only for him to emulate my behavior toward you. When you got Maki’s number for that one girl only for her to laugh when I said that you ate disgustingly. When you helped that guy with the chemistry problem only for him to purposely smash his ball into your face. And countless other cases such as this.

I was always the enabler. It fills me with rage.

Tooru shuts his eyes and says, “I’m sorry I ever let the world believe I am the kind one of us two.”

He wishes she would speak, say anything, only not subject him to that unforthcoming silence that follows his apology. Her hand, which until then had remained still and soft under his hands, stirs to life once more. Tooru feels her fingers clench and, instinctively, he gently drags his digits across the back of her hand.

Then, she begins.

“But you are kinder than me. You’re nice to people.” Y/n says with a voice that betrays no uncertainty. “You’re just not kind to me.”

Tooru winces, and when his eyes trail up to her face, the breath in his throat turns to stone. The look on her face is one of resignation as much as it is of self-loathing. It makes him want to shatter something, makes him want to drive his car off a cliff and drown at the bottom of the sea.

Careful not to startle her, he eases her fingers and threads them with his as he moves to sit on the chair to her left.

“I am so, so, sorry.” He confesses, “So sorry I let you believe it was your fault.”

He means every word. He wishes he could make her believe them.

Y/n eyes him skeptically. “How can I be sure this isn’t a long-term prank?”

All Tooru can do is chuckle and offer her an apologetic smile.

“I would beg you to have faith in me,” He says, “But that would be blasphemy.”

Before she can digest his words, an idea blooms in his head. His fingers tighten around hers, which catches her attention; dark eyes flitting from where their hands are touching up to his grinning face.

“What if we treat this as a little experiment?” He proposes with a mien that is almost hopeful. “A project. Treat me like a test subject. Dissect my intentions. Lobotomize my conscience. Bring everything to light and do what you think is best.”

Y/n considers his proposition in silence, holding his gaze as she does.

“Projects have a due date.” She points out.

It doesn’t take Tooru long to think of a deadline. What matters is that she’s taking him seriously.

“How does one year sound?”

“Are you sure you can make up for twelve years in just one?”

His faith in himself wavers at her words. “Do you think it will take longer?”

“I want it to take less. I don’t like-

“Wasting time on things doomed to fail. It’s inefficient.” He nods. Then, as if injected with a lethal dose of dopamine, Tooru makes a gesture as if flipping his hair. “I, however, am unfortunately enamored with what you call failures. I can’t help but want to tend to wounds. So,” He says, leaning closer so that their knees are brushing against each other, “Is a year fine with you?”

Nervous, Y/n brings her other hand to her wrist, scratching at the soft skin.

“A year and a day from tonight.” She tells him.

Tooru fake pouts, “Are you so certain I am going to fail? You wound me, pretty.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to hurt you. But just in case… you know.” She shoots him a look as if everything she’s saying is supposed to make sense. And, surprisingly, it does. “I don’t want to ruin New Year’s Eve for you. For all I know, that could be the first time you find yourself on the receiving end of rejection.”

Tooru makes as if to swoon. “So, you do think I’m doomed to fail.”

“Well, yes.” Her response is so deadpan it makes him bark out a laugh.

Though, on a more serious note, this is her trying. Just the fact that she’s willing to go through with this says enough about her commitment to what she had previously agreed to do with Rin. But he hates her now. He doesn’t want to experience everything as it happens in the continuum of a moment. All of it is her fault. But if she can have it with someone else, someone that, until a few hours ago, she would much rather steer clear of, then so be it. What she doesn’t understand is that she doesn’t have to choose. She doesn’t know that Rin could never leave her behind.

The two of them take their tea with two packets of sugar. Over the years, they’ve picked up on each other’s taste; Tooru all the more oblivious to his penchant for observing her whenever she was in the room. He takes in the sight of her as he urges her to talk about random things. He breathes in her scent as she wraps the green scarf, all frayed and spotted with lint, around her neck.  

“Why won’t you throw this thing away?” He asks when they’re out in front of the café.

“Listen, Oikawa-

He tuts, shaking his index finger. “Not if you keep calling me by my last name, I won’t.”  

He sounds playful and his brown eyes sparkle with childlike curiosity. So, she thinks, he’s not being malicious?

“I was supposed to give this to you on your birthday. Well, not supposed to because nobody made me buy it.” She hesitates in divulging the rest to him but ultimately decides to go with it. Her fingers feel the cloth around her neck. “I heard you say you prefer winter over summer because in summer it’s harder to practice, and… I thought you’d like it. And that it would make you hate me less.”

But she hadn’t given it to him and he had continued to believe that for him to be at peace she needed to disappear. Even if she’d chosen differently, Tooru is almost certain he would have found a way to trample on her attempt to befriend him. It would have been no more than wasted effort.

He speaks her name softly, so tenderly that even Tooru himself can barely hear it. But Y/n catches it and looks up at him. She recoils when he takes hold of the scarf and looks away.

“Trust me.” He angles his head so she can see him without having to look up.

Slowly, Tooru unwraps the worn-down fabric and does the same with his thick midnight blue scarf. He then wraps the thick, expensive (believe that it is) cloth around her neck. He can feel her gaze on him as he does the same with her scarf. He can tell she’s more than confused.

“There,” He says, patting the soft material that conceals her lips from view, “Now this feels right.”

Unable to formulate a proper sentence, Y/n simply nods and follows Tooru who immediately heads for his car. The scarf smells too nice for her to argue with him and have him yank it off of her. She breathes him in the entire car ride to the nearest park. His scent settles in her lungs like oxygen and Y/N loathes the moment she’ll have to remove it once she returns home.

Leaning against the railing, they watch the fireworks light up the sky and their reflection in the water mirroring the Big Bang of the New Year.

  Age 17, the night of Tooru’s Birthday

“You should sleep here tonight sweetie.”

Truly, Tooru’s mother shouldn’t have said that. She should have left it well enough alone so Y/n could have worked out some plan of how to evade her mother’s blows and, most importantly, prevent others from bearing witness. But now… now that the offer has been made, it’s like a shroud has fallen over every piece of furniture and every speck of thought.

It shows plainly on Tooru’s face; his stare, the way he sucks in his cheek, his arms crossed over his chest. It would be ridiculous to presume he is anything other than displeased. She’s learned to read him to an extent. Without a doubt, that stance promises that nothing good would come out of staying the night.

“No.” Y/n asserts as politely as she can. She can spy Tooru raising an eyebrow at her words, “I don’t need to. I can just climb from his balcony into mine.”

Yuiko sighs and rubs her soft hands up and down Y/n’s arms. “Sweetie, we already discussed this. That’s extremely dangerous. Just sleep in Tooru’s room tonight. Okay? In the morning we can have breakfast and you can go home after that. Hm, how does that sound?”

“It’s fine.” Y/n insists, placing her hand above the one Tooru’s mom is gently holding her arm with. “I can do it. I’ll be careful not to slip.”

“See, that’s exactly what I fear, sweetie. What if your carefulness isn’t careful enough?” Y/n makes to respond when Yuiko cranes her head in Tooru’s direction, who looks infinitely more cheerful than he was five seconds ago. “Tooru, help me out a little. Convince her that it’s dangerous.”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin. How she wishes something would pulverize her where she stands, that her ashes would be scattered by a storm. Because there is no way Oikawa Tooru, the same person who told her just hours ago that she’d be lucky enough to die while scaling the building before her mom learns of her mistake, would be able to feign any utterance in favor of her continued existence. “Just sleep in my room tonight.” Those words, coming from him, shock her and it shows candidly on her face. He pushes himself off the wall with a smile and reaches for Y/n’s arm, separating her from Yuiko, who returns his smile with one of relief and gratitude. “It’s dangerous to do what you’re thinking of doing.”

As she steps from the security of the living room into his domain, Y/n is the only one not smiling. He releases her the moment the door clicks shut and heads toward the mini-fridge beside his studying desk without casting even a glance her way. The entire time she stands in the center of his bedroom like a stupid bitch, Tooru drinks from a bottle of water, pulls out two cans of beer, and then turns on the TV.

She takes the opportunity to sneak out into the balcony. She tries to make as little noise as possible yet he catches on anyway.

“In a bit, mom will bring you clothes to sleep in.” He stares her down as if to challenge her. “Do you want her to realize you’ve risked your life despite her begging you not to?”

Refusing to back down, Y/n says, “Don’t you want me to leave?”

Before he can answer, there comes a knock at the door. He gestures with his hand for her to answer it. She opens the door just enough to smile briefly at Yuiko.

“Here you go, sweetie,” The woman hands her a baggy, short-sleeved white shirt and a pair of grayish purple shorts along with panties to match. The last item has Y/n’s eyes flitting from Yuiko to the side to make her understand she can’t undress with her son in the same room. “Oh, I don’t think Tooru will mind. He can just turn the other way as you change. Besides,” Yuiko opens the door a little wider and motions to the wall next to the shelves where his numerous figurines stand, “You can use his bathroom. You can even take a shower if you want. Tooru always keeps spare sponges on hand.”

“Alright.”

That is all Y/n says and Yuiko smiles and wishes the two of them goodnight, leaving Y/n with the obvious choice to change out of her garments in the bathroom. Tooru says nothing but she can still perceive the tension emitting from him; penetrating her skin, crawling under it like maggots, rushing through her blood vessels like a substitute for blood. It has sweat pooling at her brow and along the length of her neck. Yet her goosebumps rise all over her arms like rashes that refuse to go away unless treated with some poultice. It’s a disease, this tension. No more, no less. So, she enters the bathroom in order to alleviate the symptoms, if only for a short while.

The clothes don’t exactly fit her. Tooru’s sister, Sayako-san, was much curvier than Y/n when she was her age. But that’s not the issue here. The problem is that Y/n, like any sane person, never wears a bra when she sleeps, and she doesn’t know what he’ll have to say about it. But, like her aunt always says, the need for comfort should always surpass the need for approval or the fear of prejudice.

Obviously, she exits without taking a shower. That would only make him angrier at her and all she wants to do is sleep and pretend he’s anything but furious.

“Out already?” His voice startles her just a little, “Why didn’t you take a shower?”

Walking towards the foot of the bed, Y/n looks at him (seated on the small blue couch and wearing glasses that would look ugly on her). He pauses whatever he was watching before her emergence and makes his way to her. She can hear the gears turning in his head at an inhuman speed, and dread drops in her stomach like a boulder into the sea; heavier than anything she feels when not in his presence.

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate me using your stuff.” Y/n answers.

Stopping less than a meter from where she’s sitting, Tooru scoffs.

“You’re already using my room. Might as well clean up after yourself. Besides,” He draws nearer and she instinctively stands as if to defend herself from any manner of attack. Before she can move out of his way, he yanks her by the arm so that she’s standing in front of him once again, “You’re used to lusting after everything that’s mine.”

“I don’t want to take anything away from you, though.” Her response is bland yet immediate, like a knee-jerk reaction. It’s all she can do to convince herself that she doesn’t need to convince him of anything, to make him understand that she’s not the enemy. “Your mom is just ni-

He clamps his palm over her mouth and grins while leading her to his closet.

“If you want me to treat you better than you deserve even for just one night, you have to stop acting so innocent around me.”

Y/n tears his hand off her face as gently as she can so as not to arouse suspicion that his actions fluster and terrify her.

“You’re wrong.” She says, and he glares down at her. “I’m not-

Tooru shoves two towels in her hands.

“Go shower.” She looks at the back of his head as he sits on the couch, “Hurry. I need to shower too.”

That makes her feel even worse about staying the night; such a burden, a useless log that is tossed from a home that is dismissive of her existence to another that half-wishes she didn’t exist at all. To escape the turmoil, she does as he says; showers using his imported shampoo, shower gel, his extra blue sponge, and spare toothbrush. She’s like 1546385% certain he’s going to chuck it straight into the bin the moment she’s out of his house, perhaps even earlier.

He pushes past her before she’s even completely out of the bathroom.

She scans the bedroom for any place to sit that wouldn’t displease him. If she were to sit on the couch, that would undoubtedly leave room for remarks such as ‘What makes you think you can watch TV with me’ or ‘Why aren’t you asleep’. As for the latter, she doesn’t know where she’s going to sleep. She very much doubts he’s letting her sleep in his bed. Should she sit on the chair beside his desk? Should she stand with her shoulders against the wall? Y/n opts for the last option.

He's towel-drying his hair when he says, “What are you doing?”

Y/n doesn’t bother answering and instead asks a question of her own, “Where am I going to sleep?”

Tooru doesn’t tear his eyes away from her face as he approaches her, brushing his damp hair all the while. She can either hold his gaze and irritate him, or she can look literally anyplace else. The outcome will remain the same. Obviously, she opts for the latter.

“Where do you think?” He asks, no emotion detectable in his voice.  

“Any spare sheets?” She asks, “Since I’m taking the couch-

“Ever the martyr, aren’t you?”

“But you don’t want-  

Tooru no longer bothers to veil his displeasure with frayed niceties. He takes a step in her direction. She stays rooted in place as if his words have cast a spell on her.

“Why?” He sneers, “So that you can tell mom about how mean I’ve been to you? Is that it?” Y/n makes to answer him honestly. He tilts up her chin as if to urge their gazes to lock. “Fucking look at me while I’m speaking to you.”  

She does no such thing, choosing instead to speak with her stare piercing his collarbone.

“I’m not a martyr and-

This time he grabs her jaw and forces their eyes to meet. “I said look at me.”

Now, it’s not like she doesn’t try to yank herself free of his hold, and pry his fingers off her face until she’s no longer tormented by the deprecation and doubts swirling in his brown irises. But admittedly, it would be unrealistic for someone of her physique and athletic ineptitude to overpower someone of Oikawa Tooru’s caliber. Not to mention that he seems to meet her efforts with resilience. Determination makes his eyes gleam with something so feral in nature, so unlike his public image, that she ceases her attempts to liberate herself.

“I’m not a martyr and I’m not going to tell your mom.” Trying not to let on how defeated she feels, Y/n holds on to his forearm (a futile gesture of defiance), “I just want to sleep.”

To keep her mind off the fact that the space between their bodies keeps diminishing, she focuses on literally everything else; the almost imperceptible birthmark on the left side of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the wet strands that are beginning to lose some of their wet-glisten, the curve of his parted lips, and the breaths slipping in and out from between them. It doesn’t work out well. His presence becomes even more overwhelming.

“Well then,” He says, putting some distance between the two of them, “I think this is the right time to tell you I am no brute. You can sleep in my bed, especially now that you’re clean. But if you think I’m going to let you sleep so early,” The look he gives her, as he removes his hand from her jaw to pull her toward the sofa, is nothing short of a warning, “You’re severely mistaken.”

What happens after seems unreal to both of them. Tooru is baffled at himself when he pushes one bottle of beer after another her way at the same time that he’s draining his own. He doesn’t know why he trusts her at this very moment, nor why their hushed laughter makes him feel the vastness between their faces so severely. Their bodies reel from the sheer stupidity of the people in YouTube compilation videos making a fool of themselves in public. At one point he has to stop himself from laughing because he’s afraid he’s going to piss his pants right then and there.

He can sense her hesitation when he offers to microwave some pizza, but he doesn’t understand why that could be. It doesn’t occur to him that it might be because of him or the fact that the noise could wake his mom. Putting his finger in front of his lips in a shushing gesture, he assures her that his mother sleeps like a log and that, for good measure, he’s going to stop the microwave before the beeping sound.

It becomes obvious that she’s starving when he sets the plate on the low table and she all but inhales a slice. At first, he’s worried that she’s going to choke you know. But then she looks closes her eyes and smiles as though she’s having the nicest of dreams. Tooru leaves it be.

It's in the early hours of the morning that they have calmed down somewhat, each of them staring off into space as though the trophies or the buzzing TV screen will provide answers that they cannot get from having a sincere conversation.

As usual, Tooru is the first to speak.

“How do you manage to be alone?”

Under normal circumstances, they would be holding their breath. But they are so… lethargic and drunk that such behavior doesn’t even present itself as a possibility.

Depending on the dose of sincerity and the form it was served, her answer could be either poison or medicine. Even in her inebriated state, Y/n takes a few seconds to answer him truthfully.

“Silence is a good amplifier.” She tells him, and his eyebrows comically climb up on his forehead. “I can hear my heart beating, and everything around me and about me comes alive. I remain invisible to anyone but myself.”  

Sensing that there is more that she wishes to express, he waits for her to finish.

“In silence, I find the strength not to die.”

Her words send tremors right through Tooru’s core, so much so that the can of beer almost slips from his hands (it doesn’t help that his palms have gotten clammy). So, a good minute passes until he’s ready to elaborate on his understanding of her perception of solitude.

“By your logic, the will to live can only be found in solitude.” He settles for looking at her arms as he asks the following question, “People make you want to die?”

“No,” Her answer isn’t immediate but neither of them pays any heed to the belatedness. “Not all the time.”

Resting his head against the couch, Tooru groans.

“Solitude would kill me.” He confesses and takes a sip, “I want to be around the people I care about and never be parted from them. I want to be surrounded by those that adore me, admire me, and never see the end of their idolization of me.” The silence that ensues puts a strain on the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. Still refusing to spare her a glance, he says, “Go on. Say what you have to say.”

This time her response is prompt.

“Sounds a lot like you’re desperate for belonging.”

Tooru’s eyes go wide and he scoffs to emphasize his incredulity at her assumption. His hands are now clammy from the bottle sweating in his hold and itching to search despairingly for some reprieve.

“I do belong. With my friends, my mom, my sister, and my nephew.” His gaze settles on her shoulder as he continues, “Where do you belong?”

Y/n chuckles and Tooru can tell she would rather avoid answering his question.

“Not here.” She answers.

His gaze slowly travels up her neck and cheekbone, finally meeting her eyes in a room where the only source of radiance is the TV screen and the moonlight barging in. What is there to say, he wonders, about her? What is the best thing to say at this very moment? While she sits beside him⸺ cheek propped up on her folded right knee as her left foot rocks back and forth almost imperceptibly, her face tinged a mellow shade of red from the alcohol that just an hour ago used to fill the many bottles that now stand hollow⸺ he doubts he should say anything whatsoever.

But he does so either way.

“Is that how you feel?”

Because not speaking to her feels like a crime against his nature.

She shoots right back. “Isn’t that what you think?”

Now they’re both engaging in a battle of gazes that they are trying to saturate with some manner of temerity. It takes an absurd amount of courage not to flee his own home in search of something insignificant, vulgar, and utterly deplorable just to get the chasteness of the moments spent in her presence to flee from him. It takes several moments of breaths scarcely drawn for him to set his foot down and tell this urge ‘tonight I’m going to stay’.

While he’s mustering the courage to stay where he’s happiest, his hands have a mind of their own; slowly inching in the direction of her left hand until the tips of their fingers are touching just barely. It is stronger than Tooru, the desire to flip their worlds upside down. So, he settles for her hand, his fingers now caressing the hard skin camouflaging the softest of flesh.

Unsure whether to smile or solidify his poker face, Tooru tells her, “Your hands are callused.”

She isn’t far behind. “So are yours.”

Being the narrator has its perks and curses. I get to witness the gradual growth of their affection, which is still too great for their bodies; it spills through the cuts and cracks, bleeding light into a room otherwise washed by the dark. I get to watch him smile as though he’s found the one home that truly feels like one, that ephemeral thing called comfort that slips through the gaps of time, from one heartbeat to the next, that singular thing humans call belonging. I get to see the tremulous dawn of something similar peek above the curve of her lips, as if she’s a little afraid, a little nervous, and a little bit overwhelmed. I get to register his intangible regret and her contented confusion. I get to remember this night as it slips from their minds entirely, the defective record player refusing to let the joy take root… bloom. I get to regret remembering while time flies by, content that it has conquered their misery.

But for now, in the dead of night, he clings to the feeling of familiarity⸺ the scent he adores and forgets time and time again, the rhythmic pattern of her breaths and the rise and fall of her chest⸺ like a child clinging to his birthday balloon. He lets the warmth of her balance the shivers of the 3 AM breeze, because it is, as he slowly begins to understand, the easiest thing to be in her presence. He doesn’t have to pretend, to set his standards for himself so high that he sprains every aspect of his being in the climb to reach it. He can… exist.

He can show her all the memes he has on his phone and she can do the same. He can let her in on jokes his friend group cracks on the daily, revel in her laughter, muffled though it is. He can, in his drunken stupor, twirl strands of her hair around his forefinger, relish the smoothness of it, and let it fall only to repeat it over and over and over again.

She, too, can bask in his beaming smile. The gleam in his brown eyes is genuine, as pure as a candid picture of a raindrop about to plummet into the earth. As if the joy she’s experiencing was not crafted for her, a pang comes where her heart resides, and then another.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Her words invite confusion, but she does not allow him the opportunity to give voice to it. “For being here.”

Tooru knows not how to respond, so he lets his smile speak for him. And when she falls asleep at 3:52 AM, he allows himself the luxury to lie with his back turned to her.

You should know, reader, that the day he learned she’d left home for good wasn’t the first time he’d curled up in bed like a small child afraid of the dark. This isn’t the first time either. If it’s to hold back guilty tears, to suppress apologies that he thinks are either beneath him or above someone as vile as him, he’s more than willing to assume the demeanor of a four-year-old. He’s much too stranded on the mud-like admixture of arrogance and self-loathing to say things like ‘It’s fine’ or ‘Goodnight’. Every bit of his cowardice replenishes his strength to send a drunken prayer; that he might forget he ever felt at home with her.

In the afternoon, when his mom questions him about her whereabouts, she is nowhere to be seen. He thinks he is glad she has gone, so in a way, he got his wish. He believes himself relieved that the evidence of her warmth on his sheets has given way to coolness. But I know how dismayed he is to see her at the playground, sitting on a swing as she converses with Iwaizumi next to her, looking every bit like the girl that he has alienated yet toward whom he keeps gravitating. I know that the discomfort roiling in his chest is nothing but a mixture of fear and shame wound around his lungs like pythons around their prey.

  The music is a drowned thing. Utterly insignificant in comparison to the scream jammed tight in his throat. Barbed wires press insistently against his muscles, shredding his skin. Rin needs someone he can share them with, wrap them in his hurt so they can both be secure within the sky-high fence. What better person to do this with than a stranger? They wouldn’t mind if he were to leave, never to show his face again. They certainly wouldn’t care if he was thinking about anything else while pleasuring them.

As he wraps his fingers around the girl’s neck, angling his head for better access to her lips, he forgets to factor in that people aren’t cutouts of one another.

She breaks away slowly, taking in the distressed look on his face as she asks, “You’re not thinking about me, are you?”

Rin scoffs and leans in once more.

“What does it matter?” He says, lips merely an inch away from hers.

“It doesn’t to me.” The girl shrugs, placing her hands on his arms, which has him halting to look where she’s touching him and then back up at her face. “But you’re not enjoying this.”

Shaking her off, Rin seethes, “How the fuck would you know?”

The girl rolls her eyes.

“I’m just saying you’re not present.” She leans in. “No need to be a little bitch.”

In a second, they’re making out again, but this time Rin is strangely stiff, rigid in his movements. This has never happened to him before. She breaks away, putting some space between them.

“See?” She says with a soft laugh, but Rin refuses to open his eyes. The girl pats him on the arm. “Happy New Year.”

Rin doesn’t say it back because she leaves. Although, there’s a very small chance he would have actually mustered the patience or ability to speak. It’s only after the song ends and ‘house of balloons’ starts playing that gathers the courage to tear his own eyelids open. Everything is painted with splotches of color and it takes a few seconds for him to see clearly. As clearly as he can see in a room lit only by an imitation of a mirror ball.

His mission is to search the house for her. Maybe she’s still where he left her?

“Out.” He tells the couple that’s about to hotbox in Kuroo’s room. “Only Kuroo’s close friends can be here.”

They do as he says, apologizing before stepping out of the room with blunts between their fingers. Rin’s search doesn’t stop here. He trawls the crevices of the penthouse and hounds everyone for any possible sliver of information that they might have on Y/n’s whereabouts. To no avail. She’s no longer here. And if he were to bet on something, it would be that she left almost immediately after he left her there alone and would probably rather not lay eyes on him for the time being.

So, Rin returns to Kuroo’s room and sits on the right side of the bed, feeling the place where she had lain before.

“It was meant to be you.” He mutters, his throat wound tight around the words. “This year was supposed to start with you.”

He watches the fireworks pain the night into day, all the while trying to resist the urge to text or call her. He lies to himself saying this is what has to be done if he wishes for them to remain as tightly knit as they’ve been since they met. His lips throb with want for the feeling of hers as he deceives himself into cowardice because doing otherwise would mean risking everything all over again.

Remember when I said they’d never kissed before? Yeah, I lied so they didn’t have to. 

Taglist: @kurookinnie​ This is so late I’m sorry! 

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[askrobouteguilliman40k]

"Selenar. A pretty word. Mind telling me why you're obsessing over it?"

You look up from your desk overflowing with scrolls and dataslates to see Yvraine entering your study on silent feet. "Darling, what have I said about reading my mind?"

"Reading your mind would be like listening to a whisper in a crowded room. This is more like overhearing someone screaming in a silent library." Lithe as a lynx, Yvraine strides up to your desk and leans against the edge. "You're usually better about shielding your thoughts, so you must be terribly distracted, and I know for a fact that my dress is not that attractive."

You sit there for a moment, debating whether or not to tell her. If you didn't, she'd understand; you have your secrets, she has hers, and while the both of you might ask, you try not to pry.

After a moment's silence, you choose to not keep secrets this time.

"Have you ever remembered that you're forgetting something?"

"On occasion. Forgettable arena matches, for instance."

"Now imagine that you don't even know what you forgot."

"Oooh. Devilish."

"Frustrating, I think you mean." You lean back in your chair. "The Lion has the same thing, but stranger. It's like his memories have been edited, somehow; he remembers speaking to the Selenar gene-witches, on the battlefield no less, but he cannot remember how, why, where, or who they were with."

"Ah. Memory modification, probably by your father, to hide something from you. That makes sense."

Yvraine doesn't seem to notice your jaw slamming into your desk as it drops at lightspeed. You've been puzzling over this for months, and Yvraine has figured it out just like that?

It all makes sense, too! Ghost Astartes, a rogue Gloriana-class, no information—stars, it all lines up!

"And how, exactly, did you put this together so easily?"

"Roboute, you can remember tax data for every world in the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar. I can barely remember the tithe of warriors that Biel-Tan granted to the Ynnari. There is no way under the setting sun that you simply forgot something so clearly important to you. The only answer that makes sense is someone, probably someone with powerful psychic abilities, removed that information from your mind." Yvraine shrugs. "If you so wish, I can remove the veil draped over your memories. It will hurt, but I can do it."

There's zero hesitation in your mind. "Do it."

A flicker of hesitance crosses Yvraine's face. "Turn to me."

You oblige.

"Remember, Roboute, this will hurt terribly, and I am sorry."

"It's fine—"

Your mouth slams shut and locks tight in protest. The flare of agony as Yvraine touches your forehead is white-hot. Time seems to fracture under the pain. You force your mental shields down and try to relax as best you can as Yvraine does her best to smash the walls keeping you from seeing inside your own memories.

It takes five minutes—five excruciating minutes, filled with the worst agony you've felt since waking to this nightmare—but at the end of it, you know exactly what your hidden memories are.

Your next missive is incredibly specific.

More.