#(slow times = front of house and back of house get to yap together)

[teabookgremlin]

having a silly little crush is crazy why am i mentally lingering on the fact that she told me that my tote bag (covered in drawings of animals/vet med stuff) was very on brand for me

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (02)

chapter two: in plain sight

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut warnings: cursing, drinking, suggestive content at the end, could've been edited more but oh well lol word count: 4.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Damn baby, I'm a train wreck, too I lose my mind when it comes to you I take time with the ones I choose And I don't want to smile if it ain't from you

boyfriend - Ariana Grande ft. Social House

You end up not seeing Minho, nor any of your other friends, at all in the few days leading up to Yeonjun’s party.

True to your words, you were mostly holed up in your place, running on nothing but caffeine and sheer frustration, trying to finish your elective class’ final paper on the differences between the views of Greek philosophers. Time really flies when you wish it would slow down, because you could've used a couple more days to perfect the godforsaken thing.

You’ve been texting Minho though, and honestly, the man is practically a saint. You barely even talked about anything besides your stupid paper and your high maintenance perfectionist professor, and yet, he still listened to you yap away. He even offered to help you with your footnotes and citations, which you didn’t need, but the gesture was nice. If you had turned to Seungmin with your whining, he probably would've muted your notifications after three messages.

Regardless, all complaining aside, you did manage to pull through and finish the paper in the end, letting out a big sigh of relief the very second you clicked on the Send button on yours and your professor’s email thread just five minutes before the deadline.

Before you know it, it's already Saturday and Minho should be here any minute now so you two could go to the party. You’ve been working hard. You deserve to let a little loose tonight.

Even though a college party isn’t exactly your top choice of ways to wind down from stress, the mention of free and unlimited booze sure does sound alluring.

When your phone lights up with a simple i’m here from Minho, you quickly throw on a cardigan over a simple black camisole and denim shorts and check your makeup in the mirror one last time before heading downstairs. He texted you a couple hours ago, saying he had some stuff to pick up near your place and asking if you wanted to walk to Yeonjun’s together. You sent him back an enthusiastic yes!!! in a matter of seconds, because lord knows you’d rather not enter the front door of that house unaccompanied. 

You opted for a simple fit tonight, mostly because you couldn’t be bothered to put on anything more decent only to go to the equivalent of a frat party.

“Hey, Min.” Your voice pulls him away from scrolling through his phone, diverting his attention to you instead.

“Hey,” he says, tucking the device into the pocket of his jeans. When he gives you a once-over, you do a little twirl for him, finishing off with an exaggerated kick of your foot at the end. “You look nice.”

“Just ‘nice’? I’m trying to get laid tonight. ‘Nice’ isn’t gonna cut it,” you joke.

He stares at you, a bashful expression befalling his features, the corner of his mouth lifted upward as he smiles in hubris. “You’re trying to get laid by whom?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “You tell me.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately before throwing an arm around your shoulders to pull you close. One of his hands musses up your hair that you spent twenty minutes trying to make look perfect, prompting you to poke him in the side so he would let go of you.

“Hey!” you scowl, smoothing over the strands that he flicked out of place. “I worked hard on that!”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, clearly amused by the temporarily sulky look on your face. “Didn’t want you to look too pretty. Can’t have all of the attention on you. Someone might try to steal you away from me.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe I want some attention tonight? I’ve been a hermit all week, I deserve a little something.”

“Is my attention not enough for you?”

You squint at him for a second. Then, you start walking in the direction of Yeonjun’s house without waiting for him. You hear Minho launch a laugh your way, and the scuffling of his shoes on the concrete pavement as he easily catches up with you in a few strides.

He leans down to whisper directly into your ear, making your cheeks heat up but you’re glad that they’re partially masked by the poorly lit street. “You know you never have to try.”

The walk to the party takes about fifteen minutes. When you’re rounding the street corner that leads to Yeonjun’s place, you can already hear the booming music coming from the biggest house on the block. Even from a distance, you can see people on the lawn and the two balconies on the second floor. You gotta give it to the guy - he sure knows how to throw a party.

The second you enter the premises, you’re almost taken aback by how crowded it actually is even though you expected this. A typical Yeonjun party.

You tug on Minho’s shirt, beckoning him to bend down so you could talk into his ear over the sounds of bad EDM and people basically having to scream in each other’s faces. “Are Hyunjin and the others here yet?” you ask.

“They got here right before us. I think they’re in-”

“Y/N!” The two of you whip around at the sound of a shrill voice calling out your name. Yeonjun practically shoves his way through the crowd of people when he spots you, bounding up to you and Minho with a bright grin on his face. “Glad you could make it!” he says, paying no mind to the man next to you at all. He eyes you up and down, shamelessly tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “Damn, you look really good tonight.”

You give him a playful eye roll. Nonetheless, you still tell him, “Thanks.”

“You look that good to come to my party?”

You don’t mind at all the fact that Yeonjun is a natural flirt. That’s just a part of his personality, he’s inherently charming like that. It’s harmless and it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Everything is all in good fun.

“Would you believe me if I said this is what I’d wear on a midnight convenience store run?”

“Ouch, you wound me.” Yeonjun says, holding a hand over his heart to emphasize his point. “C’mon, you can admit it.”

You open your mouth, a quick comeback about to be thrown his way but Minho chimes in from beside you.

“You should believe her,” he deadpans, stepping closer to you, one of his hands grazing your back. He's even standing straighter, with his chest all puffed out. “She even dresses like that when she takes out the trash.”

You turn to gasp at him before punching him right in the pec. “Hey!” Yeonjun is all but forgotten in a blink of an eye, because you have to defend your honor first.

“What? I’ve seen you do it wearing this exact same outfit.”

“Stop lying. It’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? I distinctly remember you wearing this when you went to take out the trash that night a couple of weeks ago while we were hanging out at your place.”

“Nuh uh. I didn’t take out the trash that night,” you protest, frowning. “I made you throw it out for me on your way-”

Yeonjun interrupts you with a chuckle, glancing between you and Minho as he gives your friend's shoulder an awkward pat. They share a look that you don’t quite understand. “Alright, duly noted. I’m gonna make myself scarce,” he says. “Help yourselves. Booze is in the kitchen!”

After you’ve finally squeezed your way into the kitchen that’s overflowing with people, you narrow your eyes at Minho. “What was that about?”

“What?” He scans the selection of liquor bottles on the kitchen island before asking you, “Rum and Coke?”

Your favorite.

You nod eagerly, momentarily distracted before you have to circle back to your question.

“What was all that back there with Yeonjun, Mr. Grumpy Cat?”

“What was what?” He pulls out two solo cups from a nearby stack, along with some napkins, and meticulously wipes the plastic cups even though they look pretty clean to you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You raise a disbelieving eyebrow. He shrugs.

“I didn’t know you and Yeonjun were that close.” Minho seems casual as he tells you this, not looking at you as he fetches the necessary liquor and soda from the sea of glass and plastic bottles in front of you.

“We’re not. I’m kinda friends with him because Jess is friends with him.”

“Okay,” he acknowledges, though he doesn’t seem entirely pleased with… you don’t even know what. “I don’t like him. He’s loud.”

“That’s not a reason. Aren’t you friends with him too?”

You watch as he mixes your drinks, a sight you’re familiar with whenever you attend house parties together. He’s always your designated bartender.

One for you, one for him.

One part rum, two and a half parts coke.

“It is a reason. And ‘friends’ is a stretch,” he says, handing you your cup before he tends to his own. His has less liquor in it, because you both know you like yours stronger. “We’re acquaintances at best.”

“You’re loud too.”

“My brand of loud is different.”

“Is it?”

He gives you a look. An offended cat, if you’ve ever seen one.

“Well, Yeonjun’s not bad,” you tell him. You take a sip of the drink, then give him a subsequent thumbs-up. “He can be a bit much for some people, but I don’t really mind it.”

When he’s done, you both try to navigate the battlefield that is Yeonjun’s extremely cramped abode. You try to stay as close to him as possible, meaning away from the loud boys that are either trying to get shitfaced as quickly as possible, or trying to suck faces with any girl they could find as quickly as possible.

“Still. You don’t think the flirting was a bit much?”

Minho pulls you to him by your elbow when some guy - probably a little more than tipsy, judging by the unsteadiness of the legs that carry him - tries to bulldoze his way through the crowd behind you.

“He’s always like that. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s harmless.”

“If he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You blink at him in surprise, feeling like the question came out of nowhere. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s just a question,” he says, then repeats himself. “So, if he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You let him guide you to a spot that’s more breathable, where people aren’t practically on top of each other trying to weave their way through. You think about it for a second, then realize that there isn’t much to think about. “No,” you say decisively.

Because it doesn’t make sense to envision you and Yeonjun together. You practically sit on two opposing ends of the same spectrum. People often say that opposites attract, but this isn’t one of those cases.

And… because you simply feel strange thinking about yourself and someone else. Like it's something you shouldn't do.

Minho gives you a hum in acknowledgment of your answer, which you barely catch over the loudness of the party. You do catch the hint of a smile that tugs at the corner of his lip though, before he cranes his neck to scan the room for any trace of your gang of thieves.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you run the words over in your head before you decide to utter them out loud. Like you told him just now, harmless, right? “I’d say you’re jealous of Yeonjun.”

He turns, stares at you for a moment with unreadable eyes. 

“And what if I am?”

There’s something incredulous in the way you look at him. You think he would just wave you off or roll his eyes and move onto a new topic, not expecting him to fire back with a question you can’t really answer.

Or maybe he’s just playing along. You can’t tell.

“Am I that good in bed?” you chuckle, hoping he doesn’t notice the inkling of nervousness in your voice. “Did I do a number on you?”

He raises both eyebrows, pursing his lips as if in thought. Then, he answers, “Something like that.”

There’s a part of you that wants to dig deeper, to get him to say what he really means because there’s something in his eyes and there’s something in the way that his hand has moved to its designated place on the small of your back that makes your stomach roll with anticipation.

Once again, you don’t like that he keeps getting harder for you to read.

You try to think of words to say, of questions to ask, though you know this party isn’t the best place to voice them. “What d-”

“There you are!” Hyunjin pops up from behind Minho, practically jumping onto his back like a jumpscare ghost in a horror game, startling the both of you and almost making the grumpy cat spill his drink. Minho groans as he tries to shove his friend off, before sending Hyunjin a glare that makes the man bow his head in apology. He promptly drags you to where your friends are gathered on a big couch near the back of the room - Chan and his girlfriend Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, along with a distinct absence of a few more faces.

“Where are the others?” you ask, plopping down next to Changbin, followed suit by Minho.

“Jisung is stuck finishing a project,” Chan informs you. “And Jeongin is taking his girl to that new drive-in movie place.”

“They’re still in their honeymoon phase?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Ah yes, young love. Good for them.”

You catch up with everyone about your week, about their week; gossip about how much Yeonjun might’ve spent on this party and where his family’s downright insane wealth actually comes from, about Seungmin’s on-and-off situationship (which might be more interesting than all of the above).

Minho remains seated next to you the entire time you’re all drinking and laughing with each other. He keeps subtly touching you one way or another - a hand on your back because no one’s really noticing, a shoulder brushing yours, a thigh touching yours, a knee nudging your own every now and then.

It’s not until you finish your drink that Minho asks if you want another one, then stands up to head to the kitchen when you say Yes, please.

The second he’s out of earshot, Hyunjin jumps into action, motioning for everyone to huddle together, like he’s about to share classified information.

“Minho is seeing someone,” he says immediately. 

“What?” Changbin asks. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your body immediately stiffens at the conversation’s sudden turn. You try to look as nonchalant and quiet as possible, as if this is just a talk about the weather, missing the way a pair of eyes flits to you outside of your peripheral vision.

Hyunjin purses his lips, before clarifying, “I went through his phone last week.”

“You went through his phone?” Chan frowns, shaking his head disapprovingly. “That’s not cool, dude.”

“He was in the bathroom and his phone was just sitting there unlocked. Then he got a text and I had to!” Hyunjin holds up his hands defensively. “Anyway, I don’t know if they’re dating or if they’re just fooling around, but there is someone! He’s simping hard.”

“How do you know that?” Seungmin chimes in. “Do you even know who it is?”

“I don’t know who it is. That’s what I need you guys to help me find out. There wasn’t a name name. He just calls her his-”

“What on earth are you guys doing?” Minho’s voice makes everyone disperse, leaning back into their respective seats like they were caught doing something they shouldn’t. He sits down beside you again, handing you your cup back. You give him an appreciative but awkward smile. “What is Hyunjin blabbing about this time?”

“Nothing!” Hyunjin practically squeaks. The poor guy can’t spin a little white lie to save his life. Then he has the audacity to look offended as he gapes, “Also, why did you automatically assume it was me?”

“Because it’s always you at the scene of the crime.”

“It happened one time! No, twice. It was only those two ti-!”

Seungmin cuts in flatly. “He said you’re whipped for a girl you’re seeing.”

Everyone stops to stare at Minho. Even you turn your head to look at him, trying to gauge how he’ll respond to this. It makes you a little guilty, seeing that you’re part of the secret too, and yet he has to shoulder the lies by himself.

Well, technically, there hasn’t been any lying involved up until now. Just a simple withholding of the truth.

His face hardens for a brief moment, and you think he lets it show on purpose - his way of telling Hyunjin that he’s annoyed - because Minho can put on a flawless poker face when he wants to. There’s a couple of seconds where he clenches his jaw before he relaxes, the sharpness of his features softening as he shrugs off the accusation. “I am most certainly not whipped for anyone,” he says. “It’s just a casual thing.”

“If it’s just casual, why were you being so secretive about it, huh?” Hyunjin prods. 

“I wasn’t being secretive. I just didn’t think it was anybody’s business,” Minho answers coolly. 

“We’re your best friends! I tell you guys everything.”

“You sure do. Even things I’d rather not hear about.”

Jess and Changbin burst into light laughter, and you chuckle along with them but you don’t really find it that funny. You’re just trying to blend into the background, be a fly on the wall and observe how things unfold. Minho has assured you that there’s nothing for you to worry about, that there’s no way they could find out about the secret, but still.

Hyunjin groans exasperatedly. The nosiest drama queen you know. “Seriously, who’s the girl? I’m dying of curiosity here!”

“Drop it.” Minho glares at him.

“Just give me a hint! Is it someone we know?”

“You haven’t eaten tissues in a while, have you?”

“Try me. I’m not scared of you anymore.”

“Hyunjin, I swear to-”

“Okay!” Chan claps his hands together suddenly. “Let’s just all agree that we are all entitled to our privacy and people can share whatever they want with whoever they want when they’re comfortable, yeah?”

Everyone nods in agreement, except for Hyunjin who narrows his eyes petulantly at Minho as if to say This isn’t over. No one wants to poke a disgruntled tiger, let alone about something he seems so disinterested in sharing. Minho has always been a notoriously private person, even with the rest of the group.

Changbin shuffles a new topic into the mix to move things along, which you aren’t very keen on contributing to at the moment. When no one seems to be looking, Minho places a hand on your knee, rubbing it soothingly as if he can sense the unease that you’re feeling. It makes you glance at him, though neither of you says anything. You just look at each other for a moment, then turn back to the group when someone calls your name.

Two hours and three rum and coke’s later, you were coming down from a good high when someone suggested ditching Yeonjun’s party to go to a club.

Normally, you would say no. You could only do one social event at a time, needing to recharge your metaphorical battery before you let yourself be dragged into the next one.

But you decided to make an exception for tonight.

Though, you promptly realized that it was probably a mistake.

You prefer the loudness of Yeonjun’s party than here. It’s loud and crowded, since it’s a Saturday night, and since it’s a club. The air is sticky and stuffy. The lights are perpetually blinding and headache-inducing. You’re not even on the dancefloor; you’re just hovering near the entrance and the bar, and there’s still barely any room to move. People keep trying to shove you out of their way, even with Minho attempting to act as your human shield. 

You let your displeasure be known through a deep frown.

Minho catches onto your chagrin almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning close to your ear to make sure you hear him over the music.

“Too many people,” you try to raise your voice so the booming noises don’t drown you out. “Can we go somewhere over there?”

He turns around, taps on Chan’s shoulder to get his attention before gesturing vaguely to that spot near the back that you just pointed out to him, presumably to let the others know that you’ll be wandering over there.

He takes your hand and leads the way. In the back, it’s still loud but less deafening than before, and much less crowded compared to the areas surrounding the dance floor.

“Better?” he asks.

You lean against the wall though you probably shouldn’t. The ick is apparent, but at this point in the night, you yourself are already feeling pretty gross anyway.

“A little bit,” you say. “Thanks.”

“You wanna go home? We can leave if you want.”

“Without saying goodbye?”

“Did you know that people who leave parties without saying goodbye save two days a year? It’s been researched.”

You rephrase your words so Minho would understand better. “Without Hyunjin’s permission?”

“Hyunjin has been pissing me off plenty all week. I can play my card for you.”

“What card?”

“The ‘I don’t give a fuck’ card.”

You tilt your head, clearly amused. “And how does that usually work out for you?”

“I don’t care how it works out because Hyunjin is not gonna do anything to me.” He shrugs. “Besides, I can always just throw him in the airfryer when he gets too annoying.”

This makes you laugh, recalling the exact moment Minho brought up the legendary instructions on how to cook Hyunjin.

“How violent,” you comment with a snort.

“He deserves it.”

“You know you still have a soft spot for him,” you say.

“I have a soft spot for you,” he replies.

“Now look who’s trying to get laid.”

He grins. “Could you blame me?”

Some drunk girls stumble into your space on their way to the bathroom, bumping into you, pushing you into Minho’s body where he instinctively puts a hand on your back to keep you steady. You glance up at him after the girls have safely arrived at the bathroom, only to find him already staring down at you. His back is turned toward where the lights are coming from and the angle shrouds his face in darkness, but you can still make out the stars twinkling in his eyes.

The sudden lack of space between your bodies makes your breath hitch.

“Are you still drunk?” he asks.

“No. Not really.” You don’t like the way your voice comes out small, vulnerable.

“I…” he starts, hesitating for a moment before he continues. His eyes flicker to your lips, and the breath that was previously caught in your throat further thickens. “Fuck, I really want to kiss you right now.”

For some reason, your heart leaps to your throat. It’s probably because of the remnants of alcohol refusing to leave your system, because how else would you explain the way your pulse quickens just from hearing those words coming from him?

He bites his lip, similar to how Yeonjun did it just a few hours ago, but seeing Minho do it is at least a hundred times more enticing.

You want him to kiss you too. You really do.

“What if the others see?” you protest meekly, but you’re already staring at his mouth, finding yourself gravitating toward him like he’s got you hypnotized.

“We’re all the way back here,” he tells you. “They won’t see anything.”

He leans closer until his lips are brushing yours. With a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your head, he meets your mouth in a soft kiss, which is a stark contrast to the upbeat and booming music blasting all around you. Some guy drunkenly gives you two a sleazy whistle, the sound coming from somewhere on your right, but neither of you pays it any attention.

Your hands come to clutch at the collar of his shirt like a lifeline. He’s never kissed you outside of the comfort of your bedroom before, let alone amidst a sea of people like this. It feels strange to be intimate with him in public, but at the same time, it excites you. There’s still a sense of anonymity because you’re camouflaged by the lights, masked by the darkness, hiding in plain sight.

The kiss gets more heated. He guides you a step back until you’re all pressed up against the wall, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging on it the way he likes that makes him groan against your mouth. He sucks on your bottom lip before shoving his tongue into your mouth, the wet muscle dancing with yours, making your knees buckle. It’s dizzying. It makes your head spin, and you don’t know if it’s because there’s still enough residual alcohol in your system to knock your world off its axis, or if it’s just him.

The hand previously on your hips sneaks underneath your shirt to rub at your bare skin. He gropes your breasts over the bralette you chose to wear tonight, squeezing the soft flesh in his palm, all the while slotting one of his legs between yours to help you grind on him. Your clothed cunt rolls over the denim of his jeans, and even though the friction is coarse and your movements are limited in this crowded space, the pleasure still sets your entire body alight. Minho spreads all over you like wildfire, and Minho consumes you like a hurricane.

You moan into his mouth when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, over the flimsy material of your undergarment. “Min,” you whimper desperately. You don’t know if he can hear you over the obnoxiously loud sounds coming from the speakers littered all over the place, but he groans against your mouth regardless. Almost like the nickname is driving him crazy.

He pulls back just slightly, to let the both of you catch your breath. “Should we go back to yours?” he asks, eyes still focused on your mouth.

You nod eagerly. You know you must be wet as hell right now, and if you have to wait any longer, you will probably explode from frustration. You might just drag him into that disgusting bathroom over there and let him have his way with you, but you will definitely regret it afterward because it’s a bathroom in a nightclub. It’s beyond revolting.

He helps you smooth out your hair, gentle and tender. In turn, you wipe your lipstick smudges on his face. Instead of taking you by the hand like he did earlier, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and navigates the two of you through the crowd, shielding you from anyone who might bump into you. You lean into the touch; it’s just comforting.

As you make your way back to the group - or what’s left of the group at the moment - his hand drops to his side again. There’s an inkling of disappointment that blossoms in you, but it dissipates quickly when Hyunjin spots you and lights up. Him and Seungmin are at the bar, seemingly trying to get the bartender’s attention. Changbin is next to them, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything other than the girl he’s chatting with. You try to scan the crowd for Chan and Jess, and find them a couple minutes later, standing in a corner, pressed up against each other just like you and Minho moments ago.

“Where did you run off to?” Hyunjin asks. Clearly Chan was too preoccupied with his girlfriend to relay the information.

“It’s too loud in here, I was getting a headache,” you say, only half a lie. You know your face must still be flushed from your impromptu makeout session, but you hope your friend can’t see the rosy shade painting your skin under all the flashing lights. “Min and I just went back there to see if it was quieter.”

“Okay.” He seems to believe you. “We’re trying to get drinks! You want anything?”

“I think I’m gonna just go home. You guys stay and have fun though.”

Hyunjin looks at you like he’s so flabbergasted. “It’s not even 3AM yet!”

“Headache,” you say, pointing to your temple with an exaggeratedly pained expression on your face. “I’ll stay out all night with you next time.”

“But-!” The second he opens his mouth to protest, Minho cuts in sharply, his tone leaving no room for anyone to argue despite the gigantic pout on Hyunjin’s face.

“I’m gonna take her home and call it a night too,” he simply says.

Hyunjin groans, but he relents in the end, muttering to you something that sounds like “You owe me one,” when you go to hug him goodbye. Before you and Minho can reach the door, you hear your man child of a friend call after you two in his pterodactyl voice, “Don’t make Minho’s girl jealous!”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 04.01.2024]

[transnats]

Mutually Assured Destruction - Taissa Turner x Shauna Shipman

Kinks/Warnings: Infidelity, Oral Sex, Fingering/Clit Stimulation, They’re slightly wine drunk, Nipple Play (Briefly), Not Proofread, Misandry (For like three seconds), Praise.

🎙️ Syd Says: After THIRTY DAYS and thirty nights, I finally finished this while being so sleepy. It’s been a while since I wrote any smut so don’t burn me at the stake if it’s a little shitty. Okay, nothing else to yap about. Bai! :3

W/C: 3.1K

Taissa could almost feel her marriage falling apart like some stupid fucking impending doom. Simone had seemed to become more and more aware of the burnout she’d been hiding—or more so trying and failing—to not let show. Her son was its own issue itself. The drawings he’d left on his window were still there, untouched. Like a reminder. Her son knew what she was. He knew ‘other Tai’. Or whatever you’d call it.

 She found herself wine-drunk after she’d come home to a cold and empty house after, what felt like, a million and one meetings. Her eyes bore into the TV while some game show was playing. She didn’t care for television much these days. Not after the public defamation of her by her insufferable opponent in this election. She thinks maybe he needs another threat to get him to cut the crap, but ultimately it wouldn’t work. She huffs angrily.

She needs someone to confide in. And who better than your old teammate, Shauna? Her phone was a few inches away from her, just on the coffee table that was littered with magazines, bills, envelopes and papers. There was a centerpiece but.. it was barely noticeable. She didn’t care. She picked up her phone, scrolling through contacts before finding Shauna.

She doesn’t know why, but she’s nervous. Tai and Shauna had a pretty good relationship considering they’d gone through together. AKA, almost helping her have an abortion, aswell as giving her encouragement through the process of her giving birth. 

The line trills. And it trills. And it trills. Maybe I should just hang up. Tai thinks. She slowly took her phone from her ear before seeing 00:01 appear under Shauna’s contact name.

“Hello?” Shauna starts. “I was just showing Callie out. You know how it is. Kids going out with their friends.” She scoffs. “She’s grown a bit bossy these days. It’s out of—“

“Can I come over?” Tai blurts, slightly slurred. “I’m just.. not in a good headspace right now. I uh, need someone to talk to.” She sniffles, bringing both legs onto her sofa, now sitting criss-cross applesauce.

Shauna is silent for a moment at her abruptness. Well, it wasn’t the first time she’s done this. “Sure. Yeah. You can come over. You sound.. drunk, Tai, are you sure you’re good to drive? Or should I come pick you up?”

“I can drive. Don’t worry.” She lies mindlessly. Tai knew it wasn’t a good idea, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t even that drunk anyway. “I’ll be there in twenty.” She’s silent for a moment. Shauna clears her throat on the other line.

“Bye.” Tai hung up. 

She slid her heels back on, looking at herself in a mirror plastered on the wall by the front door. The eyebags under her eyes makes her lack of sleep even more obvious. Her lipstick was smudged across her glass and her hair was frizzy.

It’s only Shauna. We’re only going to see Shauna. But even if it was just Shauna, it felt much more important than that. Like she needs to clean up her appearance. She was far too tired for that. 

She ultimately only decided on touching up her lipstick, smoothing the wrinkles in her button-up shirt and her pants, and racking her fingers through her very tangled hair.

Her heels click against the sidewalk as she nearly runs to her car. Traffic was a bitch as usual. It felt like Shauna’s house was thirty days and thirty nights away. It makes her bite her lip. She’s impatient as always. Her leg bounces as she waits at a red light, some new generation pop music playing over the radio.

The person infront of her had been driving unbelievably slow, so obviously she found a way around to speed down the street. She’d have many more speeding tickets than she expected. Whatever. That doesn’t fucking matter.

She’s in over her own head when she finally arrives at Shauna’s house. She sat a few inches away from her home, checking her appearance in a hand held mirror.

“It’s not a fucking date. Cmon, Tai.” She grumbled to herself. 

Why did she even care so much? Maybe it was because she was usually this put together, level headed, and calm woman. It was an amazing facade. But it was hard to keep up with. 

Why is she even thinking about how she’s perceived now? Maybe she needed another drink. 

She hops out of her car, slamming the door shut as she walks up to Shauna’s door. There were little Halloween decorations all around the porch and a little wreath on the door. The decorations were so tacky and so Shauna.

There’s a little bat in the windowsill with blinking red eyes. It made her smile a bit. She’d love to decorate her place like this with her family.

When she snaps out of it, she knocks three hard times on Shauna’s door. She clears her throat as she steps back, her hands behind the back. Shauna opens the door dressed as Darcy.

“Wow, I didn’t expect you to be dressed up.” Tai smiled tiredly, chuckling while taking in her costume.

“It’s fun, Tai. You should try it sometime. Want some candy?” Shauna offers her a bite sized Snickers bar, and she takes it before stepping inside.

Shauna’s house smells like pumpkin spice and there were a few decorations on the inside. Tai opens the candy, eating it as she sits on her sofa. 

Shauna flops onto the sofa next to her, crossing her legs while looking at Tai. “So, what's up? How’s Simone?” 

Tai sighs, putting the candy wrapper in her pocket. “Well,” she thinks about where she should start. “We’re not exactly on such a good path, per se? I fucked up. I know it's my fault. I just— I don’t know what to do.”

Shauna nods. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?” She leans against the sofa, turning her attention completely to her.

“Kind of. I was just lonely, despite how pathetic that sounds. Yknow, Tai and lonely in the same sentence is.. kinda crazy.” She shrugs, sighing softly. “It’s stupid. Well, not really.”

“Gosh, how do I even start?” She crosses her arms, tapping her fingers against her arms. “Sammy’s been having these visions, and they’re very concerning. So of course we took him to a psychiatrist. And I’ve been so busy with my campaign and I’ve been so.. sleep deprived that I haven’t been myself.”

“I haven’t been there for my wife and I’ve been pretty absent in my kids' life. I’ve been prioritizing this stupid campaign that I missed some parent teacher conferences that Simone’s been drilling me about.”

Tai brings talking, venting about all her frustrations, flailing her hands dramatically and going the whole nine yards. Shauna just listens, nodding and saying a few words inbetween hers.

Shauna ends up taking Tai's hand in hers. “I know you’re working hard with your campaigning, but you have to try to be there more for your wife and your kid. They both need you in your best shape.”

Shauna looks at her earnestly. “You’re a smart woman, a strong woman.” She squeezes her hand reassuringly. “I’ve seen you overcome shit in the Wilderness that I would’ve never done as a kid. I know you can be there for people, Tai. You were there for me when Jackie— yknow. Died.”

Shauna strained the last bit of her sentence but she quickly regained her composure.

She sighs. “It’s normal for couples to experience rough patches. You and Simone will make it past this.”

The reassurance felt good to Tai. It’s been a while since someone spoke about her in a positive light. Tai just stared at Shauna’s face, obviously full of remorse for her and her situation.

Something inside of her heart pangs. It races. Fuck. She knew this feeling all too well.

“If I’ll be honest, me and Jeff aren’t going too well right now. He’s been doing something with inventory. How fucking unbelievable.” Shauna scoffs. “Like, if he’s cheating, he should make it less obvious right?”

Tai looks at her for a moment before her brain processes the question. She nods slowly. “..Right. Yeah.”

Shauna continued to vent about her own frustrations and Tai can relate to her. Well. Not on the cheating bit, but still. They were two frustrated women with strained relationships with their partners and kids, a scenario for disaster.

Time passed, they talked more and more. Kids came to Shauna’s door and she gave them their candy, but eventually she just left it on a table outside with a sign that says “Take two pieces and not the whole basket. Happy Halloween!” with a little smiley face.

Both women held large glasses full of wine at this point as they began to gossip. Tai suddenly forgets about all her issues as she became even more drunk.

Shauna talks about her shitty sex life with Jeff and how he wanted to do a custom-store owner type of roleplay. “Like, how insane is that? He gets off to me wanting to buy a fucking futon!” Shauna laughs, holding her stomach.

Tai watches, smiling to herself. “Gosh, thats childish.” She murmured while watching Shauna smile and laugh.

“Yknow, you deserve better than him. You could find a better guy who isn’t a cheater and doesn’t get his rocks off by asking him about a futon.” Tai caresses her shoulder softly. She nods. 

“I know.” Shauna sighs. “I still like him, yknow, but its just.. weird now.”

“So, would you try other people?” Tai asks, tilting her head.

“Sure, yeah. 100%.” Shauna nods. “If I had a chance with another guy, I’d be one lucky woman.”

Tai nods. “Would you try a woman?” She sips her wine. “Maybe if men aren’t working for you, trying a woman would maybe satiate your needs.”

Tai would’ve been that woman to satiate Shauna’s needs. She knew she could fulfill that role for her. Tai is like Superwoman. Or she seems like Superwoman. What more could anyone want? She’s hot, she’s smart, and goddamn is she a good flirt. It was enough to make any woman eat out of the palm of her hand.

Shauna was silent for a second, thinking. She hums softly. “I.. think I would. Yeah. It doesn’t sound terrible.”

Shauna doesn’t mention the somewhat homoerotic relationship she shared with Jackie, or that she had a big fat girl crush on her at one point.

“Well..” Tai sits up straight, placing her wine glass on an end table on the right side of her. “I could be that woman.”

Shauna pauses. “Are you serious?” Tai nods. “As a heart attack.” “But Tai, you're not serious.”

Shauna chuckled in disbelief. Tai was married. And well, Shauna was married too. They were both married women.

Shauna already figured Jeff was cheating on her anyway. Mutually assured destruction. “This could be a one and done thing.” Tai spoke up. “We fuck once and then poof, we’re done.”

Tai and Shauna were about to relate on that cheating piece. Usually, this kind of arrangement ends up being awkward. You fuck your friend and now all the sudden, you have shitty small talk at gatherings and avoid eachother at all costs.

“We’re not gonna be awkward after this, right?” Shauna asks, putting her glass on the coffee table and turning to Tai. “Hell no. I couldn’t bear that.”

All sense was thrown out the window as Tai grabs the sides of Shauna’s face, pulling her in for a fiery kiss. It was passionate and full of need. This was only because they both needed it. Tai had to remind herself, even though she didn’t want to think about it.

Shauna tossed off her orange wig from Party City, letting her short brown hair free. Tai chuckled a little.

“What’s so funny, Ms. Turner?” Shauna asks breathlessly. “Nothing— its just, you tossed that wig so far.” Tai was still laughing a little. Shauna rolls her eyes playfully. “Shut up.” She slurs.

Shauna stands up, as does Tai as she brings them into her bedroom. Tai attempts to claim dominance, pushing her against a wall and kissing her hard but that was extremely short lived.

Shauna pushes Tai down onto her bed, getting on top of her and kissing down her neck. Tai moans. 

Shauna stops for a moment. “I uh, have no clue what to do so you’re gonna have to teach me.” Tai nods. “Of course, yeah.”

They both take a second to undress, standing there in their underwear. Tai approaches her, groping her boobs before taking her bra off. Her lips latch around her nipple that becomes hardened in the cool air.

Shauna lets out a surprised moan. That felt better than she expected. She liked it alot. Her back arches into Tais hands. Tai gently runs her teeth over her nipple, giving it a few seconds of attention before pulling away. She stops, unclipping her bra and tossing it on the floor. “Now you can do the same to me.”

Tai laid back, and Shauna is back on top. She does the exact same thing she’d done to her before she slowly starts going down on her. She slides her underwear off when she lifts her hips.

Shauna was now on her knees for her while Tai swung her legs over her shoulders. She spreads her legs a bit more and the scent of her arousal makes Shauna insane. She’s dripping wet.

“Okay so..” Tai thinks about how to explain this. She never knew she’d see the day where she’s teaching her best friend how to eat her out. Impulsively, Shauna takes a long lick up her cunt, moaning at her taste. Slightly salty. “God you taste divine.” Shauna says as she does it again. Tai moans, arching into her. “Okay uh— fuck, suck on my clit. Or lick it. I dont care.” Shauna nods, spreading her open and the kitten licking her clit. It elicits a string of moans from her. The rest of the process, Shauna thinks, is self explanatory. It wasn’t as dramatic as it seemed in pornos obviously, so she quickly figured out what to do with some more instructions. She’s sucking on her clit, then she decided to bury her tongue inside of her, pulling away to see her glistening pussy.

At this point, she felt starved. She laps up her arousal, moaning as did Tai while tasting her. Shauna, to say the least, never knew a woman could taste so good. Obviously being used to Jeff’s cum, it was a sweet taste on her tongue, like one of honey. She felt giddy to be between her legs like it was some sort of taboo to be doing something like this with her best friend. 

Shauna was in her own moment as Tai lets out a cacophony of her own pretty moans, telling her how fucking good she was doing with eating her out.

“God, that mouth,” Tai pants out. “You’re like a fucking pro.” She moans again, going up in volume with each moan. She grabs Shauna’s hair into a sort of ponytail, grinding against her fake. 

“I’m gonna cum—ah—all over that tongue. Don’t fucking move.” Tai growls, tightening her grip on Shauna’s hair. She was nearly pulling it, sending arousal thrumming through Shauna’s body. She never knew she was into that. Well, you learn something new everyday?

Tai warns her that she’s cumming, wildly grinding against her face with no specific rhythm. When she finally does cum, she lets out one big grunt before relaxing against the bed, her arms falling to her side.

Shauna comes up, her lips and chin coated in her arousal. “Was it good?” She asks softly.

Tai nods. “Yeah, really good. Now cmon, I can’t leave you hanging.”

Taissa always returned the favor—she’d feel like a fucking dickhead for not doing so. Shauna slowly slid her underwear down, kicking them across the floor before climbing onto bed. 

When Shauna is sitting on the bed, she kinda just stares awkwardly at Tai. Taissa giggles. “Oh my god, Shauna.”

“What?” Shauna asks, smiling slightly. “You’re just as awkward as you were when you were a teenager.”

Shauna’s lips curl into a smile, still glossy with Tai’s cum. “Now cmere.” Tai instructed.

Shauna crawled up to Tai, now they’d been side by side. Taissa starts kissing Shauna softly, tasting her arousal on her lips and tongue makes her moan. Tais hands begin to explore Shauna’s body, groping her tits and pinching her nipples, rolling the hardened bud between her slim fingers. Shauna whines into her mouth, her body arching into her hands.

Taissa continues running her hands over her body; between her thighs, her tits, her neck and briefly just atop of her cunt. 

Shauna’s hips buck when Tai gets close to her cunt, whining with need. “Gosh, you’re just a needy thing aren’t you?” Tai teases. Shauna opens her legs, and after what felt like years, Tai licks her fingers before she begins rubbing circles on her clit. Shauna gasps as if it was a new sensation.

“Jeff never knew where your clit was, did he? He’s a stupid man.” Tai whispered in her ear as Shauna whined softly. She keeps her pace steady until Shauna whines for more. So obviously, she stuffs her cunt with her fingers. Two fingers to be exact. Shauna was a big girl, she could take it. The stretch of her fingers felt good. 

Tai gave her a few harsh thrusts, causing loud moans from Shauna. Her hand came down to rub her clit, working in tandem with Tais thrusting. 

“Faster.” Shauna huffs. Tai speeds up slowly and Shauna moans loudly. She tosses her head onto Tais shoulder as she continues moaning and rubbing her clit. Slowly, Tai sped up even more. Her cunt was squeezing her fingers as she hit her g-spot with each thrust. Shauna was in utter bliss, coating half of Tais hand with her arousal while moaning like a fucking porn star. She’s so dramatic, yet it’s so hot. 

As Tais pace was relentless and the circles she was making on her clit becomes unbearable, she moaned louder and writhed in pleasure.

“You gonna cum for me?” Tai coos, keeping her pace fast. Shauna nods. “Don’t fucking stop.” She grunts out. 

Like hell Tai would stop.

She goes a little faster and with a few more thrusts, Shauna was cumming all over her fingers. “Good girl.” Tai whispered. She slowly takes her fingers out, watching her cunt twitch as it glistened with her arousal. Tai laid on her back next to her, slightly out of breath. Her fingers were shiny with Shauna’s cum, so she just licked them clean.

“Tai,” Shauna whines. “That’s gross. Go wash your hands.” She nudges her towards the end of the bed.

“I will.” Tai reassures.  “My wrist kinda just uh, locked up.” She chuckled awkwardly.

[rezzyromance]

Idk if this is how you request things or if it's just asking, BUT-

How would the Lords react to an S/O that's usually the chillest person that you will ever meet (not to be confused with a pushover because they are not), they've never seen them even mildly annoyed when something bad happens. But then something happens and, turns out, the S/O is utterly TERRIFYING when they're mad.

Hope this makes sense!

Aw man I'm gonna feel awful scaring Moreau and Donna :(

Alcina

You're relaxing on a beautiful morning. The sun is shining through the window just enough to warm the room but not hurt your eyes. You hadn't even changed out of your sleep wear. "How are you feeling, my dear?", a sweet voice rang from the doorway. You were sitting in your favorite chair near the window. You turn and smile at her. She walks over and rubs your face in her large hand before leaning down and giving you a soft kiss. "I'm feeling amazing. And you?", you grab her hand before she pulls it away and you place a kiss on her knuckles. "I'm feeling alright. There's a new maid here. She's a bit slow. I'm giving her until tonight to finish dusting the entire castle or else she won't see another sunrise." It was almost comedic how dark her words were as you both stared out the window and gazed at the beautiful scenery. "Come on Alcina.", you stand up and place your hands on hers, trying to hold them despite the size difference. "Give the girl a break. It's a huge castle AND it's her first day.", you knew your words would probably change nothing. Alcina was rather cruel, but you looked past it. You tried your best to make the nervous maids comfortable whenever they arrive.

"We'll see how she does." She gives you one more kiss before leaving the room. You sit back down in your chair, enjoying the warmth of the sun for a little while longer. You lose track of time, minutes maybe even hours go by. Suddenly, there's a crash not far from the door. You jump and stand up, no longer comfortable after being startled. "What in the name of Mother Miranda?!", you leave the room and look down the hallway. The new maid stood there with a terrified look on her face. In front of her was one of the paintings Alcina had on her walls, now with a broken frame and a hole punctured. Your blood began to boil. It was a painting of you, her, and the girls all together. It was your favorite. "How in the hell did you manage to do that?!", you begin to stomp towards her. She cowers and struggles to find her words. "I-I-I was just dusting! It fell and I-I didn't mean t-", you cut her off. "How the fuck did you knock such a large painting over just by dusting?! DO YOU THINK YOU'RE ALLOWED TO MAKE SUCH STUPID MISTAKES HERE?!", you unravel. "I-I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!", she almost begins to weep. "SORRY ISN'T GONNA SAVE YOUR ASS!"

"MISS DIMITRESCU PLEASE HELP!", she cries out. You freeze, realizing that the lady herself is right behind you. You turn to face her. Her eyes are wide with shock. She has never seen you like this before and never even knew you had this type of side to you. She was impressed as much as she was terrified. "(Y/N)? Are you alright my love?" She had no idea what to do as your seething slowed down. "Why don't you go back to the room, yes? Settle down a little and deal with her later.", she places a hand on your back helps walk with you back to the room. Once you're there, she bends down to whisper in your ear. "I don't know where this side of you has been this whole time, but I am so amazed by you. And also a little frightened."

Donna

The Beneviento house was usually a calm place despite its creepy aura. You and Donna are both quiet and chill people. Never once have you fought or even raised your voices at each other. It was pleasant.

You had planned a nice dinner for the both of you. You wanted to try out a new recipe and surprise her, so you made your way to the kitchen to get started. "Okay, what first? I guess I'll need a pot.", you go rummaging through the kitchen and you find the pots stacked within each other inside one of the top cabinets. You groan and stand up on your toes, grazing the pots with your fingers. It didn't take much to cause them to tumble down, crashing on top of you with a loud sound that followed. "Aw shit.", you sighed and picked up the knocked over pots. A small but annoying pain began to throb in your head from where it made contact with a pot. What you didn't notice was you forgot to pick one of the pots up. It remained unnoticed. "It's fine.", you say to yourself as you maintain your composure. Next, a cutting board and knife. You turn around and begin to walk forward to find the cutting board, but you slam your toe into counter. You wince in pain and grab your foot. "SON OF A BITCH!", you yell.

You calm yourself, still wanting to have a pleasant meal with Donna. "Alright. Everything's fine." You step forward and kick the pot that you had forgotten to pick up. It caused your freshly kicked toe to ache even more. "OH COME ON! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!", you scream and swear as you throw your arms up in pure rage and shock.

"...(Y/N)?", a gentle voice whispered from the doorway, causing you to whip your head in that direction. It was Donna. She looked absolutely horrified and almost looked like she could cry. "Is.. is everything... are you alright?", she worried. "Yes. I'm sorry. Just got a little pissed off.", you took a deep breath to calm yourself down, feeling bad for scaring the poor girl.

Moreau

You were sitting on the dock together, looking into the water as your feet swung back and forth above it. It was a sunny day and you two decided to spend it outside. Your hand slowly made its way over to his. His feet stopped swinging for a second as you entangled your fingers. "I don't know what I'd do without you, (Y/N)." his words were bitter sweet as a gentle smile formed from his lips. "Oh, Sal. You don't have to think like that. I'll always be here for you.", you kiss his cheek and continue to relax as you sway your legs.

"There it is! There's the beast!", a voice yelled from not so far away. You both look in the direction of the voice and see a few young village boys. Possibly between the ages of 13 and 16. Moreau had become some what of a scary story for the villagers. A tale that kids spread on school court yard and bring up during dares. But, you've never seen a kid brave enough to actually make it far enough into the reservoir to actually see Moreau. Now, there were about 3. All of them stood and pointed, shocked and terrified.

"Hey beast! Come get me!", one kid teases. You glare at the kids as a newfound rage begins to boil inside you. "Let's go back inside.", Moreau says before standing up from the doc. The sadness in his voice was heartbreaking. Suddenly, one of the children gathers the guts to pick up a rock and throw it as hard as he could. His aim was off, but not by much. It slammed into the wood near Moreau's feet, startling him. "Take that you devil!", he laughs. "THAT'S IT YOU LITTLE SHIT!", you begin sprinting in the direction of the immature brats. Two of them run from the direction they came from while the one who threw the rock was frozen in fear. You took the opportunity to grab him by the collar of his shirt. "Listen here you little waste of space. I'm gonna give you 3 seconds to turn around and run for your goddamn life. If you or any of your little snot-nosed friends come around here again, they'll be goddamn fish food. Do you understand?" The kid was too scared to speak and instead began to nod rapidly. You let him go and watched as he ran as fast as he could, screaming the whole way.

You walk back to the shack and find Moreau standing in the same place he was when you took off. His mouth was agape and he looked almost as scared as the kids. "You alright Sal? I made sure those little shits won't be coming around here anymore." "Yeah... I didn't know you could be so... scary", he says. "I'm sorry. But those kids were being cruel. I had to do something.", you say. "Well... it was awesome!", he smiled. "But also very scary!" You laugh which helps sooth him a little.

Heisenberg

"Screw driver.", is all Karl said with an outstretched palm. He was working on some type of mechanical heart for his experiments. He wanted you to lend a "helping hand" even though he could easily do it all by himself. He did this because he wanted to be around you, he was just too stubborn with too big of an ego to simply say it. So here you were, handing him every little tool he asks for.

"Do you want the big one or the little one?", you say with a hint of boredom in your tone. "Aw c'mon don't sound like that! Isn't this exciting? It's like you're working on it with me! Also, hand me the big one.", you do as he says and hand him the big screw driver. "I just don't get it. You literally have powers. You can easily do this by yourself and have been for so long. Why do you need me to help?" He pauses for a second and looks over towards you, his brow slightly furrowed. "I don't NEED you to help. I just thought it would be nice for you to help out. Plus, you're the one always bitching about me constantly working. Well, here you are! Helping me work! So, either suck it up or you can leave." His harshness had no real ill will in it. He was just confused and a bit too ignorant to consider his words. But, he was testing your patience. He continued to use the screwdriver until handing it to you without saying a word.

"Hand me a screw.", he demanded with his hand facing palm up again. "Which size?" "They're all the same sizes, dumbass." You feel your blood begin to boil. "They're different fucking sizes! This one is smaller than this one!", you hold up two screws that are obviously different sizes. This makes Karl angry. Not because you were right, but because you seemed upset over something that seemed so insignificant.

"If you came here just to yap in my ear, then I don't think I need your assistance.", he huffed. You put the selection of tools and supplies he was making you hold on the table he is working on and ball your fists. "You're the one who told me to do this in the first place!", you yell. "Yeah, because you won't stop bitching! Non-stop you're always compla-" you cut him off before he can finish. "SHUT UP!", you yell. The room goes silent. "YOU SAY I'M BITCHING? HAVE YOU HEARD YOURSELF? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST KARL YOU BITCH AND MOAN ALL THE TIME! I'M DONE TAKING SHIT FROM YOU!" He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't. He felt something much more overwhelming. Was he.. intimidated? He didn't move from his seat. All he could do was look up at you with a confused expression. What now? What is there to do? If he pushes you further, what would happen? He was actually too scared to find out.

You take a deep breath to calm down before speaking. "Now, if you want me to help with your shit, I'll stay as long as you keep your mouth shut. Can you possibly manage to do that?" He gulps nervously. "Yes ma'am."

[iwahajii]

• scars fade (Chapter 15)

Iwaizumi’s sins cost him the one thing he didn’t want to fuck up. Yet he still did.

Oikawa can count on one hand the actual times he punched Iwaizumi in the face. This was one of them. And it wasn’t just once that he did.

This is the story of how Iwaizumi fucked up so bad Oikawa had no choice but to step in and save the day. And whether it’ll be a happy ending or not, it’s all up to you.

warning: contains cheating, explicit language, mature themes

taglist: @jcrml @on-crows-wings

then • now  • next

It felt so foreign to watch concrete towers flash by your eyes, as you sat by the window on the train. What was once normal to you now became as foreign as a stranger in a new country. It soothed you to think of the view on the window on the second floor Sanae's house, with the dots of green and sprawling whites and blues.

You felt so far removed from your body, felt numb with nerves. You thought if it was just possible, you would've thrown up everything inside you because of how tense your stomach muscles were. By now, you didn't bother unclenching your fists as they clutch the fabric of your jacket, relying on them to sip the constant sweat on your hands. You didn't even bother to stop the bouncing of your knee, ignoring the looks from the person sitting in front. You couldn't help it. Your body seemed to be tight as a spring, as though one little squeak would send you springing back to Onomichi, or maybe somewhere far away from Tokyo.

Just for one day, you kept telling yourself.

For the fiftieth anniversary of your publishing house, every author and editor affiliated with the company were invited to celebrate the huge milestone. Ms. Hiroshi, your editor, insisted that your presence was mandatory as a currently blooming author (her words, not yours), going so far as to guilt-tripping you regarding her very generous agreement with your work arrangements. Pulling that card was foul, but highly effective, regardless of the evident benefits you will surely reap by attending such event.

You were being paranoid. And pathetic. (Sanae gave her piece of mind the moment she heard, yapping on and on about maturity and professionalism.)

And so, you swallowed every complaint you wanted to scream, together with the urge to tie yourself with stones and jump into the ocean.

Twenty-four hours won't mean much, if majority of it will be spent on an exclusive dinner party, was your mantra every time you felt like jumping on the train back to Onomichi.

"Just for one day," you whispered under your breath, standing up from your seat just as the train slowed to a stop.

It took twenty minutes to get Tooru's landlord off your back, after a hundred repeats of 'Yes, I am Oikawa's best friend,' 'No, I don't need anything else,' and 'Yes, I'll be staying just for one day.' Thank god for Tooru's narcissistic tendencies. The photographs on his wall were blessings in disguise. You used to complain about them being too exposed, with majority of them too intimate and wild for public viewing like that one of him smooching your cheek as you laughed one college party years ago when he got drunk off his ass. An embarrasing memory, but nonetheless a very good one. They served as good evidence to back up your statements, and in the end, she handed you the keys and went out the door with less fuss.

After fixing yourself a light lunch, you went around the place for a bit, cleaning up a little because Tooru's an unrepentant slob. You sent him pictures, some before and after as evidence to his slob crimes. With the time difference, he'll see them hours later, so while he's still snoring the night away in the west, you made yourself as comfortable as you can in his apartment.

Maybe you were too exhausted from the trip, or in handling his slightly neurotic landlord or maybe it was too comfortable in Tooru's king sized bed with the fluffy pillows and comforters, but whatever the case, you were cutting it close to preparing for the night when you woke up. The time on your screen said it was four pm.

You shot out of bed like it was on fire. If you were even a minute late from the meeting time decided by your editor, you were screwed. So, with as much efficiency and speed as you can muster, you went to work.

As you were finishing up on your make up, your phone rang.

"Hey!" you greeted, at the same time Tooru said, "Holy shit."

You frowned, wondering what he meant by that. "How do I look?"

"I'd marry you if only I was straight," he said, face flat.

You gaped, shocked by his words before your face heated up like a stupid teenager, regardless of his stated preferences. He must've realized the effect of his words because he chuckled. You rolled your eyes, before glaring at him as you focused your attention back on your lips. "You just woke up. Wait 'til your brain fully operates, idiot."

"I am awake," Tooru declared, even as he was blatantly yawning on screen.

"Try again next time," you chided. Why was it so difficult to choose the right shade of red lipstick?

Frustrated, you held up the two tubes.

"Burgundy," was Tooru's immediate reply.

You grinned, before following Tooru's suggestion.

Once that was done, you leaned back, looking at yourself in the mirror. Dressing up wasn't really your thing, always preferred the comfort of shirts and jeans, but seeing your reflection in the mirror, you realized those gruelling fashion sessions with Tooru were worth it. Tooru seemed to agree because he was busy whistling loudly through the speaker. You were about to tell him off, but the shrill sound of the doorbell rang throughout the apartment, making you jump.

"What the hell," you muttered, forehead creasing. You placed a hand on your chest, trying to soothed the spiked heart rate.

"Is someone at the door?" Tooru asked. "Do you have a date?"

"I don't, but Hiroshi-san's going to pick me up at 6," you answered. The time on your phone said 5:35. "She's awfully early," you noted and Tooru laughed.

"If this is your landlord, I'm ditching your place and book a hotel," you joked as you reached the entryway at the same time the front door swung open. The door smacked your hand as it swung forward, revealing the intruder.

Tooru's words were drowned by the loud ringing in your ears as the world dissolved to tiny particles, sounds flattening to a shrill static. You barely registered the pain on your hand, overtaken by waves of something much more stronger and bigger. Like dying and living at the same time, in each passing second.

With the last breath you held inside you, you whispered, "Hajime."

then • now  • next

[kitkat1003]

Where the Sea Meets Earth

Ao3 Link

Summary: 

Tang's life has fallen into a steady, comfortable routine, one he feels no need to change.  

So he doesn’t.

Until he has to.

Note: Hi!  Lowkey used an idea from @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off  when it came to Pigsy's rival.  They make great content, give them a look!  As always, shout out to my beta reader, @imnotcameraready, the most kind and patient editor out there.  She edited this all in one night, the mad lad.  Send love her way!!  She goes by UncrownedKing on Ao3, check out her stuff!  Anyway, have fun!

Tang’s routine is simple.  Get up, watch Pigsy make breakfast.  Steal an egg or two that Pigsy definitely didn’t make in preparation for such thievery.  Follow Pigsy around as the noodle shop is set up for the morning.  Listen to the hiss of oil in a hot wok, water bubbling in a tall pot, knife against the wooden cutting board, each slice precise with practice.  

Admire the way Pigsy’s arms bulge with muscle as he lifts heavy boxes of spices, meat and vegetables.  Watch the sweat on his brow build up as he tosses the ingredients in the wok, stirs the broth, sticks a pinkie in before pulling it out to taste the concoction, tilting his head to the side in thought every time before reaching for a different spice—

Chuckle when MK scrambles down the stairs, a second before being late.  Wave back when MK greets him enthusiastically.  Listen to Pigsy bark orders.  Watch MK vanish out the store door, listen to the sound of the delivery cart starting up.  Wait for the customers to come in.

Sometimes, between the breakfast and lunch rush, he will vanish into the town.  He’ll peruse the shelves of a bookstore, maybe get a book or two.  Then, he’ll come back to the restaurant and watch Pigsy work until closing, with the occasional interruption from MK or Mei.  Pigsy will make dinner, and they’ll eat while watching TV before ending the night, asleep next to each other.

It’s a steady routine, one Tang feels no need to change.  

So he doesn’t.

Routines are brought on by repeated motions and consistent action.  He finds himself considering them more and more, these days. Tang follows the lines back, through time, to trace where each routine began, as Pigsy yells at MK to get going.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He lives off a trust fund from his late parents, as well as a few checks from his work in historic preservation.  His family has passed down the stories of old for years, and he knows them well and by heart, because at 18 his memories had come flooding in, and suddenly he was older than time itself and yet just old enough to have sake enough that creating books and speaking on historical inaccuracies is easy to turn into a living.  

A few years ago, he gave it up because it hadn’t seemed important to bother anymore after his parents died.  The next year he’d wasted time coasting through town after town, sharing random tales for a meal, trying to forget that he was alone, until….

Two years ago, he watched Pigsy throw a customer out of his shop, threatening the unruly guest within an inch of his life, and thought Well then.  Something interesting.

Tang had actually gone to the rival noodle shop first. It seemed a bit more inviting.  Pigsy, for all his culinary achievements, is still very closed off, and his shop certainly reflects that.  Sometimes, Tang wonders if Pigsy would get more customers if he’d change his attitude, but he never brings it up, because what would Pigsy’s Noodles be without Pigsy?

He watches from afar a few days, until the Pigsy’s rival shop owner not so subtly nudges him over, and the moment he walks in, he’s knocked to the ground by a very exuberant noodle delivery boy.

“Oh my gosh!  I’m so sorry—are you alright?” Tang sits himself upright to the sound of frantic apologies, seeing a kid no older than 18 fretting over him as if he’d been stabbed instead of simply knocked over.  

“It’s fine,” he starts, a little annoyed but not rude enough to make the boy more panicked than he already looks to be.

“MK, what did you do?!” Comes the familiar gruff voice from the kitchen, and the boy—MK, Tang has gathered—helps him stand as the chef walks out of the kitchen, hands on his hips.

“I didn’t notice him coming in—I just knocked into him—it was an accident!” Tang worries, then, because MK seems scared, but those worries are swept away when the chef takes a deep breath and slowly, his stance relaxes.

“It’s fine, kid, just get those deliveries out, ‘kay?” his voice is so gentle, Tang remembers now he was taken aback. Now it feels so natural for Pigsy’s voice to be gentle.  “I’ll take care of this.”

MK nods to that, jittery and anxious, and walks out with a forced slowness that Tang can tell is from worry and guilt.  Once he’s left, Tang turns back to Pigsy, who lets out a breath and mutters something about how ‘this kid is gonna be the death of me’ before looking up at Tang with what Tang later learned is his customer service expression.

“Alright, c’mon in.  Welcome to Pigsy’s Noodles, home of the longest noodles.” 

At that, Tang has to snort.  He saunters over to the barstools and sits as Pigsy goes back behind the counter, into the kitchen.

“I don’t know if long is the metric you want to brag about,” he snarks, settling easily.

Pigsy grunts in reply, already back to cooking.

Two minutes later, Tang gets a bowl of noodles placed in front of him.

“On the house,” Pigsy grouches, before Tang even thinks to reach into his coin purse.  “For the trouble.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very sound business practice,” Tang laughs, taking a sip of the broth after it cools a little.  

It was the best he had ever tasted.

“Don’t get any ideas about it.” Pigsy fidgets with his chef’s hat, face settling into a scowl, and yet Tang can tell it was all bluster with no substance.

He pulls a pair of chopsticks out of the free container, snaps them apart, and eats as customers flit in and out of the shop.

Despite the fact that he never stays in one place for too long, Tang finds himself sticking around more than just a few weeks, trailing through the streets and eventually finding himself back at the noodle shop.  The noodles are delicious, cheap, and he finds the company of the chef a comfortable one.

Things get far more interesting when the delivery boy, MK, comes down late and gets an earful for it.

“Sorry—I stayed up late drawing the autobiography of Monkey King and I missed my alarm!” MK bows in apology, frantic, and Pigsy runs a hand over his face, pointing MK to a dirty table to clean.  

MK gets to work quickly, but Tang turns to him with a curious expression.

“You like Monkey King?” he asks, and he hears Pigsy groan from the kitchen.

“Here we go,” Pigsy mutters, but he does nothing to stop MK from turning to face Tang with a wide, blinding smile on his face.

“Do I!  He’s so cool, and strong, and handsome, and interesting!  I’ve watched the animated series like, fifteen times!” he rushes up to Tang, pushing a very worn, bound together book.

Tang flips through it, more out of politeness than anything else, and finds himself pleasantly surprised by the intricacy of the sketches, the love poured into pages, notes on the stories themselves scrawled out next to the drawings.

“This is...surprisingly accurate,” He glances over at MK, who preens at the praise.

“Thanks!  I’ve been drawing these, since, like, forever!  It’s going to be Monkey King’s autobiography.  Uh, unofficially, anyway,” MK rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.  Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It’s always nice to see the younger generation so interested in history,” Tang grins with pride as he adds,  “You know, I know essentially every Monkey King story.  I even wrote an academic paper on them.  Published.”

He watches MK’s excitement grow. “Really?!  Oh my gosh, that’s so cool!  Can you tell me one?  Pretty please?!” He’s bouncing on his toes, and Tang can’t help but chuckle.

“I could tell you a tale or two,” he starts, watching as the shine in MK’s eyes grow.  “But I need something in return.  A bowl of noodles, perhaps?”

MK’s smile drops, and he fidgets.

“I don’t know if I have the money…” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and then he turns to Pigsy, a question in his eyes.

“No,” Pigsy says, immediately. 

Tang has never seen someone use puppy dog eyes like a weapon before, but MK pulls them off like a pro.

MK’s hands are clasped together. “Please?”

“I got bills to pay, kid!  I can’t be giving free meals to strangers!”

“Well, I’m hardly a stranger,” Tang teases, smile widening when Pigsy reddens.  “We met yesterday, remember~?”

“Shut yer yap,” Pigsy grinds out, but Tang has seen Pigsy far angrier, from his reconnaissance days at the shop across the street, so he isn’t worried.

Pigsy turns back to MK, mouth clearly open to rebuff the kid, but MK’s puppy dog eyes have been turned up past 100%.  Tang watches as Pigsy crumbles beneath their gaze.

“Fine,” he grits it out between clenched teeth.  “But this is a one time thing!  I don’t have time for freeloaders around here.  And not now!  I got ten orders to make, that you have to take out,” he points to MK, who is nodding his head so quickly his face becomes a blur.

“Okay!  So, in like an hour, okay Mr.Tang?” he turns to Tang, who grins, calm as ever.

“I’ll be here,” he responds, voice even, and MK busies himself with cleaning up the tables before Pigsy hands him the orders.

When MK disappears, Pigsy sighs.

“You know, pretty sure it’s rude to use kids to get free food,” he says, and Tang can only chuckle again.

“I’m not sure what you mean.  I’ve used my knowledge to score many a meal before, this is no different.  You’d be surprised what people will give for an interesting story.”

Pigsy snorts, at that, and rolls his eyes.“You a good storyteller, at least?” he asks, and Tang puffs out his chest proudly.

“The best.” After all, his papers got him a pretty good amount of wealth, so he’d hope he’s good enough to earn that.

Pigsy turns back to his prep work, shaking his head, but Tang sees the barest hint of a smile, before Pigsy turns away.

Despite protests from Pigsy, Tang comes back the next day with another story and receives the same free bowl of noodles.  He doesn’t get noodles every day, not stupid enough to think that Pigsy could afford to give him one daily, but he appears at the noodle shop every day regardless, if only to watch the hustle and bustle of the place, watch Pigsy work.

Pigsy works with practiced motions, not a single measuring cup or spoon appearing in his hand.  Pinches, handfuls of colorful spices thrown in with fresh vegetables.  Tang watches him string out the noodles from fresh made dough, dropping them in the broth, stirring, always test tasting, constantly adding something else, another pinch of spice, until he’s only somewhat satisfied.

It’s a familiar feeling.  The need to constantly make better, the chase for perfection.  Is it any wonder, then, that Pigsy’s shop thrives?  Customers learn that deliveries are often better than eating in, because Pigsy’s attitude is abrasive and he’s loud in the kitchen. Regardless, he runs a big enough business and makes good money, enough to keep MK as an employee despite MK’s many missteps.

Tang learns, through snippets of conversations, that MK lives upstairs.  Pigsy gave him the job and the room.  MK doesn’t talk of his parents, or any of his family really, but he has a friend, Mei.

Mei is as loud as MK is, and she’s familiar in the same way Pigsy.  These people he meets at the noodle shop who come for company just like he does, lives slotting into each other with ease.  Talking to them is like picking up a conversation left off a thousand years ago, stumbling only for a second before falling into the familiar groove.

Tang slowly learns the group dynamic, learns that MK’s parents haven’t spoken to him since he was kicked out, that Mei stays as far away from her home as she can for as long as possible, that Pigsy has nothing to his name besides his shop and himself.

Sees the family, the foundation, centered around the little hole in the wall restaurant, and keeps himself rooted, just for a little while.

The shop is closed every third Sunday of the month.  That is the only day that it is consistently closed.  Pigsy works seven days a week, twelve hours a day, without fail, except for that third Sunday.  Tang forgets, one month, and catches Pigsy heading out in the early morning.

“What, forgot you can’t steal food today?” Pigsy greets him with a frown that softens into something like a smile.

“Maybe I don’t come for the food,” is Tang’s snappy reply, and he watches with satisfaction as Pigsy pauses, thinks, and then turns a dusty rose color.

Turns out, Pigsy’s ears blush with his cheeks.  “Anyway, going on a walk?  I might join you,” he turns.

Pigsy stares at him, as if he can’t tell if Tang is serious or not, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and starts walking.  “I’m going shopping.  Don’t get in my way,” is the response, and Tang takes it for the acceptance of the company that it is, and catches up to Pigsy with ease, stepping in time with him.

The perks of having long legs.

Tang watches as Pigsy charges his way into the market, eyes sharp for the best ingredients, the ripest vegetables—or, the vegetables soon to be ripe, to save for the later weeks.  He gets a practiced amount for every ingredient that goes into his food.

“Have to get the meat weekly, but the produce can last if I make it,” Pigsy explains, and Tang nods.

“That makes sense.  I never notice a drop in quality, regardless of the week,” he comments.

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure anything tastes great to a freeloader,” he grumbles.

“I’ll have you know I have a refined palette,” Tang huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Pigsy laughs then, raucous and loud, a sound Tang has never heard from him before.  His heart pitter-patters quickly in his chest, and he thanks everything that his scarf hides his face and that Pigsy is short enough to not be able to spot his blush.

“Okay, wise guy,” Pigsy’s voice draws him back in.  “You ever cooked yourself a meal before, then?” He elbows Tang gently, or as gentle as Pigsy is able to be, and Tang stumbles a bit before replying.

“Well…,” his voice alludes to the obvious answer, and Pigsy laughs at him all over again.

Tang decides he likes the sound.

A few months after Tang has cemented his spot at the noodle bar, Pigsy goes to usher him out of the shop one evening as he closes for the night and stops, right before heading up the stairs. He turns to Tang with an unplacable look.

“Where are you even staying?” Pigsy asks.  “Not a resident, I think I’d’ve noticed a newcomer that was moving in.”

Tang shrugs at the thought. “Wherever.” 

Typically, he’ll head out to a busy bar and ingratiate himself to someone, convince them to let him join their party, and sleep on a random couch.  He’s always gone before anyone wakes up, to be sure he misses the questions that would come from the house’s inhabitants.  If he can’t manage that, well, he’s not above sleeping on a bench somewhere.  It isn’t cold out yet, so he doesn’t worry about it.

Tang very well could get an apartment, with the amount of money he has saved.  He could, but then he’d be trapped.

He’d have to say that he’s settling down, that a place is going to become home.  And no place has really been home, not since his parents died and he walked through empty hallways and empty rooms that once meant something and now meant nothing to anyone besides himself.  He’d sold the house, stored the memories away, burned the rest and ran before the smoke cleared.

How could he stay, when there was nothing left? He’d settled in for the long hall, cemented himself as something soft like the earth, and then it had been ripped away from him like roots, tearing up the soil and leaving a mess in its wake.

So he became stone, and left without a word.

Pigsy stares at him, something almost like concern on his face.  Tang watches Pigsy’s eyes glance up towards the stairs, and then back to him.  Deliberating.  Tang tilts his head to the side, ever curious about the concern.  He knows Pigsy cares, and he knows Pigsy, beyond the gruff exterior, is pretty soft, but he’s surprised by this development.  He didn’t think that care would be extended to, in Pigsy’s words, a freeloader.

Then, Pigsy sighs.

“I’ve got a couch, if you’re interested,” he says, and Tang

Tang just follows Pigsy up to his apartment.  There’s a hallway at the top of the stairs, a door they pass by that Tang can hear pop music playing in.

“MK’s place,” Pigsy says, before Tang can ever ask the question.

They reach Pigsy’s apartment door, at the end of the hall, and head in.

It’s a cluttered space.  Well, everything save for the kitchen is cluttered.  The kitchen is pristine, so much so that the rest of the apartment pales in comparison.  It’s not dirty, there’s no trash or dishes left out, but there are just random items, magazines, cookbooks strewn about the rest of the living space.

“Sorry about the mess.” Pigsy says as he pulls off his chef’s hat and coat, hanging it up by the door. He takes off his dress shoes, and pulls out a pair of slippers from a bin, putting them to walk on the carpet.  He glances back at Tang expectantly.  Tang pulls off his scarf and hangs it up.

“It’s no problem.  I wasn’t an expected guest, I’m guessing?”

Tang takes off his shoes and pulls a pair of slippers from the bin.  He isn’t surprised by the kitchen being clean, but he is a bit confused by the clutter.  Pigsy takes care to keep his work space pristine, scrubbing it to sparking at the end of each work day.  Perhaps this is a product of that, and Pigsy just is too tired to care as much in a space that is more his than it is his profession.

Somehow, that makes Tang concerned.  He can’t pinpoint why.

Pigsy pulls off the random items from the couch, throwing them aside but scattering them further.  He grunts in response to the rhetorical question.

“I’m gonna get a pillow and blanket.  Don’t break anything.”  Pigsy trudges off, and Tang looks at the clutter, and then at the perfectly good, half empty bookshelf.

By the time Pigsy gets back, Tang is sliding the last book onto the shelf.  There’s still the other items that are less easy to categorize, but Tang would be remiss if he left perfectly good reading material to collect dust on the floor.

Pigsy opens his mouth to say something, and then abruptly closes it.  He tosses the pillow and blanket on the couch.

“Uh...bathroom’s down the hall on your left.  Night.” 

Then, he vanishes into his room.

Tang finishes cleaning, and then goes to bed himself.

It becomes part of the routine.  Pigsy never demands he come upstairs, but he never shuts the door on Tang, either, and Tang will never shoot down a free place to stay.  Pigsy gets used to him, even.  Sees Tang sitting on the couch, makes dinner, hands Tang a plate whatever it is and drops down on the couch to watch TV.

If it isn’t making fun of trash TV, Pigsy screams at cooking shows.

“You can’t just throw onion in it and expect it to work out!” he shouts.

Tang laughs.  “Very bold from the guy who only serves one type of dish.”

Pigsy turns red.  “I can make other food!” The argument is sound.

“I know,” Tang assures him, taking a bite of the steak salad Pigsy prepared.  It’s the best he’s ever tasted.  “You just choose not to, which I don’t understand.  Why only noodles?”

The question throws Pigsy off guard, and Tang waits patiently for him to collect his thoughts.  Finally, Pigsy sighs.

“They’re what I like to eat, I guess.  Besides, if I made a full scale restaurant, I’d hafta get more cooks, hire waiters, ugh,” Pigsy looks disgusted just thinking about it.  “The kitchen’s my place, I don’t trust any two bit cook to get it.  I mean, just look at the ones on TV!” 

He gestures to the television, as if Tang hasn’t been watching. Tang nods, glances at the screen anyway.  “I like how the shop is.  It’s small, but it’s good.  Bigger doesn’t mean better.” 

At that, Tang has to laugh.  “You would think that,” he responds, and at Pigsy’s confused look, he gestures to Pigsy’s stature.

“Shut up,” Pigsy says with a blush. Tang can’t stop laughing, and Pigsy cracks a smile.

Living with Pigsy, Tang finds out, means dealing with all of Pigsy.  This includes the moments where Pigsy can no longer keep a lid on his already hair-thin temper.

The clutter of the house suddenly makes sense when he comes up to the apartment to see Pigsy throwing books around the room, raging face red and pained and furious in a way Tang has never seen before.

“Bastards!” Pigsy shouts, voice hoarse.  

He’s been clearly shouting for a while.  His knuckles are bruised, and Tang spots a few dents in the wall.  

“I’ll kill em!  I-,” He freezes, upon seeing Tang standing by the door.  

Tang watches as Pigsy reigns in his rage, somehow, forcing his shoulders to drop, standing up straight, letting out a breath.  It looks painful.

“I see something’s bothering you,” Tang comments, direct and gentle as one can be when trying to talk to someone on the precipice of blind rage, as Pigsy breathes heavily.

“Leave.” Pigsy spits it out with a vitriol that is not aimed at Tang, but at something Tang isn’t a part of.  

Tang knows this, and he won’t let Pigsy drown in it.  He stands still, as the storm rages in blue eyes.

“No,” he is stone, hands clasped together.  Pigsy grits his teeth, clenches his fists.  The wave rises and crashes down.

“GET OUT!”

It’s loud enough to make Tang wince, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

At that, Pigsy goes boneless, slumping down on himself.  Tang steps forward, carefully, quietly, and directs Pigsy to the untouched couch.

Untouched because it’s Tang’s bed, Tang’s space.  Because Pigsy would only destroy himself and his things, would only rage at the things he deems worthy, and Tang wonders, why does Pigsy think himself worthy of this hatred, the anger that sits in Pigsy’s heart?

Pigsy sinks into the cushions.  Tang takes his bruised hands and holds them, letting Pigsy breathe.

“MK’s folks,” Pigsy finally spits out.  “They found out the kid’s got a good job and an okay place, and now they want a cut of his earnings.”

The tone of Pigsy’s voice is nothing short of derisive, and Tang understands the fury now.  It’s funny, that he knows Pigsy enough to tell the difference between rage that’s performative and fury that’s real, but it’s not that hard for him.  

Fury like this comes from care, and there is no one Pigsy cares more about than MK.  MK, the boy with the sunshine smile who likes Monkey King and drawing and will work himself to death for anyone’s approval.

“I’d have told em to shove it, but MK’s got a soft heart, and they told him it was paying back for all the trouble they had raising him.” Pigsy laughs, and it’s very, very bitter.  “Like they raised him.  Mei probably was a better parent than they were, and she’s his age.  Bastards.”

Tang swallows the information, takes a deep breath.  He wouldn’t consider himself easily angered, but this?  This makes him furious.  He doesn’t express his fury like Pigsy does, isn’t destructive, is cold and quiet and deadly.  But he saves that for later, for when he can look up MK’s parents and figure out how to ruin them when it comes to their jobs, their social standings, their lives.

“Technically, that could be charged as harassment,” he suggests. 

Pigsy snorts at that, at least.

“Yeah, but MK’s only 17.  He’s turning 18 in a few months, but until then they could drag him back, charge me with kidnapping, ruin his whole life just because he isn’t their fucking lap dog,” The rage returns, and Tang watches as Pigsy carefully clenches his fists, as if he were too quick about it he could hurt Tang. 

It strikes Tang, then, that he has never been afraid that Pigsy would hit him.  It never crossed his mind.  Because how could it?

“I’m gonna commit a felony,” Pigsy mutters.  

Tang snickers.  “I’ll drive,” he responds.  

Pigsy looks up at him, and Tang hopes the expression on his face bleeds the sincerity he feels.

“As if I’d let you anywhere near the driver’s seat of my car,” Pigsy smirks as he says it, and he relaxes a bit more, the anger draining out of him like water through a sieve.

Tang wasn’t aware that he was tense himself, but he relaxes a bit, too.

“But you’ll get blood on the steering wheel.  And besides, it’s no fun not having a criminal record.  I ought to start it sometime, right?”

“You don’t know anything about me, if you think this’ll be the beginning of my record,” Pigsy half laughs.

Tang shrugs. “You’re right.  But, I’d like to.” 

Pigsy looks up at him, then, the red in his face smoothing to something dusty and rosy and beautiful.  Tang looks away first.  “But, first, you need some ice and bandages for your hands.”  He gets up to grab it.

When he comes back, Pigsy tells him all about the boy who would come in with exact change for the cheapest bowl of noodles, once a week every Friday.  How the boy would ramble on and on about everything, and Pigsy would listen out of politeness, and somehow that turned to a fondness he couldn’t shake.  How that boy came rushing in, half soaked in the rain, hiding out just for the moment before he was going to keep running. How Pigsy had thrown caution to the wind and moved mountains to get the kid to stay.

Tang listens, disinfecting the areas on Pigsy’s knuckles that are cut instead of just being bruised.  He wraps them, gentle, and places ice on both.  Even then, he doesn’t let go of the hands, lets them settle in his grip like they’d always belonged there.

“You’re a kind person, you know,” he says, when Pigsy is done.  And he means it, too, thinking of MK alone on the streets, thinking of MK turning out like he did but without the funds to support him, a drifter with nothing and no one.  It makes his stomach churn.

“Nah,” Pigsy shrugs his shoulders.  “Just had a lot of time to get into practice with it.”

He doesn’t elaborate.  Tang lets the conversation end, and turns on the TV.  He cleans up the room when Pigsy falls asleep.

Pigsy makes him noodles the next day, without comment.  Tang smiles and eats.

A lot of people miscategorize Pigsy as fire.  Tang would like to propose a different point of view.

When he sees Pigsy, he sees the sea.

The ocean is never calm, but it can fall into a rhythm.  Small waves, rippling waters.  Crashing against the obstacle that is land, constantly pushing, constantly trying, constantly moving.

Pigsy will rage like a storm, he will shine like water in the sun, and he will fall into a rhythm as he works.  He will push back against the rock that is indifference, and, like the ocean, he surrounds anything and everything, connecting every person he comes into contact with, as if they were the continents themselves. He ebbs and flows, forcing himself into the issues that plagues those he cares about, and yet pulls back and gives them space, never demanding anything other than their time, if they could give it.

The ocean is not harsh, nor is it merciful, but it is a force of nature all the same.  And, if you weather its storms, it will carry you wherever you need to go.

And Tang sees a man who gives MK a reason to stick around when all MK wanted to do is run, Tang sees a man who never lets Mei skip a meal regardless of her status and wealth, Tang sees a man that makes sure Tang has a warm and safe place to stay, and sees the ocean carrying battered ships to shore.

Learning about MK’s family has opened up certain topics.  Tang knows it’s only a matter of time before Pigsy asks about his life.  That doesn’t stop him from stiffening, from going stone faced, when Pigsy finally brings it up.

“I don’t hear you talk about your folks,” Pigsy mentions offhandedly.

When he turns around and sees the expression on Tang’s face, he frowns.

“No,” Tang responds. 

He says nothing else.  Pigsy doesn’t press.  Just turns back to making dinner.  And Tang stares at his reflection in the teacup.  He takes a sip.  It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t feel it.  

“They died.  Nearly two years, now,” he finally says, and it’s like dropping a weight off of his shoulders.  

Pigsy grunts in acknowledgment.  Doesn’t give him the sad stare, the ‘oh I’m so sorry’, he just glances back with something softer than pity and closer to empathy.

Somehow, it lessens the dull ache in his chest.

“They good ones?” Pigsy asks.

Tang smiles, just a little.  “Yes,” he breathes, and it hitches, thinking about how they pushed him forward, how they never demanded but always encouraged.  Tang wasn’t good at making friends, not close ones anyway.  But that never mattered, because his parents were there.

And now…

“Mine are gone too,” Pigsy says, after some time and mostly as an afterthought.  “It ain’t easy, dealing with it.”

Tang huffs a wet laugh, pushing up his glasses to wipe his eyes.“No, it isn’t,” He responds.

Pigsy slides a bowl yanduxian soup, with some some skewers of meat, and sugar coated haws for dessert.  Quite the array of a meal.  Pigsy sits across from him, and starts in on his own meal.

Tang eats.  It’s the best he’s ever tasted, as always.

Looking up at Pigsy, something in his chest warms.  He thinks about his parents and it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.

“I think they’d have liked you, if you’d met them,” he says, softer than he feels, because he’s never said anything about love but this is as close as he can get.

Pigsy looks up, cheeks glowing, and he smiles and Tang melts, just a little. 

The apartment becomes lived in.  During one of their shopping trips, Pigsy gets Tang a different outfit, muttering something about Tang needing something to wear when his clothes are being washed.  Two outfits becomes three, becomes four, all hung up right beside Pigsy’s sleep shirts and chef coats.  Tang gets his own toothbrush.

He buys himself books and they fill up the empty space on the bookshelves.  He buys alcohol, stores it in Pigsy’s fridge and laughs off the comments about his poor taste in baijiu.  He was never one to settle in, he never thought he could again, but slowly Pigsy’s apartment becomes their apartment and the change in his mind as he thinks of it leaves him wide eyed and spiraling.

Pigsy takes it all in stride, greeting Tang in the morning with something on his face that looks...pleased?  Tang doesn’t understand it, and yet it makes his face feel warm when he thinks about it.

The winter months roll in, because while they have a weather tower to regulate weather it does not mean that they can ignore the need for seasons, and the apartment becomes colder.

“Do you not have A/C?” he curls up tight, beneath his blanket, and still shivers.

Pigsy rolls his eyes.  “Maybe if you didn’t freeload all the time, I could afford to use it!”

Later, Tang will find this all as a facade.  He knows Pigsy would never blame him for being without the funds to pay for heating.  In fact, the noodle shop does better in the winter months, because of the desire for warm, filling food to combat the chill.  He will later find out that Pigsy forgoes the A/C in his apartment to save up money to give MK a yearly Christmas bonus, both as a present and so MK can heat up his room.

In the moment, however, he just turns away with a huff.

Pigsy sighs.  “The bed’s warmer,” he says. 

Tang stares, blankly, until it finally hits him what Pigsy is suggesting.  “Why, you cad!  Trying to bed me when we’ve barely courted!” He leans back on the couch dramatically.

“Shut up!” Pigsy looks very flustered, and Tang grins, leading Pigsy to snap some more.  “You were the one complaining about being cold!”

Tang sips his tea, and shrugs.  Pigsy turns back to dinner to hide his blushing face.

That night, he moves to sleep in Pigsy’s bed.  It’s a pretty large one, it isn’t as if there isn’t room for the both of them.  The move is purely practical, after all.

Pigsy sleeps in a tank top and boxers.  Tang wonders if the tank top is for his sake.  They both get in the bed very stiff, neither wanting to acknowledge what’s happening. Tang curls up under covers, back to Pigsy.  The bedroom is indeed warmer.  Tang imagines the small heater sitting in the corner is likely the reason.

He turns his head.  Pigsy is already asleep, trails of light from the outside signs segmenting his face.  He’s snoring.  He looks calm.

Tang stares for longer than he thinks he should, before he lets his eyes slide shut.

It becomes routine.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As whole, as Tang reminisces on the moments bringing him to his position, he’s quite glad he decided to stick around.  It’s a strange place, this city, full of danger and mystery, now that MK is the monkie kid, now that the demons are free, but at the same time little has changed, and that is something Tang can appreciate.  Every morning he settles at the noodle shop and lets life continue, predictable, comfortable.

And maybe that’s his mistake.  That he thinks he can coast forever.  The sea is many things, but predictable is not one of them.  

The downfall starts when Mei mentions that one of her aunts has been trying speed dating.

“She made the mistake of signing up for the straight couple’s night.  She told me that when she realized, she left faster than the speed date itself!” Mei taps her fingers on the noodle bar, giggling along with MK at the thought.

“Speed dating doesn’t make sense.  I mean, how can you figure out if you like someone in a minute?” MK crosses his arms over his chest and ponders.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I knew I liked you in sixty seconds,” Mei boops Mk on the nose, and he laughs, before making a face.  There’s a mixture of emotions there—disgust, confusion, fear?

“Yeah, but that’s different.  We’re friends,” he stresses that last word, looking at Mei expectantly. “Just friends.”

“Well, duh!  I was just saying,” Mei rolls her eyes.

Tang watches the tension roll out of MK like a breeze.  He wonders...but will never waste an opportunity to snark, so he sets the thoughts aside for a moment and leans back on the counter.

“I’m sure I could charm anyone in sixty seconds.  Where is this happening, exactly?” he asks.

Mei gives him a look. “I’m pretty sure speed dating isn’t for people who are already taken,” she tells him, and Tang blinks, confusion painting his features.

“What do you mean?” he asks.He jumps when Pigsy’s knife slams hard against the wood of the cutting board, harder than normal.  

Tang frowns. “Pigsy, you alright?”

“Peachy,” Pigsy growls out, from the kitchen.

Tang stares, before shrugging it off.  Pigsy’s moods aren’t entirely predictable, after all, and it isn’t as if anything terrible has happened today.  Pigsy’s cooking smells as heavenly as ever.

He turns back to Mei and MK, but they’re disappearing out the door, MK with the next batch of deliveries in hand.  Tang tilts his head to the side in confusion, before shrugging.

Oh well.

Pigsy is still stilted, when they head upstairs that night.  He’s quiet during dinner, quiet after dinner, and instead of watching TV he goes back to the kitchen to make a dessert.  Tang follows, sitting at the kitchen island, watching how Pigsy shuffles about, glancing occasionally at a recipe.  Cocoa powder, flour, eggs, different ingredients come out.  The oven is preheated.

“Something’s clearly bothering you,” Tang says, finally.

Pigsy stiffens.  Runs a hand down his face.  Sighs.  

He keeps working, throws the dessert in the oven, sets a careful timer.

Tang waits, and waits.

The kitchen is silent, save for the ambience.

“What is this, Tang?” Pigsy’s voice is hard, hands resting on the kitchen counter, shoulders hunched as he finally speaks up.  He sounds exhausted, from days and days of work.  Tang frowns.  “You steal food from my shop, you sleep in my house—you live with me, for pete’s sake, you—what is this that we have?”

And Tang, Tang doesn’t know what to say.  

“Is this even something?” 

He’s basked in the freedom to be himself, with Pigsy.  A label defines, a label makes you inseparable.  Tang comes and goes as he pleases, he doesn’t get pinned down, he’s one and alone, with Pigsy by his side.

He has called himself a ‘father figure’ to MK, but that is inherently different.  There’s a degree of separation, with that label.  He can still leave, and MK will not be too bereft.  MK has others, Tang is just one.  Pigsy wants more than that, he doesn’t want the separation, and Tang is always unsure.

“I just—” And there’s something quiet and breaking in Pigsy’s voice.  

Tang says nothing.

“Whatever you want from me, Tang, you have it.  I’ll-I’ll give you everything, just—” 

Blue eyes, like the constant tide of the ocean, meet earth in Tang’s brown ones.  

Tang is afraid he could erode.

If he stayed.  

What would he become, if he shifted his foundation?  

“Is there a point to this?” Pigsy asks.  “Or am I just something you keep around?  To say you have one?”

Tang knows that he is a man of words, of stories, knows he is Triptaka, is Tang Sanzang, and myriad others placed in the body of a single man, knows he has more knowledge in an inch of his brain than most gain in their entire lives, but he has nothing to say now.  

His thoughts halt at the wounded expression on Pigsy’s face.

More than just anger and softer than just hurt, settled between an aching heart and a broken one.

“I…,” he starts, and then his mouth clicks shut, because he is, before and now, a coward eventually.  

Whether he is captured by demons or putting his foot down against others’ bad behavior, he falters.  And he is terrified, because the swell of his heart, the affection that warms him enough to burn, is too much to bear, to articulate.

So instead, he says nothing at all.

And he knows he’s erred, because Pigsy turns his back as the timer dings.

He pulls the set of mini cakes from the oven, sets them down on the counter with forced gentleness.  Tang flinches at the harsh bang of the oven closing.  Watches Pigsy’s chest rise and fall with harsh breaths that hitch with an emotion Tang can’t place, before Pigsy swallows, steels himself, stills.  Clenches his fists as if readying himself for a fight.  Tang doesn’t know what the battle is, wonders what side he’s on.

“Forget it.” He hears, finally, and Tang feels his heart jump in his throat.

The words sound like a relent, like something giving way.  It strikes him like a spear through the chest, and he suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

The mini cakes cool in a few minutes, but it may as well be hours with how silent and still the kitchen is, and Pigsy sets one on a plate for Tang, placing it in front of him with a fork. Chocolate lava cake, something Tang had mentioned off handedly as an interesting dessert to try.  Of course Pigsy remembered.  Why wouldn’t he?

Pigsy vanishes into his room.  The door slams shut.  Tang eats.

It’s the best he’s ever tasted, like always.

He sleeps on the couch.  It’s cold.

Pigsy doesn’t open the shop, the next day.  Tang leaves early in the morning, before breakfast, to give him some space, and comes back from his leisurely morning walk to a closed sign hanging on the door.  Unlike the last time, MK waves at Tang, hopping down the stairs excitedly.  Pigsy gave him the day off, because Pigsy isn’t feeling well, apparently.

Tang sees the worried lines in MK’s expression and promises he will make sure Pigsy is okay.  MK runs off, to meet Mei at the arcade, and Tang heads up the stairs.  He passes MK’s apartment door and stands in front of Pigsy’s door.

He knocks.

“Pigsy?” He calls, loud enough that he can’t be missed.  “It’s me.  Can I come in?”

Silence.

Tang doesn’t know how to handle rejection, didn’t think it possible, from Pigsy.  In the two years they’ve known each other, he has never been rebuffed.  Has never been told, in no uncertain terms, to leave.  Pigsy has shouted it without heat, before, but it has never rang true.

He stands outside the door for twenty minutes, trying to swallow something akin to fear crawling up his chest, as he slowly realizes the door isn’t going to open.  He waits another ten minutes after that, processing the realization, the pain in his chest.

“Alright,” He says, finally, and he prays Pigsy doesn’t hear how his voice shakes.  “Get well soon.  I’ll see you in the shop.”

He should demand to be let in.  He should kick down the door, do something.  Be bold, be brave, courageous.

But he never was a fighter, so he turns on his heel, and leaves what is left of their relationship on the welcome mat.

He walks through the city, again, because he has nothing better to do now.  There is no comfort from stepping into the noodle shop and feeling like home.  There is no barstool with his name on it, no random bowl of noodles appearing at his seat inconspicuously, no begging for a story from MK, no fond looks from blue eyes in the kitchen.  

Tang had settled into routines and expectations.  The rug has been pulled from beneath his feet as he tries to grasp the idea that the comforts have crashed into dysfunction.  He tracks every minute of the two years he’s spent here, tries to trace the beginning of the end like a true crime investigator, and still, he can’t decipher why the equilibrium shattered.

Change is a product of existence, Comes a memory from his days as a monk.  You must let life flow like a river, accepting the directions it will take.

But Tang isn’t a monk anymore, and he is not flowing like a river or any such nonsense that sounds far more like what Sandy would say.  He is analytical, he is intelligent, he is knowledgeable.  Despite all of that, he is stumped by this situation, by what he is to do.

The answer, of course, is the simplest, but Tang is pretending not to be ignoring it, because acknowledging the solution means making a choice he can’t undo.  To decide if he wants this to be set in stone.  Can he tie himself down like this, can he make that choice to stay, forever if it comes to it?

At the same time, hasn’t he already?  Just a day without being able to go into the noodle shop leaves him aimless.  A day without Pigsy and he is lost, without much to do or see.  He has centered himself about the warm air of noodles and the gruff smile of the chef making them.

And that is so, so terrifying.  When you give everything, when someone is your everything, what happens when they leave?  He’s dealt with that enough with his parents, and to become a pair, to be a part of something, he doesn’t think he has the strength for it.

But Pigsy gives and gives, and promised Tang everything, if only Tang would stay.  And Tang is a coward, but not enough to ruin something so simple, so kind, and so honest.

He makes a decision, and heads to the bank.

The next day, the noodle shop opens.  Tang is there when it does, settling into his barstool without fanfare.  He follows Pigsy’s movements with sharp eyes, notes the rumpled form of his shirt, how his pants aren’t tucked into his dress shoes, how his feet shuffle against the tile instead of stomping with purpose.  Pigsy moves slow, turns to look at Tang and has bags under his eyes—or could they be red from crying?  Tang isn’t sure.

His heart aches, as Pigsy regards him with something like heartbreak.  Pigsy says nothing, turns back to his work, and Tang watches.

Step one.

He heads to the market between the lunch and dinner rushes, picks out the ingredients from memory.  He’s walked with Pigsy enough times to know what it is that he has to get.  He comes back to the shop with an armful of grocery bags, heading upstairs to their apartment.  Pigsy never locks it during the workday, and Tang uses that fact and knowledge to his advantage.

He has no idea how to do this, but he chops the vegetables and meat and sets the water to boil.  Brings forth the memories of two years of watching Pigsy make the same thing over and over, and maybe looks up a recipe or two on his phone for reference.

By the time Pigsy comes upstairs, when the shop closes, it’s ready.  Tang pours the servings into two bowls, and nearly jumps and drops everything when the door opens.

“Welcome home,” he says, braver than he feels.

Pigsy stares at him, at the bowl of steaming broth, and sets his chef’s hat on its hook.  He pulls off his shoes, puts up his chef’s coat, leaving him in a t-shirt and slacks.

Tang watches Pigsy’s movements instead of thinking about how to approach the situation.  He gets a little distracted, until Pigsy hops up onto one of the island chairs, pulling a bowl towards himself.  Tang sits across from him, waiting for Pigsy to take a sip.

Pigsy takes the chopsticks offered, as well as the spoon.  He takes a sip.  His face remains carefully neutral. 

Tang takes a sip a few moments after.  He promptly sputters into his bowl, and laughs.

“God, this is terrible!” he can’t stop laughing, and he can see a smile peeking at the edges of Pigsy’s mouth.  “I tried to make it like yours, but I guess I’m coming up short,” he glances at Pigsy, looks him up and down.  

Pigsy’s face is dusted with a pleased blush.  “Shaddup.  And hey, it ain’t worse than my first attempt at cooking.” 

Tang snorts at that one.  “I doubt that.  But, do tell.  I don’t think you’ve ever told me why you decided to become a cook in the first place, anyway.”

This is the start.  Tang makes Pigsy a meal, and Pigsy tells him a story.

That night, he sleeps next Pigsy, like usual, and traces the way the moonlight sets upon Pigsy’s face.  He needs to do more.  He needs to be more, and he’s pretty sure financial support would be somewhat helpful, so he schemes.

Step two.

A few days later, as the air between them settles into something like normal, he appears one afternoon, change in his pocket and bills in his wallet.

“A bowl of noodles, please.” He sets the money on the counter.  It’s enough for at least three bowls of noodles, but that’s by design.  

“Keep the change.” He evene winks, like it’s a joke

Pigsy eyes the money and then gets the most offended look on his face, as expected. Before he can make a move to either argue or even respond, Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and explains.

“Didn’t you know?  This month is my charity month.  I go to different establishments and pay to keep them afloat.”

Pigsy rolls his eyes.  “Pshh, I don’t need your charity to keep this place runnin’!  Pigsy’s Noodles is a thriving establishment,” he rebuffs.

“So you’re refusing my service?” Tang responds, like a challenge.

He raises a brow, and watches as Pigsy gets redder and redder.

“One bowl of noodles, coming right up,” Pigsy manages through gritted teeth.

Tang hides a laugh behind his hand as Pigsy scoops up the money and grumbles, shoving two of the bills into the cash register and one into the tip jar.

Because MK had been bemoaning a lack of sketchbook paper, a lack of money for replacing such, and just like every time MK talks about something he wants, off handed or to complain because that’s how he deals, Pigsy will take some of the money that should go to the shop into the tip jar when MK doesn’t look, smiling to himself when MK excitedly realizes that, thanks to the tip jar, he can get what it was he thought he couldn’t—

Because Pigsy gives and gives and gives, pieces of himself scattered across and holding together the people he’s chosen to keep close, regardless if Pigsy is the one who ends up falling apart in the end, and Tang wants to fill up the spaces that Pigsy has lost from his generosity.

Tang takes his bowl of noodles and smirks, like he’s won.  That night, when they’re sitting on the couch and watching TV, Pigsy leans his head on Tang’s shoulder.

“You coulda just said you wanted to start payin’ rent,” he mutters.

Tang snickers.  “Where’s the fun in that?  You got so red, I thought you were going to become a tomato.”

At that, Pigsy sits up.

“I’ll show you a tomato—c’mere!”

Maybe it’s a bit dangerous to challenge someone who knows all of your ticklish spots.  Tang laughs until he cries, and concedes to Pigsy’s victory. 

Step three doesn’t really register.  He doesn’t think about it, because the first two steps have brought him back into that comfortable routine.  Maybe he might have fallen into the same bad habits, if not for his hyperawareness of Pigsy’s moods in the following weeks.  He doesn’t want to miss something, like he did before.  He wants to be attentive, be kind.

He wants Pigsy to never again think of or ask the questions he did, that night.  He wants Pigsy to know, immediately, what they are.  Even if Tang is afraid to define it.

It’s a typical day at the shop, but Pigsy is a bit more tired than normal.  Some days, this happens.  Pigsy would never hire another chef, even though he has enough business to afford it, and being the only cook in a bustling restaurant means little breaks and consistent exhaustion.

Tang still makes them dinner, most nights.  He tries a new recipe each day, because why not?  Pigsy takes to each one like a food critic, and his descriptions have Tang in stitches every time—

“I never thought you could turn broccoli into soup.”

“Okay, so I cooked it too long!”

“You liquified a vegetable!  Without blending!  That’s like...did you use magic on this?  Tang, did you use magic on this.”

—He’s not a very good cook, yet, but Pigsy eats anything he makes anyway.

Today, Pigsy is already tired, and he clearly doesn’t have the energy to deal with an annoying customer.

He has to anyways.

“This isn’t what I ordered last time!  I ordered your original noodle bowl two weeks ago, and it tasted far better than this!” The irate woman slams her empty bowl on the counter.

Tang wonders if she understands the irony of complaining about a meal she finished.

“Ma’am, I make every bowl of noodles the same.  I’m the only cook here.  You either ordered somethin’ else, or your taste buds changed in two weeks.” Pigsy isn’t polite to customers like these, but Tang has to commend him for holding back, for still calling her ‘Ma’am’.  Tang has a few different names he’d call her.

“I know what I ordered, and my tastebuds didn’t change.  You clearly made it wrong!  I demand a refund immediately!” She shouts in his face.

Pigsy goes from pink to red.  “Look, lady, you finished your meal.  I ain’t giving you back the money for shit you ate.” He spits, and she leans back, aghast.

“The nerve!” She leans back, aghast.  “I don’t know what I expected from a pig—” 

She freezes as a pair of chopsticks sticks its way between the two angry faces.

“Excuse me,” Tang starts.  

His glasses flash, and he doesn’t bother standing.  His arm divides the space, as he leans back in his chair with a bowl in his free hand.  He pushes her back, ignores the look of confusion on Pigsy’s face.  “I suggest you get over yourself.  This behavior certainly isn’t doing anything for your looks.”

The woman leans back, crosses her arms.

“And you are?” She hisses.

“I’m his partner,” Tang says, and surprises himself with how easily the title falls out of his mouth.  “And you don’t get to talk to him that way.  If anyone is acting in poor taste, it’s you.”

Pigsy’s face is slack, his eyes are wide, and the red of anger on his face has given way to the dusty rose Tang has come to expect as Pigsy’s blush.

The woman opens her mouth, finger raised.  Tang raises his eyebrow in waiting.  But then she huffs, turns on her heel, and leaves.

Tang doesn’t give her a second thought, turning back to his own bowl of noodles—which have tasted the same in the two years he’s been eating here, so she’s full of it, clearly—before glancing over at Pigsy, who is staring at him with eyes full of something.

He has never seen Pigsy’s eyes shine like that before.

His face warms, and he buries it in his scarf and bowl.  Pigsy smiles, and turns back to work.

That night, they’re sitting on the couch after eating another concoction that could barely be called food— “You’re getting better at this.”  “You don’t have to lie to me.”  “Bold of you to assume I would spare your feelings when it comes to your cooking skills.”—and Pigsy’s hand slides away from his lap and rests on top of Tang’s.  Casual.

“My partner, huh?” Pigsy says over the buzz of the television.  

Tang flushes. “It seemed an appropriate word to use.”

“Sure.”

Pigsy’s voice holds a laugh, and Tang could leave it here, he could.   It would be far too easy to settle, to let it fall complacent.

But Tang has let the ocean lap at his heels, and now all he wants to do is dive.

“Hey,” he turns Pigsy’s face towards his, and—

Pigsy’s lips are warm.

Pigsy’s eyes are blown wide, and Tang closes his quickly, worried about the response, worried about Pigsy’s reaction.

Dimly, in the back of his head, he thinks ‘It’s the best he’s ever tasted’ and he has to squash the laugh that bubbles up his throat, because it isn’t appropriate right now.  Pigsy's snout practically crushes his nose, and the sharp hairs on his face prickle Tang's skin. 

He breaks away.  Pigsy’s smile is blinding, a rare event.  His face is flushed, both of them are flushed and Tang fidgets with his glasses.  There’s a beat of silence, as they stare at each other, before they both turn back to the TV to avoid the ever so awkward eye contact.

They watch whatever’s on, for a minute of crushing silence.

“Alright,” Pigsy finally sighs, long sufferingly fond, and he leans against Tang as if tang were his rock.  The ocean crashes against the sea, and the rock stays steady.  “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

Tang inclines his head so it’s resting on top of Pigsy’s.  The rock erodes, and becomes something new.  Moves with the ocean, given enough time.

“Where else would I get free food?”

Pigsy laughs.

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART VIII — masterlist

concept: for your birthday, chris takes you to a burlesque club, where you reunite with anthony and sebastian. the first kiss. the slowest of slow burns. part nine of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: strip tease, kissing, aNgSt

author's note: nothing i can say will prepare you for the rollercoaster you are about to endure. i hate myself for doing this to you. ya girl really popped tf off on this one.

Looking at Christopher Robert Evans, you wouldn't expect him to be someone who happened to frequent burlesque clubs.

You also wouldn't expect him to have so many tattoos, but that's what a good long sleeve jacket was for.

It would be dangerous for anyone to assume anything about Christopher Robert Evans. And yet, assumptions were made... Just like how you had assumed he would forget your birthday.

It wasn't an unfair assumption, by any means. You had only been living together for about six months, of which he was only there for a few days at a time, before jetting back out to whatever location his film shoot was at.

You were close, but at the same time, not close at all.

It was hard to think of where you stood – neither one of you could really answer that question, and should anyone corner you both separately, you'd both resignedly sigh and claim "just friends."

That was why his gift surprised you on two different levels:

One, he had remembered your birthday. Perfectly friendly enough.

Two, he had gifted you something not quite friendly in the slightest... And that was where waters got murky. But you'd be fucked if you didn't admit just how willing you were to wade into those waters – murky or not.

The box had been delivered to the house late in the morning. Chris had been gone for just over a month this time – 46 days, you were unashamedly keeping count – and his absence didn't go by unnoticed.

Everything reminded you of him, even if he didn't spend a lot of time there.

The box had been from La Perla, and just the name – gold embossed on cream – elicited a visceral reaction of excitement.

You signed for it – a little too eagerly, given the delivery boy's eyebrow raise – before dashing inside to open it.

And now, there it sat, on your bed, silk ribbon still intact.

You weren't unfamiliar with the forever coveted – and forever out of your price range – Italian lingerie brand. But knowing it was from Chris... Your fingers inched towards the ribbon.

Your phone rang, rescuing you from letting your imagination run too wild. Checking the caller I.D., you faltered. It was him.

"Hello?"

"{Your name}! Hey." If you shut your eyes, you could see his smile. "Did you get the gift?"

"Yeah," you responded, a bit more breathless than you would've liked. "Looking at it right now, actually."

"And? What do you think?"

You hadn't the heart to tell him you hadn't opened it yet. "It's..."

You heard a familiar voice in the background. Two of them, actually. "Who's that?" "Is that {your name}? Hey, yo, {your name}! Happy birthday!"

"Guys, cut it out!" Chris laughed, the reciever crackling a little. You could only imagine what was transpiring on the other end: Chris trying to wrangle himself free from his friends all clamouring to get a word in over the phone he was holding just out of reach.

You giggled. "Is that Mackie?"

"Yeah, and Seb. I'm on set with them right now. Decided to drop by, say hi to everyone. Try and convince those two delinquents to come out tonight, but after they heard where I was taking you, it wasn't much of a task. Just managed to sweet talk the producers into getting them the night off."

"It better be great tonight, Kevin really wasn't impressed!" You could hear Seb's muffled shouts from across the room, followed by a "quiet on set!" from a voice you didn't recognize.

Silence was instantaneous from the clamour you had almost gotten used to from the other end.

"Hold on," Chris' voice was hushed. "Gonna get out of their hair before they start filming again..."

You found yourself perching restlessly on the edge of your bed as you waited for Chris to return to the call. There was some shuffling on his end, quiet apologies whispered to passing strangers he was trying to skirt past.

When he got back, he was speaking normally again. "About the gift. It's a bit much, I know. Not exactly Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge! but I know how much you love that film, so I thought it'd be fun if tonight... Well, if tonight we visited something close to it."

"You're not taking me to France, are you?" Your heart was in your throat, hoping he'd say no. Not that you wouldn't love to go, it was just that you weren't ready to make a trip that big any time soon. The panic of packing would be all consuming, and that was the last thing you wanted to be doing on your birthday.

His laugh was infectious. "God, no. In this economy?"

"So, where are you taking me, then?" Your eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

"Think Moulin Rouge, but smaller and more local."

"Oh..." There was one name that came to mind – Vulpecula, the Latin word for "little fox". A burlesque club, every bit as elite as the club you used to be a waitress at.

"Oh," he agreed. Even over the phone you could see the smug smile on his face. He had recalled you mentioning how you'd always wanted to go there, but could never get in. The moment he heard that, about four months prior, he had excused himself from the conversation – having given you some perfectly justifiable explanation at the time, reasonable enough for you to not suspect anything different – and promptly booked a front seat table there for your birthday. "So, listen, I'll be home in... Let's see, they have an hour left here before they wrap, from Georgia to L.A., that's four, maybe five hours...? So let's say no more than seven hours? I should be home by dinner, have a quick shower, and be ready to meet Seb and Anthony at Vulpecula around nine for the reservation. Sound good?"

That was in... One glance at the clock on your bedside table confirmed it. Ten hours time by the looks of it.

Ten hours was more than enough time for you to pick something Vulpecula worthy and get ready. You hoped. "Sounds good."

"Alright, see you in a bit."

You said your goodbyes, the thrill of finally going to a burlesque club beginning to rise. Your thumb hovered over the "end call" button, about to press, when Chris interjected one last time.

"Oh, and {your name}? Happy birthday."

———————

True to his word, Chris was home for dinner. "Dinner" being two pizzas balancing precariously in one scopic hand – held aloft, well out of Dodger's eager jumping reach – and roses clutched firmly in the other.

"You're back."

His face lit up at your presence, tired eyes becoming wide awake once more. "Hey there, birthday girl."

You let him put down the pizza and flowers first before you sprinted into his arms. The scent that you could only reconcile with airplanes from his flight clung to him, but if you inhaled deeper, the smell that was so distinctly Chris was there too.

He chuckled, hugging you back every bit as enthusiastically, even going so far as to pick you up and spin you around, Dodger yapping excitedly at the situation.

"I missed you, you asshole."

"I missed you too," he sighed into your hair.

You pulled apart. "You have no idea how quiet it gets here when you're not around. I almost feel bad for the shampoo bottles, they haven't heard you sing in a month now and it's– What? What are you staring at?"

A stillness had overcome Chris as he held you at arm's length, hands resting just above your elbows. He was looking at you.

"Just you," he affirmed softly. There it was again, that smile. "You look gorgeous. Doesn't she look beautiful, bud?"

Dodger, suddenly bored of the interaction, dashed off to go retrieve some chew toy or another.

"Guess he doesn't think so," you shrugged, suddenly shy under that molten ocean gaze.

"Don't listen to him. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

———————

Vulpecula didn't disappoint. Your eyes were wide in awe, almost wishing they were wider so as to take in as much as you possibly could. You were right by the stage, all of you seated in plush, velvet chairs. You sat around a gold and black vintage marble-top table cluttered with empty bottles and half full drinks.

Anthony and Seb – after showering you with birthday wishes and small gifts now residing in your discarded coat pockets – were reclined in their seats, drinks in hand, talking low to one another. You had heard a snippet of their conversation in passing. They had been debating how long you and Chris would last in this will they, won't they charade.

The very thought of a will they had your eyes rolling. As if that would ever happen. You didn't need to remind yourself: friends. Just friends, nothing more.

Sultry music, moody lighting, and the hint of wine and expensive perfume mingled with French cigarette smoke all invaded your senses.

"They look amazing up there," you whispered in reverence, eyes never leaving the dancers.

Chris leaned in, shoulder brushing yours. The natural magnetic pull he had on you snapped you out of your wonderstruck state, and you tilted your head to hear him better. His breath was hot against your ear as he struggled to be heard over the music. "Not as amazing as you look right now."

You shrugged the compliment off. It wasn't lost on you, the reason he enjoyed these types of clubs. "Yeah, but I could never do what they're doing right now."

"I don't know," he cajoled. "I've seen you dance before. You've got moves."

He was referring to one particular evening where you had decided to settle your differences over The Impromptu Never Have I Ever Swim™ – namely, who was at fault – with a dance battle. But that was nothing.

You quirked an inquisitive brow. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"No suggestions here," he said, hands raised in submission. "I'm just saying you've got moves."

At your scoff, he leaned in again. You weren't entirely oblivious; the implication of his words were crystal clear: "And you could out dance anybody in this room."

"Is that a challenge, Evans?" The smirk came easy to your wine darkened lips as you brought the flute of champagne to them for a sip. You had been rather indulgent in your mixing of alcohols all night, and compliance was becoming incredibly enticing.

"You can't compete where you don't compare, and these girls don't even come close."

The dismissive wave he gave the stage had caught the attention of Anthony and Seb, and they were now listening and watching intensely, both trying to hide their amusement behind their tumblers of whiskey.

"You are challenging me," you gasped in mock disbelief.

"If anything, it's a request," Anthony had attempted to disguise his commentary behind the whiskey glass, but had failed. The whole table had heard, earning him a slap on the arm from Seb and an amused quirk of your lips. "What? I'm just saying what we're all thinking. We're all thinking it."

"I'm not about to be sweet-talked into making a fool of myself by the likes of you, Christopher," you teased, turning your attention back to Chris.

He smirked. "I dare you."

"You really don't think I'll go up there." It was more a statement than anything. He knew the need to prove him wrong would heavily outweigh your dignity, and you hated that he knew that.

He shrugged, noncommittal, but still smirking. "I have no inclination to what you will or won't do."

That was it. The thread he'd been pulling at all night had finally unravelled, and it was probably the alcohol that had dulled your better judgement, but it was your birthday, for fuck sakes, and you felt like doing something memorable and insane.

"Guard my drink."

And then you were up, making your way to the dimly lit steps leading up to the stage.

If you had been there with anyone else, you would've been escorted out immediately. But that was the thing about loyal patronage, fame, and money... You could get away with almost anything. Your status was immediately elevated just by being in their company.

Seb watched you, mouth agape, as you sashayed to the front and centre. "Holy shit, she's doing it."

Uproarious applause met your arrival as your steps pulled the attention of the audience, but you could hear and see Anthony whoop in support above them all.

"How the hell did you pull this one off, Evans?" Anthony asked as he sat back down to enjoy the show, face laminated in a permanent smile.

"What can I say? I know my girl," Chris winked.

Seb sighed, digging some cash from his pocket. "You win, I guess," he grumbled as he handed over the money to Chris.

"That's mine, thank you." Anthony plucked it from Seb's fingertips. "You too, blue eyes. Hand it over."

"But I won," Chris all but pouted, confusion creasing his brow.

"You said you could get her up there with them in ten," Anthony corrected. "I said you could do it in five if she had the right amount of Moët in her. And would you look at that..." – he plucked the near empty bottle in question from the table to display to his friends – "the perfect amount of Moët."

Chris yielded. He fished some stray bills from his pocket and paid his fee.

The entire exchange was lost on you, however, as the song changed. There was a hush over the club as the music faded, and suddenly, there was a spotlight on you. The other dancers stood back, watching you in delight.

And then the music began to play.

And you began to move.

You were mesmerizing, incredible in your command of the stage. The sway of your rolling hips, the placement of your hands, roving over your body suggestively, but not overtly sexual. That was the beauty of burlesque – it was to sell sex without outright giving it, and it was as if you'd danced there your whole life, the way it flowed so naturally through you.

"Would you look at her up there?" Anthony breathed, something akin to pride in his eyes. Your relationship with the Falcon actor was strange – something close to siblings. Although, if you were to think about it, no big brother would ever be as proud as he was to be watching his little sister dancing at a burlesque club. It had been less about the dance, though – and all about the joy he could see emanating from you.

You liked being the centre of attention for one night. And you very much were.

The interaction at the table was practically forgotten as your friends stared up at you in admiration.

And when your hands traced your curves, moving languidly to the zipper at the side of your dress, Chris' breath visibly stuttered. And when the dress was slipping off of you – straps slinking off the delicate slope of your shoulders to allow the pooling of the fabric at your feet – Chris leaned forward in his seat, entirely bewitched.

You were wearing it – the lingerie he had bought for you.

It was a pretty little number – light champagne coloured silk, trimmed in black lace. It fit you like a glove, hanging off your frame in a way that revealed enough to stir a desire to see more, but not enough to have you shying away in discomfort in front of all the onlookers. The neckline was low, and the skirt fell just above mid thigh.

And still you danced, motions slow to the music, toying with the skirt, the straps, your hair. For that single moment, you were seduction incarnate.

He couldn't look away. You were everything in his world, the only thing in it. You were his world.

When you made eye contact with him, out in the darkness at the edge of the stage, he could've sworn he'd forgotten how to breathe.

You sank to your knees, sensual, undulating, gathering your now discarded dress. The smirk you had – so often teasing – was beckoning, mirroring the intent in your eyes.

You slowly dragged your eyes over Chris, taking in the state of him. What you had rendered him. The hold you had over him was tangible – the awed set of his agape jaw, the way his eyes were glazed with such intensity and want. It stirred something in you, something in the pit of your belly.

You cast him a coy wink before you lazily tossed the dress to him as if you hadn't a care in the world.

Sebastian sucked a whistling breath through his teeth when the song ended. "Who was that girl?"

Chris shifted in his seat, trousers having grown immeasurably uncomfortable. He found himself dumbfounded. "I have absolutely no idea."

———————

The excitement of the stage was still coursing through you when you returned to the table.

Anthony, who had rightfully given you a well-deserved standing ovation, gave you a massive bear hug that lifted you off the ground and had you giggling. "Wow," was all he said. And then, louder: "Wow!"

Nearby patrons cheered in agreement, and you felt your cheeks flush. "Stop it," you rolled your eyes.

"No, he's right," Seb smirked. "Isn't that right, Chris?"

Seb had tilted his head to peer at Chris past you and Mackie, cocky at having caught Chris out.

Chris – having crossed his legs to conceal the effect you had on him – could barely even look at you. "Yeah," he cleared his throat; it didn't help chase the rasp from his voice. "It was quite something."

You exchanged a slightly annoyed look with Anthony. "I don't see what your problem is, I was only doing what you wanted."

You plopped down in your seat, immediately taking a sip from your champagne. Chris' eyes followed your action, attentative – even more so when you caught a drop at the corner of your lips with your deft tongue.

As if he wasn't already hard enough.

And then his undoing – you spotted your dress. It was still exactly where it had landed when you'd tossed it, splayed across his lap. Unthinkingly, you reached for it, your fingers grazing his crotch and–

His hand shot forward, intercepting you, seizing your wrist in an iron grip. He looked to almost be in pain. "Don't."

What happened next, you didn't blame the alcohol this time, or the thrill the stage had left you with, or anything else. This was all you.

The air had been thick with desire – that all consuming want – and there was a glassiness in his blown out pupils – a need – that had spurred you on.

You grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him to you. Tilting forward, you captured his lips in a hungry starving kiss. He stiffened, before melting, becoming putty in your hands, kissing you back with a passion that set your entire soul and body ablaze. It was sloppy, liquor heavy on both your lips. He moaned into you, hot tongue swiping against the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. Entrance which you granted, whimpering as he deepened the kiss.

You had clambered onto his lap in the frenzied urgency. The hiss of pleasure he gave at the slow grind of your hips against him was almost enough to make you come undone then and there.

Searing hands travelled your body, fingertips digging into soft flesh every time you rubbed against him just so. He traced your curves, encompassing all his hands could reach without ever crossing the line you so desperately wanted him to. He was a gentleman, first and foremost – although he kissed like he hoped to devour you.

Your own hands carded through his hair, tugging at the strands, eliciting throaty groans you never dreamed of hearing from him. His lips muffled every mewl of pleasure you emitted, and for that you were thankful, because once his hand came to rest around your throat, you knew you were done for.

"Fuck," he growled out against your lips.

You finally pulled apart, head swimming and breathless. "Let's get out of here."

He stared at you for the longest time. You, who looked so beautiful with your kiss swollen lips. You, who was sat in his lap, looking down at him, eyes telling innocence, but lips suggesting sin. You, who was finally his. "You must know what you're doing to me."

You stifled a moan as Chris tilted your head back, gently leaving a trail of featherlight kisses from your jaw to your collarbone. Your toes curled, and you knew that if someone were to ask you your name in that moment, you wouldn't be able to tell them. "And what's that?"

"Driving me fucking crazy."

———————

You were still in absolute disbelief, convinced you'd wake up and this would all be a dream.

But it wasn't a dream, and you were there, with him, and your lips still throbbed in the remembrance of that kiss...

"Hold on," you said. Chris reluctantly halted his steps, turning to look at you. "Just wait here, I need to go get my coat."

"Don't be long," he said, voice low and soft.

You gave him a goofy half smile, still kiss drunk. "No promises."

You dashed off to the coat check station, leaving Chris in the foyer.

Ten minutes, that was how long it took. That was the number you would put to the time it took for absolute devastation to occur.

It wasn't your fault there was a line at coat check. Just like it wasn't his fault he happened to run into a particularly gorgeous woman from his past in just those ten minutes.

"Chris Evans?"

He spun at the sound of his name ringing out in the empty foyer. The music of Vulpecula was still faintly going in the background, muffled by the gilded gold doors that granted entry.

"Hey! Long time no see," he grinned. "I haven't seen you since...? Wow, it must've been ages."

"Since we broke up, yeah," she nodded in slow agreement.

"How's," he snapped his fingers, hoping to jog his memory. "Don?"

"We broke up, actually. About a month ago."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that." He made his consolation known through a friendly pat on the shoulder, thumb rubbing circles on the skin revealed by her sleeveless dress.

And it was at that moment you returned, seeing him and the woman, too close to be entirely platonic. He wasn't guilty of anything, you knew that. But the hand on the shoulder...

He hadn't noticed you yet, so you were given ample time to dissect the unfolding situation.

It dawned on you exactly why it bothered you so much. The way he was touching her, it was how he had touched you. Not in Vulpecula, no, but every day leading up to it. And it could've meant one of two things:

The first was that it was friendly. Suggesting that he had seen you as nothing more than a friend before... Before you'd fucked it up.

Or the second... That he had seen you as something more all along, and that was what he perceived her as right after that kiss you had both shared.

And honestly, you didn't know which was worse.

"I'm going to be in town for the next few days if you wanted to grab a drink and catch up..." You had stalked past them in that moment, coat draped over your arm, catching her words in passing.

Chris' eyes followed you as he spoke, distracted by your shift in mood. "I'm actually here with someone..."

He trailed off, watching as you didn't even look at him as you brushed past. "Um, hold that thought," he said, already starting to follow you out. Her entire existence was dismissed by his need to get to you and discover why you were suddenly giving him the cold shoulder. "It was great seeing you again, tell Don I say hi – wait, no, scratch that–!"

He was practically yelling over his shoulder as he chased you down. "{Your name!} Wait up!"

You didn't stop, but you were at a disadvantage – your heels, his long legs – and he caught up to you easily. His hand on your shoulder was enough to make you flinch. Who knew you could read so much into the touch of a shoulder? "Hey, what's wrong?"

Your heart could've broken at the gentleness of his voice. Could've. You'd steeled yourself already, and it was glaringly noticeable. "Nothing is wrong, Chris, forget it."

"Just wait–"

You shrugged his hand off your shoulder. "I said forget it."

"I won't," he stepped closer. "Not when I can see something is bothering you."

"Well, I will," you stated, voice flat. You turned away from him to continue your retreat. "Can we just go home?"

When he refused to budge – instead looking at you with those mournful blue eyes of his, you sighed, exasperation and a touch of anger laced through. Why were you so upset, anyways?

"Chris, I just want to go home. I'm tired and I want to get out of this ridiculous fucking outfit so please. Please can we go home?"

He watched as you backed away from him, already pushing open the foyer door to step out onto the curb. His voice was so soft when he next spoke, you hadn't even heard him over the sudden symphony of noises from outside.

"Okay. Okay we'll go."

———————

"Hey, Evans!"

Chris peeled his eyes away from your silhouette to find new purchase on the person who'd called him. He'd been watching you try – and fail – to get a cab for a little over five minutes now. He was still trying to puzzle through your sudden tonal shift, and had ended up simply staring at you from afar for what felt like ages. His eyes burned. Had he blinked? He couldn't recall.

"What are you still doing here?" Anthony hollered from the other side of the foyer. As he drew closer, his voice lowered. "I thought you guys left a while ago."

"Is {your name} around?" Sebastian asked, still in the midst of shrugging on his coat that he'd just retrieved from coat check. "We wanted to say goodbye before we headed back to the hotel. Early flight and all that."

Chris struggled to find his voice, and when he did, it didn't sound much like himself. "She's outside, getting a cab."

"Oh, you guys are gonna go home and—" Anthony wiggled his brows suggestively.

Seb was quick to land a gentle slap on Anthony's shoulder, a silent hint to shut the fuck up. "I know that face. And that voice." Sebastian drew closer – approaching Chris almost like one does a wounded animal – and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I... I don't know," Chris sighed. His voice sounded strangled, even to him. "She won't talk to me. Wants nothing to do with me by the looks of it."

Anthony pursed his lips. "Well, what did you do?"

"Why?" Sebastian sighed in exasperation. The question was addressed to no one in particular – except maybe God.

Anthony ignored him. "Man, do I have to spell it out for you? She's crazy about you, giving you those big doe eyes everytime you come within a five mile radius. That is some love shit if I've ever seen it," he chortled to himself. Snapping out of it, he leaned in menacingly – big brother mode activated. "So what did you do?"

"Oh, man..." Chris groaned, trying to remember the events that had led to this point. "Well, she was getting her coat."

Anthony nodded slowly, showing he was following. "Right."

"And this girl I used to date, she came over and we started talking."

"You've lost me," Mackie said, still nodding.

"What do you mean?"

Lightning quick, Anthony smacked Chris upside the head. It wasn't hard, a love tap at most, but it still made Chris grimace. "What do you mean, what do I mean? Honestly, both of you are so clueless. Man, she's perfect for you. Literally, perfect. So what are you talking to your ex for?"

"It wasn't like that, Ant," Chris groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "Wait, do you think she thinks...?"

"I don't know what she thinks. What I think, is that you should fix it. As soon as possible."

"Guess I'm in the lead again, huh?" Sebastian slid his hands coolly into his pockets, rocking on his heels.

Chris frowned. "You guys bet on us?"

"Not with money. With something much more meaningful," Seb smiled.

Anthony nodded sagely. "The settlement on who the Black Widow belongs with."

Chris winced. "That's a lot."

"Well, I had faith."

"He's Team Chris-and-{Your Name}-Should-Get-Married," Seb nodded toward Mackie. "I'm Team Let-Them-Live-Their-Lives."

"Yeah, the names are still a work in progress," Anthony admitted.

Chris sucked in a deep breath, fatigue suddenly hitting him like a freight train. "Well, it's late. You guys should probably get going. I'll text you with an update tomorrow."

Anthony had already started heading out, Sebastian at his side. He swiveled to face Chris. "If I'm not scandalized by what's about to go down tonight, don't even bother."

Sebastian took Mackie by the shoulder, guiding him away. "I'm going to take him back to the hotel before he has an aneurysm," he smiled apologetically. "He hasn't planned yours and {your name}'s wedding in a little over four hours now."

As they departed the building, Chris could still hear Anthony calling out to him.

"I want to be scandalized, Evans! Scandalized!"

———————

"What part of forget it is not getting to you, Christopher?"

He leaned against the doorframe of your room, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles.

"I just want to know what I can do to make it better. Tell me what I can do to make it better."

You gently removed your earrings, tossing them on your desk, before removing your coat. When you'd gotten home, you'd gone straight to your room, and, in a great imitation of Dodger, Chris had followed you there. "It's nothing."

"Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it."

"That's exactly it, Chris. It's nothing. We were both drunk, and it will never happen again. It was nothing. So forget it."

You couldn't even look at him, instead choosing to speak over your shoulder. Because if you had seen him, been looking at him, you would've seen the hurt in his eyes, the pain in the set of his jaw. Your next words were a dismissal: "Thank you for the gift. Good night."

But it wouldn't be a good night, not for either of you.

You were too tired to cry, too tired to sleep, too tired to dream. You were just so... tired.

And Chris... He spent the night sleepless. Entirely unable to do what you asked, and forget. You had seared yourself into his mind, and he was entirely incapable of forgetting.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Hopping Lamp Post

The night was thick with sugared darkness that left my neighborhood feeling grainy and unreal in the velvet insides of night. I was hunched over on the sidewalk with my back to the front door.

“You can’t just come home at all hours of the night and expect--” “I told you I was at work!”

“Work my ass!”

“Can’t I come home from a long day without being…”

The voices screeched back and forth like alley cats defending their own piss-smelling crevice of the street they owned. I flinched and knew I didn’t want to go back inside. Never, ever, I could stay outside in the grim darkness for as long as it took no matter how much my mom hollered and pulled out her hair.

I used dirt to doodle circles in the cement in front of me and lost myself to the rough feel of the smeared earth. I was studying it like a painter studies the face of a subject when I heard the front door open.

“Where is that girl?” I jerked myself to my feet and scurried away down the street. My mom wasn’t so determined as to go anywhere past our front lawn. The neighborhood was hushed with little moths zapping at porch lights and windows all but empty black eyes staring out.

I wandered away from our block and it was only when I couldn’t see our house anymore that I let out my held breath. I blinked a few times as mist started twisting off the ground in haunting tiny spirals.

I turned around in circles as I watched the ground grow foggy and it wasn’t until I looked up that I saw it.

I stood up straight like the pads of my feet had been electrocuted. Right at the end of the street standing proudly tall and stiff was something that shouldn’t be there. I rubbed my eyes with my fists until little white spots appeared.

I opened my eyes again to find the same black metal thing with a glittering white light ahead. It wasn’t like any of the other lamp posts on the block-- not tall and tired bent metal and a hanging dull yellow light.

It was finely crafted with indents like a roman column and a curved neck with a hanging lantern at the end that gave off light like snowfall and stars. I took a cautious step toward it. It took a step back.

“What?” My brow folded in.

I edged closer and the thing edged back. I looked down and found that through the mist and unfurling curls of clouds that there was some sort of foot at the bottom of the lamp post. “Well that ain’t right.” I muttered and took a few hurried steps closer.

It leaned back from my presence like a fancy lady from a corner bum, but it wasn’t fast enough. I managed to get a few feet from the lamp post and squint up at its tall metal body.

“Where you from?” I asked as I would any stranger from out of town. It hopped back and I followed. I was on Wilkinson street now with more faceless tiny beige and grey houses that bled out into the highway. I couldn’t hear the busy traffic right then though.

I only had eyes for the hopping lamp post.

“You come far?” I said and circled around the light like a dog with a scent. “What’chu ya doing here?”

Bugs bumped into the glass of it's head and landed on it’s metal top as if to take up residence. I was close enough now to make out the big grey feathery moths with fat bodies and tiny white moths that look like delicate fairies lost from home.

I frowned at the closest moth. It’s wings were frayed and threadbare like it had been through the wash one too many times. Another moth had two sets of wings on its back. A third one was a little firefly that could barely glow it’s little butt at all.

“Huh.” I bit my bottom lip and glanced up shyly toward the light as we strolled to the end of Wilkinson. “They’re like me, huh?” I spoke slowly in a low voice as if not to spook it.

The mist was fuming off the ground in great big fistfuls now like the whole world was a bathtub and it was determined to fog up every single mirror nearby. I couldn’t hear so much as a yapping dog by then and no whir of cars that should still be running at this hour.

I gathered myself a little closer to the lamp that gave another enormous hop forward in a jerking unsteady motion. I glanced up to see that a bat was hovering close to the light. It’s tiny body was fury and it flapped mechanically by the side of the light. From head to foot it was pure white.

“Like me . . . ” I murmured and brought a hand up toward my chest to fist my shirt. “Wrong.”

I had never been wrong in the way people could tell. They couldn’t point at me and say “there’s that wrong girl!” But I had never had a teacher that hadn’t given me funny looks for my questions and hadn’t gone to a family reunion without an auntie muttering “that one’s a little off in the head” to another auntie.

I looked down as to not focus on the white bat or the double-winged moth or any of the other creatures that were pulled to the light of the lamp post. I stopped in place as I peered at the ground, but the ground didn’t seem to be there. It seemed to have fallen away and I gasped.

It was just dark beneath my ratty white sneakers. I looked up and the houses were all but distant outlines from a different life. The mist was growing thicker and the only light was from the silvery glow the lamp ahead.

I clenched my teeth and inhaled sharply through my nose. “Where are we?” I looked up and the lamp was now at least several paces away. “Wait!” I ran after it. “How do I get home?” It gave another mighty hop and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to turn back or find out about more things that shouldn’t be. I gave a small glance over my shoulder and it was all mist and darkness behind us now anyway. I kept following the hopping lamp.

The darkness became almost absolute and I held my breath as the mist grew thick and tangible. It licked my cheeks like a wet kiss and my hair was heavy on my shoulders from the moisture clinging to it.

I started shivering. I didn’t want to keep looking. I didn’t want to see what was beyond that mist and dank gloom. I started to hear things. I heard deep ugly breaths from something that had be bigger than the biggest horse I’d ever seen and bigger than any dog from down the street.

It gulped down air in a deep raspy voice. In. Out. It’s nose was probably the size of a bus and it’s lungs bigger than any whale. I could smell brine and salt in the air and I couldn’t stop shivering.

To my surprise the lamp’s pace slowed. It stopped in place and it’s hanging head turned and faced me. My eyes went wide, “So you ain’t gonna just leave me after all?” I whispered and slowly reached out my hand. I put it softly on the cool metal of the lamp and we began to walk together.

I closed my eyes because I didn’t want to see the monsters we were approaching in the dark. I didn’t want to see what lay ahead. Nonetheless, I felt that warm bath of air hit me across the face and we passed the beasts.

I opened my eyes again to the sound of cars honking and an even stronger scent of salt. I turned and we were standing on a road this time with the mist still thick and dancing off the cement. Something was different.

The road was winding up a huge mountain top and on the other side was the twilight dusk and an ocean that spanned as far as I could see. It was a shifting flatness with pools of blue midnight and frothing white waves out in the distance. I smiled broadly. “I’ve never seen the ocean.” A car passed with it’s headlights blinking and it was like no car I had ever seen before. It’s windows were too broad and lamps too bright. The figure inside was shadowed and strange with hands made out of smudgy murkiness and a shrouded face.

I steadied myself. “Alright,” I put my hand back on the lamp post. “Let’s keep going.” We walked through that world of ocean and ghosts. I closed my eyes and we passed between another darkness with the sounds of sleeping monsters and into new unknown places. We entered a world of dirt roads that led past unkempt green gardens with fruit like diamonds and rubies. We went through nights that were all storms with lightning flashing out on the horizon and people that were shaped like angels flying out toward it.

The sun never rose and we never stopped walking. It could have been a lifetime. It could have been just that night and nothing else. I oohed and awed at the strange sights and smells of ozone and sunshine. It was only in that third darkness that my legs started to complain and my eyes started to droop and betray me.

The lamp slowed its pace to an inching crawl.

“It’s alright.” I yawned. “I don’t wanna go back.” I said softly with my eyes closed. We walked into the darkness of beasts once more. “But I gotta. Don’t I?”

Something landed on my shoulder as we went into a new road made of crushed white shells and with running water the color of mirrors besides us. Little floating lights dancing just above the surface of the river and I blinked at a giant moth perched on me. She had white feathery feelers and wings with grey eyes in the center. She was missing an eye on the right side of her face and I smiled at her.

“Well hey there,” She was the size of a kite and her little legs tickled my shoulder. “You’re not from where I’m from.” I said with a nod, “you’re awful pretty though. You all tangled up about going home too?” She moved her feelers up and down and cocked my head to the side. “It’s not so bad. But it’s not so good either.” I shivered from somewhere deep inside of me and gave her a sad smile. “I just . . . can’t seem to get myself to turn around yet.” The moth gave me a long look before she took off from my shoulder. She flapped away into the moonlight of this strange land and the lamp post simply sat in place. I made a face, “now you feel like stoppin?”

The lamp post simply angled it’s face to the sky.

I followed it with my eyes. It was a long few minutes in the cold damp air with the water rushing besides and lights flitting around. I waved when the moth finally returned with something between her feet. She was carrying something that shone with the force of gold teeth in the mouths of rich men. I opened my hand and the moth dropped a single coin into my hand.

“Oh,” I breathed and held up a golden metal disk. The front held face I didn’t recognize in any way on it.

A queen maybe. She was in profile on the coin with a half-smile, her eyes closed, and crown of light on her head. I made a hiccup of sound as the coin fit snuggling in my palm and gave off a strange burning warmth.

I turned it over and over in my hands and ran my fingers over squiggles on the back that could only be words. I sucked in breath. “What’s this for?” The moth only turned around and suddenly it was flying back toward the way we came. The lamp turned too and I frowned. In a twist that was more ironic than not the lamp started to follow the moth.

"Wait for me!" I trailed after.

We went back through the beast realm. Back through the night garden of jewels and back through the storm lands of angels and mountains of ghosts. We returned to my street with the slanted roofs and scraggly lawns.

I held the coin hard in my hands and turned to the lamp post. “Thank you.” I said with a nod as you’re supposed to for helpful strangers. “I’ll remember this, always.” I wasn’t sure if I was brave enough to return yet, but the lamp bent its long head and the light caught in my eyes. I looked down and the words on the coin righted themselves like soldiers called to duty all at once.

“Be brave,” I read the words and traced them with my fingers. “Because the light will always come.” I blinked and the words remained just as the lamp kept hopping down the street on its endless trek. I slowly waved goodbye in the way of children who are able to accept things that shouldn’t be but are.

I turned and went back into my house just as the night was losing its shape and the sun broke across the heavens. And I was going to be brave for however long it took until the light came again.

--------

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[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

who made you smile again

For @dls-ao3, who wanted Geralt to realise that punching your bard is never okay.

This story can also be found here on my AO3.

- - -

• it doesn't matter who hurt you, or broke you down, what matters is who made you smile again •

Jaskier’s sitting at the biggest table in the tavern when Geralt returns, surrounded by what seems to be half the village. He’s talking animatedly, hands gesturing and pointing wildly, and he’s temptingly flushed down to what Geralt can see of his chest, hair tousled and eyes sparkling with mirth.

He's in his element, nearly as much so as when he’s playing; Jaskier lives to perform, in one way or another.

Geralt allows himself a small, fond quirk of his lips before he schools his face into neutrality, and starts making his way across the crowded room. Jaskier spots him as he approaches, and his own smile somehow, impossibly, grows even wider, making Geralt’s chest feel all warm and tingly.

“Ah, the man of the hour!” Jaskier crows as he pats the empty seat next to himself, then tugs at Geralt’s sleeve impatiently until Geralt settles down with a grunt. “Ale and food, for the brave Witcher who, oh so heroically, slew the swarms of nekkers that have been terrorising your humble town!”

Geralt doesn’t roll his eyes, but the urge is definitely there. Instead, he accepts the tankard someone passes him, and mouths, “Six nekkers,” behind Jaskier’s back, much to the amusement of the gathered people.

When Jaskier turns to scowl at him suspiciously, Geralt looks at him blankly, and takes an innocent sip of his ale.

The innkeeper brings him a heaping plate of meats and cheeses soon after—on the house, as a thank you for getting rid of the nekkers—and Geralt eats in silence, letting the rumbling sound of Jaskier’s voice wash away the last traces of adrenaline from the fight. One of Jaskier’s hands lands on Geralt’s knee, a comforting and familiar weight, and when he focuses on it, Geralt can make out the soft buttercups-teak-amber scent that is Jaskier under the more prominent tavern smells.

The conversations going on around him are mere background noise, right up until a barked, “That's gotta be utter horseshit, bard!” has all his senses hone in on a man across the table.

His voice is full of annoyed disbelief aimed at Jaskier, and could easily turn into genuine anger under the wrong circumstances; it happens often enough, with inebriated people spoiling for a good fight. Geralt sits up a little taller, and fixes his gaze on the man, eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

But Jaskier merely chuckles, light and disarming, and pours a goblet of wine. He slides it over to the man with a cheeky wink, and a teasing, “Oh, my friend, you greatly underestimate the force of nature that is a Witcher.”

Turning to address the whole table again, he continues grandly, “Armwrestling a half-giant? Not even a challenge! Taking down a troll? Like stealing sweets from a babe!”

Geralt has, in fact, had the misfortune of landing in a brawl or two with trolls. He’s not overly keen on repeating the experience, although he’s not going to point that out right now. The man who’d questioned Jaskier’s words is looking increasingly enraptured, nodding along eagerly now, and everyone else is listening with interest and awe as Jaskier keeps relating some of their more outlandish and peculiar adventures.

“But a Witcher is not only a most formidable creature in battle, oh no,” Jaskier says conspiratorially, quieter, and the people lean in closer, like moths caught by a flame. “Their skills can prove incredibly useful in other, more private endeavours, if you get my meaning.”

A young woman lets out a scandalised giggle, while one man chokes on his ale hard enough that his laughing friend has to clap him on the back.

Under the table, Geralt pinches the inside of Jaskier’s thigh. Jaskier yelps through his own laughter, slanting Geralt a mischievous look.

A little nervously, another woman asks, “So much strength, though, is it not dangerous?”

“A Witcher’s strength is evenly matched by his control,” Jaskier explains, somewhat testily, and leans most of his weight against Geralt, as if to prove a point. “None of us have anything to fear. Well, none of you, I’d wager, unless one amongst you reveals themselves to be even more incessantly talkative than dear old me.”

There are chuckles all around the table, followed by a few more questions, and Jaskier himself is loose and relaxed where he’s pressed to Geralt’s side, but Geralt himself stiffens at the carelessly thrown out words.

A memory niggles at him, old and half-forgotten, though once he manages to pull it to the front of his mind, Geralt suddenly feels sick. Years ago, shortly after they’d met, on the trek up Filavandrel’s mountain; Jaskier’s constant chattering, a passing mention of Geralt’s old, hated moniker, Geralt’s fist in Jaskier’s stomach, Jaskier’s pained coughing and wheezing.

As if burnt, Geralt snatches his hand away from Jaskier’s leg, staring down at his leather-covered fingers in disgust. Geralt would never use his full strength on an innocent human, that much is true, but he’d hurt Jaskier nonetheless. Back then, just now most likely, and how many other times, without even realising?

And why?

Geralt’s had abuse hurled at him for decades, from both strangers and people he’d foolishly allowed himself to trust. Folk have spat at him, thrown rocks and rotten food after him, refused him pay, and chased him out of town with pitchforks and torches. He’s been tricked, betrayed, hated, yet none of that ever made him lash out with violence.

“Geralt,” Jaskier's voice is laced with concern, quiet enough for only Geralt to hear. He peers at Geralt with furrowed brows, but Geralt can't hold his gaze, ducking his head to escape it after a moment.

He keeps his eyes lowered while Jaskier makes their excuses to his disappointed audience, shame and guilt swirling together in his stomach. Even now, when he least deserves it, Jaskier's priority is to take care of Geralt, even when it goes against what he must have planned for the rest of his night.

Jaskier exchanges a few quick words and a handful of coins with the innkeeper, ordering them a bath and some more ale. They climb the stairs to their room in silence, and even while he helps Geralt out of his armour, Jaskier only hums a slow melody under his breath. It's for his comfort, Geralt knows, and it makes the guilt clump and rise, settling as an aching lump in his throat.

When there's a knock at the door, he's almost relieved that Jaskier has to move away to go open it.

Geralt keeps undressing as the buckets of hot water are carried in, and snatches up one of the tankards as soon as they're put down on the table in the corner, downing it in three big gulps. It does nothing to calm his ugly thoughts, but it does provide a distraction, even if a disappointingly temporary one.

Jaskier appears at his side to take it out of his unresisting hand, fingers whispering a caress across Geralt's wrist. “Come on, then, before the water grows cold.”

The heat of the bath does soothe away some of Geralt's tension. But then Jaskier goes to fetch a stool, goes to sit down at Geralt's back, and Geralt finds himself blurting, “Join me.”

Sharing baths is nothing unusual, hasn't been for some time, although it doesn't feel like something Geralt should be allowed to indulge in, right now. The thought of letting Jaskier take care of him, however, makes Geralt feel much worse, all the more as if he's taking advantage.

If Jaskier's surprised, he doesn't let on. He sheds his clothes unselfconsciously, right where he stands, and steps into the tub with an appreciative sigh. Geralt maneuvers him until his back is flush against Geralt's chest, his head tipped back to rest on Geralt's shoulder.

Reaching out over the edge of the tub, Geralt fetches one of the washcloths Jaskier had laid out, lathering it up before he starts to gently run it down Jaskier's arm. He falters briefly, feeling horribly selfish for enjoying the contact, but then Jaskier murmurs, “That's lovely, sweetheart, don’t stop,” and Geralt couldn't refuse even if he wanted to.

His mind drifts while he washes Jaskier, back to that very first day they’d met.

He remembers how irritated he’d been by the aimlessly yapping bard, to begin with, but also how strangely intriguing he’d found him. Coming across a human brave, or foolish, enough not to fear his kind had been rare, back then, and even with Jaskier’s tireless work, even after the countless ballads singing praise to the Witchers and their good deeds, most people are still at least wary of them.

Jaskier had been an anomaly, and Geralt had been curious, otherwise he would have ditched his pesky shadow before they’d ever set foot outside Posada.

For hours of their journey up the mountain, Jaskier had talked with barely enough breaks for breathing, doing his very best to sell himself as a worthy travelling companion. And, to his own astonishment, Geralt had found himself growing amused by Jaskier’s continuously more ridiculous suggestions—”A horse groomer! My flower crowns are things of legendary beauty, Roach would look marvelous in one!”—and actually considering his offer.

And then Jaskier had mentioned Blaviken, and Geralt had come back to himself, wondering what the fuck it was he was doing.

Allowing a human bard to travel with him, smiling to himself at Jaskier’s antics, horsing about with a bard when he should be focused on his task, on his work, on the Path.

And Jaskier’d still been talking, always talking, and suddenly Geralt had been furious, and—

And he’d punched Jaskier.

For daring to make him feel something beside completely fucking miserable for the first time in what had seemed like forever. For not being afraid of him, for trying to befriend him, for being good.

Too good for Geralt.

Hand shaking, Geralt drops the washcloth next to the tub so he can pull at Jaskier’s leg, exposing the inside of his thigh. And there, high up, it is; a small red mark on otherwise unblemished skin, standing out like a stark reminder of all of Geralt’s faults.

A wounded noise tears itself out of Geralt’s throat before he can stop it, and he stands quickly, turning away from Jaskier and his confused, “Geralt?” to climb out of the tub. He’s dripping everywhere, trembling all over as he stalks into the bedroom proper, then stops in the middle of it with no idea what to do.

A tentative hand lands on his back, between his shoulders, and Geralt twitches, but can’t find it in himself to shake it off. Seemingly emboldened, Jaskier pushes him towards the bed, then onto it, following after Geralt to straddle his lap.

Geralt realises his mistake when gentle hands cup his face, and intent blue eyes bore into his, Jaskier murmuring, quiet but determined, “Talk to me, Geralt.”

There’s nowhere for Geralt to look but directly at Jaskier. He clenches his jaw, grits his teeth, but Jaskier doesn’t back off. Instead, he starts rubbing his thumbs over Geralt’s cheeks, slow and soft, eyes firmly locked on Geralt’s.

Barely audible, hoarsely, Geralt grits out, “I hurt you.”

Jaskier frowns at that, moving one hand from Geralt’s face to poke at the bruise on his thigh. “This?” he asks with a disbelieving little chuckle. “Geralt, darling, I’ve hurt myself worse by walking into doors. Or roughhousing with my brothers, as a child. Or tripping over my own clumsy feet. It was in jest, I don’t mind. I like you teasing me, you know I do. And marking me, though I usually prefer your mouth to be doing the actual marking.”

Which Geralt knows, he really does, but it does little to reassure him right now. “Not this,” he forces out, then amends, “Not only this.”

“If this is about the dragon mountain again,” Jaskier begins, tenderly tucking a few strands of damp hair behind Geralt’s ears, “you have to know, by now, that I’ve accepted your apology. And forgiven you, sweetheart.”

Which Geralt also knows, though a reminder of that particular conversation is never a pleasant one. “You always do. Forgive me. And I—I keep hurting you.”

“Geralt, what—”

“When we met,” the words feel like rough gravel in Geralt’s mouth, “the day with the sylvan. I hurt you.”

Understanding flashes across Jaskier’s face. “You punched me. And I reminded you, tonight, didn’t I?”

At Geralt’s terse nod, Jaskier laughs softly. “It was a long time ago—”

“That’s no excuse!” Geralt snaps, then immediately clenches his mouth shut again.

Instead of rearing back, or getting angry, however, Jaskier turns thoughtful. “It isn’t, I suppose,” he allows after a moment. Rubbing at the tense muscles in Geralt’s jaw, he wants to know, “What happened? That day, I mean? Because, Melitele knows, I’ve made you furious since.”

Geralt has to close his eyes. “You showed no fear. You were annoying. You made me feel—” he cuts himself off, gives a helpless shrug. “You made me feel.”

“Oh, you old fool,” Jaskier says, nothing but fondness in his voice and face when Geralt dares to glance at him. He leans in to brush a brief, featherlight kiss over Geralt’s lips, then leans their foreheads together. He huffs a laugh, eyes crinkling in humour. “That would do it, wouldn’t it?”

“Jaskier—” Geralt tries to protest, but is promptly shushed with another kiss.

“Do you regret it?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“Of course you do. Would you do it again?”

Geralt shakes his head.

“No, you wouldn’t. Because you’re a good man, Geralt. You have faults, you misstep, as does everyone else. But you learn, from every single mistake, and that is such a precious gift, one that not nearly enough people possess. You try so, so hard to overcome all the prejudice, the disadvantages, the adversities that have been put in your way, and I am so, so incredibly proud of you, my love.”

Geralt genuinely does not know what his face does at that proclamation, but whatever it is, it has Jaskier snort inelegantly. “Yes, yes, I know. We’re done talking, I promise.”

Relieved, in more ways than he can count, Geralt cranes his neck to kiss Jaskier properly.

And when Jaskier demands, murmured hotly against Geralt’s lips, “Show me what that Witcher strength of yours is good for, darling,” Geralt doesn’t hesitate.

[ambarto]

You ever get like five different ideas from angst but none of them is long enough to stand on its own and so you just make Frankenangst? Yeah

Warnings: character death, description of injuries

----

Arakano thought once he took down the chief of these creatures they would slow down. Grow fearful, perhaps, run from him.

He should have known better. It seemed the monsters were braver than Arakano had hoped. They had laughed as he took on their commander, sneered in a circle around them, sure Arakano would have lost. Arakano won, and now they were angered.

He couldn’t take them all on. His sword fell left and right, slicing heads and arms that their armors didn’t cover well enough. Where were the others of the Noldor? Arakano couldn’t see anyone past the hordes of enemies coming for him. His sword was growing heavy in his hand. His father had not been far behind him.

With a shout, Arakano killed another enemy. His breath was beginning to come short. He couldn’t hold out on his own much longer. Everything was starting to blur together-

Arakano shouted when something hit his knee. A mace he hadn’t been able to avoid. Even over the sounds of battle he heard the crack. His leg gave out beneath him, unable to support his weight.

He wasn’t getting out of here. He had pushed on too far. His father wouldn’t be able to get to him.

The one who bent over him clearly thought Arakano was already gone. It had its guard open, and Arakano thrust his sword forward, burying it right in its neck. His hand wasn’t able to keep gripping it, and it was wrenched from him.

They jumped on him as wolves on a deer. They crowded on him, covering the light.

Arakano was a warrior. Arakano had fought his way through ice and hunger. Arakano was a Prince of the house of Finwe, and if he could not win, then at least he would drag as many of these things with himself as possible. Fear barely had time to grip his heart before he lounged.

He kicked and punched and bit like an animal. A creature squealed when Arakano sunk his teeth in its dirty skin, ripping it. He swung his arms blindly, trying to hit anything around him, not even feeling the pain of his fists hitting metal armor, only satisfied that he had indeed hit something.

They grabbed him, held him down into the mud. Briefly, Arakano had time to think that his siblings would cry. Findekano for sure. Turukano and Irisse always pretended they were too strong to have feelings, but Arakano knew them better. At least, he hoped, they would be proud of him.

Then, he only had not thoughts but to scream.

They cried, when they learnt what happened to their youngest brother. Just not upon his body. Nolofinwe was the one who found him, and he did not let his other children see him. The sight, he knew, would never leave him. He did not want his children to forever see what was left of their brother in their dreams.

-

They found some refuge in the south, near the foot of the mountains. It was not a place anyone liked, but it seemed the fire from the north had momentarily forgotten about it. There was no other place to go, right now. Armies to the east and to the west, going for the Pass of Sirion and for Feanorian lands alike. There was nothing they could do but wait.

They also didn’t know who to ask for what to do.

Someone had managed to drag Lord Angrod off the battle field. The healers crowded around him, but any hope for him had been lost.

So much of his body was covered in burns it was horrific to watch. His flesh was exposed and blackened. In some places, his very bones could be seen. How was he even still alive was beyond anyone. Lord Angrod had always been known as stubborn. Too much.

He groaned something that could have been his son’s name. The healers did not answer him. There were no news yet from Minas Tirith. Under the black smoke that still covered the sky, it was hard to hold out any hope for them.

“’Ik... ro...” he groaned. Cough shook his chest, the same cough that plagued everyone, their lungs too full of ash. A rag had been laid upon his eyes, if only to spare the healers the sight of what the fire had done to them. Not that the rest of his face was a less gruesome sight.

“The Lord Aegnor is surely alright,” an healer told him, once she understood the sounds were an attempt to saying Aikanaro’s name.

Another healer glared at her. They all knew what had happened to their Lord’s brother. She shook his glare off. She was a healer. Her job was to ease suffering. There was nothing but death that could ease Lord Angrod’s agony, but at least she could comfort his spirit.

He would see his brother soon enough, anyways. With luck, he would not pass the night.

-

Turin would come.

That was what Finduilas kept repeating herself. He’d come. He’d save them. She had to cling to that thought. He would find them. He would-

The Orcs were getting restless. Finduilas didn’t understand their horrid language, but she saw how unsettled they were. They kept looking behind themselves, as if expecting something to jump them.

Finduilas wasn’t sure where they were. They seemed to be by a river, but she could not be entirely sure of which one. The Taeglin, perhaps? They had been taking detours through the forests, she was entirely lost. She tried to think of who lived in these lands - mortals, mainly, if some of them were hunting the Orcs it would explain their nervousness.

Would Turin know anyone here? Finduilas knew very little of his past before Nargothrond. Perhaps he had friends. Perhaps soon they would reach them. Finduilas tried to strain herself, but she heard nothing. She could not even turn properly to look, bound as she was.

An Orc - a sentinel - burst through the trees, shouting. Whatever he said, it put all the other Orcs on edge immediately. They got up, hands to their weapons.

The other prisoners looked at them with terrified eyes.

“Worry not,” Finduilas whispered. “I think someone is chasing us. We may yet be saved.”

“What are you yapping about?” an Orc shouted. She stood in front of Finduilas, baring her fangs to her.

Finduilas kept silent. She looked at her in the eyes, and said nothing.

“The prisoners are slowing us down,” another Orc said.

There was a general agreement between them. Finduilas’s heart jumped. Then they were being chased, after all. There still was hope.

“She is the princess, is she not?” an Orc asked, pointing at her.

Grunts of agreement.

Suddenly, Finduilas was grabbed and dragged to her feet. Fear cursed through her, but she repressed it. She could not let herself be afraid. She would keep hoping.

She did not quite feel pain. Only a strange, bizarre pressure to her chest. The Orc had moved so fast. She had not expected him to raise his spear. Even as she looked down and saw it embedded in her chest, she struggled to understand its presence.

Perhaps there would be a way to take it out.

Perhaps Finduilas should be named Princess of Futile Hopes.

-

Feet moved around in his field of vision. Caranthir’s eyes stared ahead, fixed on the silver hair just some paces ahead of him.

He pressed his own hand to his throat. Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding. That was how Caranthir had been told to treat open wounds. Never had he thought he would be doing it to his own neck, trying to keep himself from bleeding out on the floor of Menegroth.

He had reached the throne room just in time to see Celegorm fall. Caranthir had attempted to make his way to him, and everything he had gotten in exchange was a sword he was not able to avoid. All he could do now was bleed out, as Celegorm without doubt already had. Useless.

Given the way his ears were ringing, he wasn’t being too good about keeping his blood in.

Someone stumbled on his legs. Caranthir hoped they were a Sinda. He hated them all, right now. He had not hated them when he had come here, ready to force Dior’s hand. Now he did. Celegorm was right in front of him, lying face down, fallen by a Sinda’s sword.

He couldn’t say Celegorm had ever been his favorite brother. But he was Caranthir’s brother nonetheless. His big brother. Who used to pick Caranthir up as a child and put him on his shoulders. Who was stubborn, and reckless, and impulsive, and somehow had always seemed impossible to harm.

Tears pooled in Caranthir’s eyes. Usually, he would rather be caught dead than seen crying. He had a reputation to uphold. Now he did not have the strength to hold it back.

He was losing the struggle to stay awake. He clung to awareness, but it was sleeping between his fingers together with his blood.

Where were Maedhros and Maglor? Were they not heading here too?

Tears pooled under his face. He wanted to see them. He didn’t want the last things his eyes saw to be Celegorm’s body.

He wanted his big brothers to hold him, and lie to him, tell him everything would be fine.

What a foolish, useless wish.

-

Were the Valar merciful, a stone would have struck Turgon’s head, and killed him immediately.

The Valar, it seemed, were not. Or perhaps it was Turgon who was being given special treatment.

It would not be long. He did not feel anything in his lower body. He could not seem to draw his breath in. Part of what had once been his tower was pressing heavy on his chest. Was this gurgling sound his blood in his lungs?

What a fool he’d been, hoping that Gondolin may hold. He should have listened to Ulmo.

So many things he should have done. He should have protected his sister better. He should have been closer to his nephew, help him through whatever led him to this. There were so many things he wished he could have told his daughter, his son-in-law. His grandson, and may Eru make it so that the child was saved.

Such a great King, such a great kingdom. And now, in the end, only him and his regrets.

As his fea was squeezed from his body, he wondered if this was what it felt like to drown. Buried in rock and not water, but was the principle of the thing not the same? Darkness, no air, and no one to comfort you as you died.

Perhaps this was his penance for not having been faster in saving Elenwe.

[ramble-writes]

So here comes another valentine's gift for the glorious @franks-mixtape ! If y'all remember the 2 Franks that are brothers and werewolves that I wrote some time ago, this is going from that again because I thought about it randomly and felt like I then needed more of it sooooooo yeah! If you DON’T know, the gist is being that his Frank and my Frank are half brothers. Father being a werewolf to both which resulted in his Frank being a halfling, while mine is whole werewolf due to different mothers. 19 years apart until both came to Ormond where they met up and figured out they’re brothers. So there ya go!

Warning(s): probs just standard cussing, buuuut that’s it lol

Don’t forget to like, reblog, and follow if ya wanna see more! (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

-

A Wednesday. Worst day for the 14th to fall on. Especially since it’s in the middle of the school week. Frank James Morrison sat there in the last class for the day, English. The teacher decided to focus on how Valentine’s day started from some dude who got executed in Rome or some shit. He wasn’t paying attention, finding it useless to learn about. Emerald green eyes lazily gazed around the room till they landed on his brother’s russet hair.

Frank Fenik Morrison was there a few seats to James’s left, amber eyes were trailing over the printed paper the teacher had passed out previously. As much as he was into literature, if he wanted to learn history on a subject of a man who was killed for trying to teach his religion to the Romans, he would’ve in his history class.

Fenik really was just idly taking his pencil to scribble a random design on a blank spot on the paper, the teacher’s voice seeming muffled in the background. Darkening some lines on the drawing, he felt a nudge in his mind, like someone nudging him with their arm. He lifted his eyes up and flickered to the side where gemstone eyes met and locked.

‘Dude. This shit is boring. Can’t we just.. skip out on this?”

‘I wish. But we can’t or shit’ll go down. Plus, they’ll know it’s us since we have the same exact name, minus the middle name.’

This made the raven-haired Frank sigh out loudly. He slightly scrunched his face up at hearing his other half chuckle both from a distance (thanks to his heightened hearing) and in his mind. Since figuring out the two had the same father, name, preference in tattoos, music, and other things, it made for the two getting along pretty easily. It resulted in a sort of bond to form. Since their father was a werewolf, it resulted in an animal like bond to form, that ran deeper than a standard sibling bond. Emotions, feelings, and thoughts were connected. It resulted in a mind link to have basically silent conversations.

‘Jesus fuckin Christ we have thirty minutes left of this bullshit. Feels like it’s taking foreverrrr!’

Fenik had to cover his mouth to stifle the laugh that bubbled up. Hearing him complain like a child made for lightening the boring mood. The internal complaining actually helped pass the time till the bell rang. Kids instantly got up with grabbing backpacks and shoulder bags alike and hurried for the door as the teacher called out that their homework from 2 days ago is due by Friday. Most likely, no one paid attention.

The two Morrisons waited at the bottom of the steps of Fairview, waiting on the other three of their odd pack in the snow. It didn’t take long for Julie, Susie, and Joey to come out. Julie adjusted her coat she has on as she hurried a bit down the stairs, being mindful of the snow-covered steps as she went over to the russet-haired Frank and planted her lips to his. This drew a very pleased growl from him as he kissed her back. Thankfully, those dreaded words to the holiday weren’t uttered.

“A’ight sluts! What’s the plan for today for shit to fuck up?” James asked, the name making Joey chuckle. “I’m lookin’ for chaos to burn down the grossness I feel from all this love shit.”

“I second that. There’s this jackass that’s been trying to feel Susie up in history when it comes to turning in work,” Julie huffed out. This made Joey look at the pinkett with concern on his face.

“And ya haven’t said anything?” Susie looked away at the tallest’s question which made him sigh. “Sus, ya gotta tell us when this kind of stuff happens..”

Her head only lowered before she pulled her hood up to hide her face. Joey had let out a sigh and draped an arm over her shoulders before looking at the other three. Amber, emerald, and brown eyes met and they all shared the same thought.

‘Trash the fucker’s place’

-

To cut things short, finding where the guy lives wasn’t hard. They did the standard: Egging the house, toilet paper thrown and draped over trees and parts of the house. But the brothers took it an extra step by managing to get up on the house with wadded up toilet paper, where they then shoved it down the chimney to block it up since smoke was coming out of it. And they were out as quickly as they came with a job well done. 

They all split to head to their homes, hearing distant sirens meaning the house called the fire department which was sweet music to them. Of course, the russet-haired teen snuck over to Julie’s place after her father passed out for their... usual time together. Raven, as another nickname to call James rather than by his middle name like Fenik, was laying there in bed till about midnight he heard his name being called through that mind link.

‘Thought you were busy bangin’ up Jules.’

‘Shut up and get your ass out here.’

‘Fiiine. But I still wanna hear about your adventures in the pussy caaaave!’

James snickered when he bet the other was rolling his eyes outside, but he got out of bed to get dressed in his usual letterman with an extra layer underneath since it is midnight and it’s still winter. Out the window he went and onto the ground below where his brother is standing and waiting.

“Alright, whatcha want butt sniffer?”

“Don’t. Anyway, thought it be nice to hang out since school has been riding out asses with work to get us “prepared for college” which I could care less for.”

The raven-haired teen nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot of bullshit. Ffffuck I hate being a senior.”

“I feel that,” Fenik agreed with a nod of his head. As usual, the two headed into the forest since it is their escape, and the only way that the wolves within the both of them can be let out. It’s a nice reliever since a lot of the times going out was never an option and it would make them feel cramped.

Usually, they don’t speak when out in the forest unless they do their usual practice. But for now, it was nothing but a run. Fenik in full wolf with James keeping up at an easy stride. Surprisingly, there was no clouds which let for the moon to shine bright in the sky and reflect off the snow, practically lighting their path. 

They didn’t know how long they’ve been running, but they did come to a stopping point when the two Morrisons came across a big tree. It was there they stopped and flopped down at the base at the big roots, James leaning on Fenik and a hand running through the rust-colored fur in slow strokes.

“Ya know... I’m a bit jealous you can shift and I can’t..”

“Seriously? I dunno. I’d be pretty happy with just the heightened senses n shit.”

This made for emerald eyes to look at the wolf, which in return, amber looked back at the halfling. Concern was felt on both sides. Concern for how one felt left out of things, and concern for how the other didn’t care if shifting was a thing or not. James scooted himself a bit close to be able to wrap an arm around the back of the head of the large wolf and pressed his forehead to his, letting silence overtake the quiet between he two of them.

Something happened since one moment the raven-haired teen was small in comparison to the wolf with clothes on, to suddenly not and... the same size. It was like his body just relaxed for him to suddenly shift, but the realization got for the two to jump up onto their paws and look at each other.

James now was suddenly the same height, same build. Black fur made him look like a shadow o the white snow. Vibrant green eyes stood out like unknown lights in the darkest parts of the forest. The two were quiet, before sounds of excitement left them and they became nothing but giant mounds of fur and limbs with barks and yaps leaving them.

What felt like hours of nothing but romping around in the snow, they both flopped down panting with tongues hanging out of open mouths and tails swishing in the snow. Two sets of gemstone eyes gazed up at the night sky, the moon nothing but a white orb to the side of their vision.

“I hate valentine’s, but this? This is the greatest fuckin’ gift nature let me have haha!” James boofed out, letting his paws stretch out in front of him. It felt like all his limbs were sore from being contained, and finally was allowed to be out.

“Oh trust me. Being this way is heavenly. Feels like what freedom from the system should be. And now that you can shift, we can do this a hell of a lot more. And no one can stop the hell we’ll raise.” Fenik let out a chuff, a canine version of a chuckle. The black pelted one chuffed as well before rolling onto his side and laying close to the rusted pelt one and pressed close.

They were content like that, black mixing with rust, emerald and amber. It took only a nudge from Fenik to say that it’s best they get going. James got up and shook the snow from his fur, waiting for his brother to get up. Both standing, they trotted off to the edge of the forest where they shifted back to their human selves.

“This weekend. Can... we go running again? And... maybe teach me some wolf stuff since now I can shift?”

“Hell yeah man! I’ll be waiting ‘round seven. Sound good?”

James nodded with a slight smile before it fell. There was hesitation, but Fenik could feel it and brought his brother close for a hug. He melted into it and hugged the other back. They stood like that for some beats before breaking it off and headed to their homes with goodbyes through the link. Days and nights for now on were gonna be different, but they were gonna be hella enjoyable and that feeling of being left out vanished. Everything felt right, just as it should be. 

[hitsuackerman]

What in the World? (Akaashi Keiji x Reader) pt.3

Sorry for the long wait but... Here is part 3 of WINTW? :D Enjoy!

Akaashi’s lineup: @alluring-akaashi​ @oikawalmart-hq​ @extrasugafree​ @bbykiyoomi​ @apricotjihyo​ @simpformiya @colorseeingchick @something-that-idk

links: part 1, part 2, part 4

To answer your question from 2 nights ago, the reason why you never saw Akaashi leave his house was because he got up early for volleyball practice and arrived late as well. Due to the circumstances, the both of you made a silent agreement to go home together. Only if there was practice of course.

School had already ended and the walk back home finished. Seated on your desk, you practiced your quirk. Morphing the leaves into different shapes and sizes, manipulating the soil to quicken its growth or whatever your mind could think of.

The little sessions you were doing made you remember your childhood. The day you found out about your quirk was similar to what you were doing. 4 years old with a soiled shirt. A gigantic carrot in the back of the house followed by leaps of joy of having a daughter with an enlargement quirk. It wasn’t until you were 6 years of age that you realized you could not only enlarge things but manipulate them as well.

Not long after, your quirk finally showed its potential.

Matter Manipulation. The thought of having such an intense quirk scared you. But, being that gifted, being a hero would probably be a walk in the park

Upon seeing just how blessed you were, they ended up boasting you in their agency. Once the word spread, they received a letter coming from Endeavor’s agency hence the arranged quirk-marriage.

It always made you wonder. Why didn’t you develop romantic feelings for Shoto? Maybe it was how the situation began or because he took care of you like a brother you’ve always yearned for. Probably the latter.

Leaning onto your chair, you put the plant back in its original state. Something as little as that shouldn’t have been so tiring on your part. If anything, it felt as if your quirk was slowly disappearing.

“How would it feel to be quirkless though?”

Recalling the Shie Hassaikai Raid, Overhaul had envisioned a world without quirks. Maybe he was just born in the wrong dimension. He was a hypocrite, of course. In a way, every single being relied on their quirks to the point where things were patterned after them. Remembering the Quirk Singularity theory, maybe the garbage man wasn’t a hundred percent wrong.

“Jeez.” You dragged your chair to your window and peaked at the neighbor’s. Bless him for pulling the curtains to the side. “This dimension’s turning me into a stalker and praising a villain.”

Reaching for your phone, you scrolled through some group chats and found what you were looking for. You promised those 2 girls you would call them, but with how you were not able to use your quirk for everyday living, you just fell asleep before you could hit the dial button.

“Hey girl!” Asami greeted as she adjusted her video. Her room was the embodiment of a pink princess. Pink walls, pillows, and even her chair. Mina entered your mind. How was your alien friend doing?

“How was the volleyball practice?” Akiko entered the video conference. Hair a mess and screen focused on the upper half of her face.

“First. Mimi was right.” Seeing that Akaashi’s room was still empty, you looked at the two girls on the screen. “Bokuto-senpai is really beefy. He’s tall too. Reminds me of a very hyper owl.”

“Did you hear his slogan?” Asami was a fan girl. It was clear by now.

“Slogan? You mean his ‘Hey! Hey! Hey!’?” A loud screech echoed through your walls. “Yes. I hear it multiple times a day. It’s pretty cute though. He’s like a child on steroids.”

“What’s the second point?” Akiko asked.

“I almost got hit by a ball. Other than that, that’s pretty much it.”

“And who saved your clumsy ass?”

“Akaashi-san did. Bokuto-san’s setter.” The gasps and their sudden change of posture was something you were not in the mood for. “And no. Before you two go feral, nothing else happened. That’s it.”

“No fun!” The two girls exclaimed.

The rest of the call, you managed to get a bit more information about the two girls. From random memories you don’t know about, small mannerisms that they do when they get all excited, or even just the gist that they would do anything a friend would do. When you heard about the problems they were having, hero instinct kicked in.

Their problems were nothing compared to what you had back home. Giving advice made you feel like a therapist but seeing their thankful expressions, it was all worth it.

When the morning came, you opened your window and looked at your neighbor’s. Any minute now, he would do the same and ask if you were ready to go. With the small window of time, you stared at the gray sky. The clouds looked heavy with rain. Though you had your jacket ready, you couldn’t help but miss your personal heater.

“I wonder how half and half is doing?” You began to drift. Staring at your palm, you made sure it was facing the opposite way from Akaashi’s window before activating your quirk. Despite only practicing on a plant, you could feel your quirk gaining a bit more power. “35%. And it’s too straining, even for me. Fuck.”

“Everything alright?”

Clenching your fist immediately, your eyes snapped to the direction of the voice. Mouth slightly open. Just how long had he been watching.

“I honestly don’t know but it’s fine.” You shrugged. “No practice today?”

“Coach said to take a break for today. We can head to school now if you want.”

“D’you wanna grab a snack bar first?”

“Okay.” Closing both your windows at the same time, you proceeded in getting ready.

It wasn’t long before both of you were inside the convenience store. Your eyebrows furrowing at the sight of foreign snack bars. The one’s back home usually had certain nutrients that enhanced quirks a tiny bit. Sort of like a coffee rush. The one’s in front of you were a bit dull. Or maybe you weren’t sure which flavor to get.

“Akaashi-san.” Gunmetal blue eyes met yours. “What can you recommend?”

The small tilt of his head was rather pleasing to look at. Watching how he scanned for a potential candidate, Akaashi reached for a blueberry-oatmeal variant. Flipping it to read the ingredients, he extended his arm a bit and offered you the snack.

“Bokuto-san likes that flavor. You might too.” When you took the snack from his hand, his eyes widened a fraction of a second. Sure, he felt random sparks but this one was a bit more intense. Brushing it off, he ushered you to the cashier. Offering to pay for the food, he watched as your eyes brightened up a tiny bit.

As he was paying, you exited the convenience store. That small jolt of electricity was something much bigger than the ball incident. Peaking at your hand, you activated your quirk and saw how the yellow glow was brighter than before.

‘What the hell even is this? If this is the second time for this to happen then something must be up. But, Akaashi doesn’t have a quirk so there’s no way our quirks are colliding or some shit. Or maybe he does have a quirk he’s just not telling it. But maybe this is an after effect of having a quirk in a different place?’ Your thoughts would make Deku’s mumbling look slow.

The glow on your palm suddenly expanded till it just burst like Bakugo’s explosions. Eyes widening at the feeling of not being able to control your own power.

‘What the fuck??’

Being so lost in thought, you were startled when you felt a hand pulling your arm. The next thing you felt was your body colliding with another. Your cheek touching his tie as his arm was protectively wrapped around your shoulder. Looking up, you saw how his eyes were focused on a bike that had stopped a few feet away.

“Are you okay, miss?!” The biker exclaimed. “My brakes gave way!”

“It’s my fault, mister! Sorry.” You bowed but struggled a bit. Akaashi still holding on to your shoulder. “I was distracted and so lost in thought I probably didn’t hear you calling out for me.”

After apologizing to the man for not taking into account your surroundings, you offered to help in fixing his brakes. Though he refused, you waved him off and told him a wire or screw must have been loose. So when he turned around and apologized to Akaashi, you quickly put your quirk to use and repaired the brakes.

With things going back to the way they were, the both of you were now approaching the school. Every few steps, you would stare at his hands. Come to think of it, you wondered if he saw the explosion coming from your palms.

“About a while back,” You opened the topic. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s nothing.” He answered. Eyes focused on the approaching school gate. “Just be more careful next time.”

“Yes sir.”

“I do have a question, though.” Hearing you hum, he proceeded. This time his gaze was towards you. “Why are you carrying firecrackers?”

‘So he did see.’ You mentally cursed. Even if you used the ‘it was just light reflected from the glass windows’, there was no way the tall male would believe you. Trying to think up a reason, you began to chew on your lower lip.

“AKAASHI! (Y/N)-CHAN!”

‘Oh thank the quirk gods…’

“I HAVE GREAT NEWS!” Bokuto said as he jumped with excitement. Just in time, he managed to catch you eyeing his childhood friend. There was a moment of silence that even Akaashi wondered why he suddenly stopped yapping. “Anyway! Karasuno and Nekoma will be visiting us during the weekends for some practice matches. AAAHHH! TSUKKI AND KUROO WILL BE THERE AND WE CAN HAVE ANOTHER MATCH, AGAASHI!”

“I’m looking forward to it, Bokuto-san.” He turned to face you as all you three head up the stairs towards your respective classrooms. “You’ve never met the other teams right?”

“No. But I did do research~” One of the lighter things when it came to learning about this place. The teams were pretty interesting and it would be awesome to witness a match with other schools.

Sliding the door open for you, the both of you entered your room with a few greetings here and there. Once the bell rang, you took out your notebook and pen. Again, you caught yourself thinking, what was going on in your own world? Was there another you struggling as well? Twirling your pen, you allowed yourself to drown in your thoughts.

- - - -

and yes! part 4 is now up :) mostly because nothing much happens in this chapter and i had to make ya’ll wait :* Akaashi’s lineup is still accepting tags :) comment if youd like to be a part of it

[mincamzfic]

-04-

PREVIOUSLY…

Everything went still once again. Raven was watching you. He struggled against his brothers even more, he only had you on his mind.

“Let me see her.” He gruffed lowly. “Let me see her!”

A deep breath.

A slow expiration.

                                                         //

Everything stood still for a moment. Raven’s eyes were solely on you. You had stopped convulsing. They all watched you, waiting for you to take another breath. And you did, only, after a while. The Man motionned the others to let him go, seeing as the young Alpha had calmed down. Raven rushed to you, eyeing your pale and messy face. In comparison to Jimin, whom particularly despised you for unknown reasons, Raven had a singular interest in you. You intrigued him and he was quite fond of you, to say the least. Raven would watch through Jimin’s eyes how humanitarian you were, how strong-headed you would act towards Jimin. He noticed that you had this calming aura where you would break off any tension whenever you’d walk into a room and uplift everyone’s mood. You would put the people around you at ease, make them feel calm and Raven was almost certain you weren’t even aware of it. That being said, it proved you worthy as his mate, to calm him down when he gets too hot-headed, to reason with him and he was tired to not meet you properly or show his growing affection. This was all Jimin’s fault for not seeing the treasure that was just in front of him. This is why Raven tried to take control with all his might and he plans on being in control for as long as he can.

He sighed, disappointed that you were unconscious. The back of his hand brushed your cheek delicately. At least you were alive, that’s all that mattered for the wolf.

                                                           //

You laid on your bed ever since the Ceremony. The Man would watch over you once in a while, to make sure you were still breathing and whether you had gained consciousness or not. Raven was inseparable from you. The Man and Namjoon knew all too well, it would’ve happened sooner or later. Jimin may not have any attachement towards you but his wolf does and that was definitely betraying him.

Surfacing back to reality, your body felt like a load of cement. Judging by your confused and foggy mind, you first thought was that you’ve been out for quite some time or you were gravely hungover. Either way, you had no clue of the recent happenings or even what time and date it was. To your dismay, you were unpleasantly greeted by an unwanted arm spread loosely across your body. You rolled your eyes upon seeing the man you despised so close to yours. Asleep. You groaned, trying to push his arm away. You grumbled rubbish as you fought against his heavy limb, cursing him for whatever bubble bursted into his head. You were so annoyed and out of breath. Who knew a damned arm could be so heavy? Just as you gave up, Jimin’s grip on you got unbelievably tight. Your eyes enlarged and you gasped, squirming for your life.

“My mate.” You heard him say. You twisted your head to have good look at him. Was he honestly serious?

“Hey, wake up.” You said dryly, attempting to push his arm away from you. You swore you would tear it apart some day. “ I’m serious Jimin, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

You felt his lips kiss your neck and suck on it. “ Mine. No one else’s mate.” You saw his eyes watching you with an emotion you didn’t want to see. You refrained yourself from demonstrating your disgust. He moved to your jaw, holding your face in his hand,placing a kiss.

That last move seemed to bring you out of the daze you were in, your eyes widened in shock as you gasped, insulted. “Get away from me!” You whispered yell before literally pushing his face away from you. His grip on you loosened due to his surprise towards your actions. You kicked him off the bed, yelling this time. “Have you lost your god damn mind?” You took this opportunity to run off, at least tried to since you were still weak. You limbed as fast as you could, stumbling a few times as you did so, to your own room. You didn’t know which room that was and if it were to turn out to be his room, you thought you would literally burst out in flames. You never hated Jin more than you did now. You hated him for bringing you back, hated him for making you live with someone like Jimin, hated Jimin because he thought he was the shit and gave him the right to be rude to you and others.

Even when you arrived into your bedroom, the one you were given, the one you only could enter unless given the right to, felt foreign.You stopped your mind from raging and took in the air. The room had a strong rotting stench and an intoxicatingly lavender smell, it made the hair on your arms stand up. That was no good. You learned recently the different types of smell the supernatural could have and this one fit the one of a powerful being. You had to make sure for yourself. Despite the fact you extremely mad at the world and everyone in this house for treating you like a prisoner and taking advantage of you, you knew you had to protect them if this smell belonged to what you were suspecting.

Walking down the stairs was horrible, everything hurt. You faintly saw Jin talking with Jungkook and two other guys from the house. Your main focus was on the vibe, whether you had as much chills in other places of the house but your room, whether the distance smell was as strong in other places of the house but your room. At your sight, Jin panicked and started to spit non-sense words that came out more like sounds. He finally managed to squeak out a sentence that was understandable, which you flicked him off by saying you were fine.

“Y/N, you aren’t fine. Look at you! You’re limbing!” Jin argued, hands moving dramatically to support his words.

“I just need to be outside so I can heal myself. My powers work better in nature.” You half-lied. You liked to be outside to use your powers as nature sounds calmed your mind but it wasn’t true that your powers worked better in the outdoors. Jin looked at you suspiciously. He finally nodded and that was your cue to keep moving.

“But Jungkook will stay with you. For extra precautions.”

You tensed, not wanting to bring him into your mess, because yes you thought this was specifically a threat to you, and endanger him. You felt all of their eyes burning your back. “I don’t need a babysitter, Jin. I can take care of myself.”

“Nonsense.” He ignored you, batting his hand. He looked at the younger one. “Jungkook. Go.”

As Jungkook walked your way, you made him understand by a gesture of your hand no not move any further. Jin looked at you the way a parent would give the look to their misbehaving child.

“I told  you, Jin. I don’t need a babysitter. In fact, I’d rather be alone while I do this. I am the one that’s injured, no?”

“Yes, but you’re my responsibility-”

“Responsibility? Since when? So now I am a burden to you? Do I need to remind you that you are the one that forced me to come back here? And sell my house and quit my whole life because “I am one of your pack member’s mate now and I am a Healer and prevent Jimin’s and the world’s downfall blah blah. He might as well freaking fall this wolf of yours. Cut the crap,Jin. You already treat me like a stranger when we are far from that. It’s best for you, all of you for that matter, to leave me the hell alone.” You spat, staring them all down. Poor Jungkook, he stood there, confused on what he should do. Your gaze went met Jin’s. “You at least owe me that.”

                                                        //

There was this special place you set up near the patio where the sun and the wind would hit just right. You had placed pillows, candles, string lights, cushions to sit on, plants and flowers. This was your safe haven. You watched the flowers and the grass move to the rhythm of the wind, it blew softly. The sun was going down, it was already golden hour. You took out you manifestation candles and herbs, the salt, your little grimoire that you put together in the last few weeks. You felt on top of your game as a Healer. This was your precious, it had different techniques using energy to heal and you’ve even gotten into spells and potions recently.

You lit the candle. No, you weren’t about to heal yourself, you were about to manifest answers. You suspected a demon was around. It went into your room specifically and its smell wasn’t anywhere else in the house, however, you had a feeling it would come back. You had a feeling it was near. You hadn’t even started to manifest when wolves came running back to the Pack House, howls and yaps that seemed anxious, alerted. You blew on the candle and it everything under the blanket, rushing as well in the house.

As you walked in, you looked eyes with Jimin’s intense ones. Your gaze lingers on his for a little longer than you would’ve liked. You noticed Jungkook was also studying you when you looked away from Jimin. His eyes seemed intrigued.

“What seems to be the problem?” Namjoon asked, authority clear in his voice.

The three wolves shifted back. One of them stood in front of the two others. You supposed he was the Beta and the two were Omegas.

“Someone trespassed on our territory. It’s no wolf for sure, the smell is different. We tried tracking them down but we couldn’t find anything. No prints. Just an intoxicating smell.” A Beta named Taehyung informed.

At that, your face washout out. You knew exactly what they were talking about. Just as your mind was debating on what to do, Both Jimin and Jungkook looked at you. You stared at them, trying to keep a straight face on, but it was hard to hide things through your eyes. You knew that they knew you knew something.

After they’ve discussed between themselves about the issue, yes you just stood there listening, Namjoon decided to increase rounds of surveillance and watch out for clues. He decided not to hunt them down, considering it wasn’t a wolf we were being faced with. Perhaps, whatever that person was, maybe it wasn’t even on our territory anymore.

Once the impromptu meeting was over, people dissipated once after the other, some going on rounds, some going back to what hey we’re doing. You decided it would be less suspicious to go back outside and pretend to do whatever you were doing. You failed to notice the man following your tracks and grabbing your arm before you could open the patio door. You squeaked, taken aback, turning around with wide eyes and pouted lips, face distorted in interrogation.

“You have some explaining to do.” The dark-haired man told you.

“About?” You shot back, knowing what he was talking about but trying to play dumb.

“You became as white as as ghost. You know something.”

“Jungkook, stop being delusional. I got scared because there is a possible threat on us and we don’t know what we’re facing.” You shrugged. You forced your eyes to stay wide to make you look innocent. “And…” you looked at he floor. “I got flashbacks from the Ceremony…” You lied, purposely lowering your voice to make him think you were embarrassed.

He got closer to you, pulling you in with the grip he still had on your arm. You put your hand on his chest to stop him from coming any closer. “I’m going to let this slide, but don’t think I won’t keep an eye on you.” He muttered beside your ear. “I know that you know something.”

And with that he left, leaving you… perplexed. You went outside to fetch your things. You weren’t in the mood to summon demons anymore. You needed to be on top of your game so that nobody knows and so that nobody gets hurt. You felt it in your bones that this was an issue you had to take care of.

                                                          //

Reassembling your witchcraft items, there was a knock on your door. A look of disgust plastered your face at the view of Jimin. A look of hurt flashed on his but he quickly hid it.

“Y/N, we should talk about last night.” A pair of red eyes stared at you.

“What is there to talk about, JImin?” Your tone was annoyed.

“Raven.” He corrected you.

“Whatever. There’s nothing to talk about. There’s no reason why you should be talking to me right now.”

“Do you have to be such a bitch all the time?” Brown eyes looked at you this time.

You scoffed, insulted. “Yes. You deserve to be treated and talked to the same way you do to me.”

“Y/N, I apologize-” Raven’s red eyes flickered uncontrollably back and forth from his and Jimin’s eyes. You grew worried, this wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just usual bickering.

In the middle of that internal battle, you managed to ask if he was okay and out of a sudden he grabbed you by your throat. You hit his hands and chest to make him let go of you. You tried to scream for help but your voice wasn’t very audible as the only thing coming out was a pained gargle. You started banging on the wall, in hopes that someone would hear you. You had powers and all, you started doing witchcraft and all but Healer’s power didn’t do much against aggression and your spells weren’t on point yet. You were only good at summoning since it required a play with energies.

You fell to the ground, gasping for air, both hands covering your throat to soothe the pain. There was a vague vision of one figure on top of a struggling one. You couldn’t really tell who that was since your vision was blurry. JImin was a danger to others and to himself. He needed to be kept on check.

“Did you hear me?” A masculine voice said.

“Mh? Sorry what?”

“I asked you if you were okay.”

“I’m glad to heal quickly, to say the least. Please bring him to his room and refrain him from escaping.” You ordered. Jungkook looked at you questionably but complied anyway.

You grabbed the jar of mountain ash and met Jungkook in Jimin’s room. He was sitting on the floor, holding Jimin down. You made a circle around them and left an open spot so the younger male could free himself.

“Let go.” You ordered again.

He did, quickly escaping the circle so you could close it.

There was a silence. Jimin stopped struggling. He, in fact, looked at you with pure vain in his eyes. “You think you won?” He smirked at you.

You watched him, breathing heavily. “For now, yes.” You muttered a spell under your breath so that his hands would stay together, like they were attached by a rope. His eyes looked down in surprise, he gasped.

“What did you do?” Jungkook asked, looking at you? He was a little too close for your comfort.

“Just one of my tricks.” You answered quickly, avoiding his eyes.

You walked backwards, slowly. Jungkook followed track. You let him leave first. You stared at the alpha from the door frame, in both awe and wonder. He did the same, his chest heaving. You turned around and close the door.

A scream was heard from behind that door. You ignored it and walked away.

A/N:  Hello everyone! I hope you are all healthy and safe. I know in some places it is not easy. I am here to listen if you guys need to talk. Here’s part.4 that you were expecting for quite some time. Quarantine happened and transition from school to online school and my job requiring me to work full time WHILE being in school full time and writers block made it difficult for me to write. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to give me feedback. Love you all v much

[yaygababa]

Hello the greatest friend in the entire world :)))) Thank you for finally opening your ask box, I am most definitely not being forced to give you a request because of course not ( ╹▽╹" ) anyways, can I maybe request some fluffy Shinsou w/ small Reader?? Please and thank you 😌

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinsou x Short!reader A/n! I was really distracted when writing this... Kinda leaves off weirdly and I apologize.. I HAVEN’T WROTE IN LIKE 5 MONTHS! PLEASE BE PATIENT!

Summery: Grumpy reader is grumpy.

Word count: 1,616

Warnings: None!

It's always, and I mean ALWAYS easier said than done to do even the most basic tasks nowadays for me... I could go months without doing my laundry or cleaning my room, or even something as stupid as washing my face! But going to college and actually, working again after years of doing nothing...? The least I could say is that I'm in pain. So. Much. Pain.

You see, my parents are pushy. I was living with them and doing nothing day in and day out... So when my father finally put his foot down, he demanded that I “Get to it!” and go to college... Otherwise? I'll be thrown out of the house and be forced to live on my own.

Like I said... Easier said than done. I've been stuck in a, in my mother's words, “A mood” for a long time now. I can't take a shower, I can't wash my clothes or eat correctly... I'm in a funk. I wish I could get out of this, I wish I could get outta this headspace and be free from my thoughts that I'm stuck thinking...

But here I am now. Stuck in a lecture with a Professor who is way to excited. His energy would make anyone happy, so hyper and wanting to make his students emulate his attitude. It would be intoxicating if I wasn't pissy. Being grumpy and wanting to be grumpy only equals one thing... Being grumpy and not allowing anyone to change it.

My arms were crossed and my eyes half-closed, my jaw tightly clamped and finger tapping on my forearm. I wanted nothing more than to scream at the Professor to shut his yap, his annoying attitude driving me nuts and people giggling at his jokes... I felt like I was going to exploding with rage.

“And that, my fine students...” He clapped his hands together and smiled like the idiot he was. “Is how blah blah blah blah blah” Yeah whatever, can I go now?

“CLASS DISMISSED!” He shouted, making my ears perk and eye twitch with slight excitement.

I jumped up from my chair, stuffing my papers in my book-bag and storming towards the door. I didn't realize how little people there were... Only a handful of about nine people... I switched my eyes off them, taking my sight to the hallway as everyone disappeared into thin air. I kept my eyes on the floor, blinking time and time again to try and get my mind off the classes as I thought of what my next one was... I couldn't really think straight on if I had another one... I had my schedule in my bag, so I could just look while I'm thinking about it...

I stopped on the side of the hallway, dipping to the floor and taking my bag off my back. I was quick to unzip it, going through book after book till I came to a folded up piece of paper. I reached for it and undid it, only getting a couple words in when I heard laughter, then was pushed on my side as I felt a pair of legs stumble over me.

I jumped and made a weird noise, failing to catch myself and watching a man fall over me, making me hit my head in the process.

“HEY!” I screamed, falling over with them. I pushed myself up and jumped to my feet, blinking over to the person with enraged eyes. I flung my hand up to my head as it started to throb.

“WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING DIPSHIT!” I shouted, bringing my foot around and kicking a man's side. He whimpered and rolled over on his back. I got a good look at him... Green hair, matching eyes, and what looked like a quivering bottom lip. I gritted my teeth, snarled my lip, and widened my eyes.

“Oh you're gonna CRY?” I flung my hands to my sides, dipping my chest down to him, and poked his forehead harshly.

“I CAN GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT!” I reached down and grabbed his shirt, yanked his back off the ground and-

“Heh-Hemmm...” I heard a low voice clear their throat. I flinched, rushing to stand up and drop the green-haired boy. I darted my body around to meet the person... But I came face to face with a chest... I folded my brows, backed up, and looked up. A rather tall, purple-haired male with daring eyes... I gulped but didn't back down as I puffed up my chest and stared at him.

“Who-” I cleared my voice as it cracked. “Who the hell are you?” I tried to put on a tough voice but I probably just sounded silly. He tilted his head ever so slightly and narrowed his tired eyes.

“This-” My voice cracked again. “This doesn't concern you.” I watched him look me up and down, what I guessed was him sizing me up.

“You gonna finish him?” He spoke, his voice smooth and calm. He nudged his head to the side, directing it at the green-haired boy.

“Sh-SHINSOU!” The boy screeched, failing to catch himself as he tried to stand. I flicked my eyes over to him and hiccuped on a giggle. I saw from the corner of my eye that the purple-haired man leaned into me, I blinked over to him and pulled my chest away, leaning but not stepping away.

“Finish him. Do it.” He said loud another for the boy to hear.

“SHINSOU!” He panicked and finally stood up properly. I put a hand to my mouth, pulling on my bottom lip slightly as I held in the biggest laugh.

“Don't-Don't-Don't listen to him- I-I-I didn't mean to-” That's when I cracked. I stepped away from the male I assumed was Shinsou, I kept a hand on my mouth and howled. I felt my chest bump with laughter, the shy male stuttering and blabbering about lord knows what.

“W-Why are they laughing?!” I stood up straight, sealing my mouth shut and holding in my giggles.

“Because-” I snickered, “Because you're a baby- And it's funny- Cause-” I cracked up before I stopped myself again, “Because you're supposed to be super powerful- IZUKU MIDORIYA!” When he stood up I instantly knew who he was.

His back straightened in shock, his bottom lip quivering and making me crack up even more.

“But... Heh... But I don't know who you are...” I hiccuped on my air and tilted my head to the side, staring at the purple-haired and narrowing my eyes. He mimicked my action, tilting his head, and narrowing his eyes. I sniffed and straightened myself, bringing my hand up and pointing a rude finger at him. He straightened himself as well, staring down at me with half-lidded eyes as I stepped up to him.

“What's your name then, hmm?” I smirked up at him, biting my tongue and testing his nerves. Poking his chest, he picked up my finger with his index and thumb like I was disgusting, he pushed my hand into my chest softly, telling me to keep my hands to myself.

“None-ya.” He replied, making me raise a brow.

“None-ya?” I asked, snarling my top lip at him.

“None-ya business.” He turned from me, turning his attention to Izuku before he reached his hand out to him. They pulled each other to themselves, bumped shoulders before doing a small handshake. I couldn't help but give a small smile at their friendship.

“I'll catch you later, Deku.” The tall male said then turned away from Izuku.

“Nice talking to you again, Shinsou!” He called back as the two of them started to walk away from each other. My ears perked, hearing his name intrigued me... So...? I watched them two walk away before running after the male known as Shinsou.

“Hey! Purple hair!” I shouted out. He turned his eyes over his shoulder, caught a glimpse of me and BOOKED IT.

“WH- HEY!” I was taken aback by him running away, but that wasn't going to stop me from chasing him. I was hoofin' it, pushing myself to my limit like I was running for my life.

“Get your ass back here!” I yelled out to him but he just ran faster. I rolled my eyes and tried to catch up. I was pretty new to this school, so him taking me around there was only making me confused. I tripped a couple times, him looking over his shoulder to make sure I was still there before continuing my chase.

We came to different corners a couple of times, me trying my hardest to not lose sight of him, but when we came to another... I ran past the corner... But... Didn't see him. I slowed my pace, what I could have sworn was question-marks flying out of my head as I flicked my eyes around to find him.

I suddenly heard a wolf whistle from behind me, causing me to jump and switch my body around. The purple-haired male was leaning on the wall, arms crossed and one foot pressed up against the wall.

“You-” I pointed my finger at him, stomping my foot and snarling my nose, “SHINSOU!” I said in a childish voice.

“That's my name...” He pushed himself off the wall, keeping his arms crossed as he marched up to me. I bend my finger slightly in nervousness, him coming to my front and staring down at me. I blinked up to him, his daring glare dipping down to my level and looking me square in the eyes. I felt myself shrink, flicking my orbs between his and feeling cornered though I wasn't.

“Now what's yours?”

[iilko]

Single dad sanemi, tengen and flaming cheetos pillar picking up the wrong kid at school on halloween?

Single Father’s Accidentally Leave Their Children Behind (and have people critique their parenting skills.) 

Count: 1k-2k words.

苦あれば楽あり。

Sanemi Shinazugawa

When you don’t get out of the car so you pick up the wrong child.

Sanemi was definitely the type of father who doesn’t get out of the car and stand outside for his child.

There’s no way he’s doing that.

Even on Halloween, he’s just going to sit in the car.

Does he even remember his child’s costume? Wait, yes he does, it’s the Kaonashi spirit from that Ghibli movie. 

He remembered cause they nearly gave him a heart attack this morning.

So yeah, he’s waiting in the car and he’s not going to get out.

That means his child has to remember what their car looks like and enter it.

Sanemi doesn’t lock his doors either, so his kid is just stepping into the car and closing it and that’s the routine.

Sanemi is just looking at the highway, doesn’t even bother looking at the rearview mirror AS HE SHOULD when the car door opens and closes

This dude just starts zooming, the child ain’t even say a word yet, he’s just ready to go.

It’s probably like five minutes into the drive when the child is like

“Can we get McDonald’s?”

Sanemi knows what his child sounds like and

That’s … That’s not his kid.

The fucking thing’s not even wearing the same outfit, the child’s dressed like the fucking donkey from Shrek.

So now Sanemi is turning the whole car around, cursing up a storm and is teaching this child stuff they shouldn’t be knowing at their young age.

And the child won’t shut up either, asking shit like “what’s that?” or “what’s this?”, “is that a bad word?”, “my mommy said your face is scary.”

By the time they get back to school, there’s like five policemen, seven adults all huddling together yelling their ass off, and his dolled up child thumbing a toy monkey.

It’s a shit storm the minute Sanemi gets out, now his parenting skills are being questioned and his child is complaining about a lollipop stuck on the back of their head.

Don’t you just hate when you have to be reasonable and not yell at the police so you don’t get arrested in front of your child? Me too.

45 min later him and his kid are on their way home and it’s silent.

How is possible to be in an awkward situation with your child? 

Just utter awkward silence.

His kid asks for McDonald’s because that’s all kids ever ask for but also because they know Sanemi has to get McDonald’s for them as compensation for almost leaving them behind. Yes, his child is manipulative… they get it from their mom.

Sanemi: “You want McDonald’s? Yea, I’ll get you fucking McDonalds.”

Ever since then, Sanemi stands outside the car and waits for his child like a good parent or whatever the fuck those are.

“And you have to go with me to trick-or-treating tonight.”

“You’re pushing it, brat.”

Tengen Uzui

When you bring the wrong child home and your girlfriend (s) scream at you and you call the parents of the child but the mom is flirting with you because you’re sexy and her man is failing to suffice her needs as her romantic partner and now you’re wondering about the environment their kid lives in on a daily basis. *inhales*

Hear me out, Tengen is a great dad, okay.

He’s the dad every kid wants, buys them whatever they want and rarely scolds them.

Takes them out to arcades and theaters or brings them to his work and everything.

His girlfriends are so sweet too, imagine having three moms that aren’t annoying and cook for you whenever you want. They weren’t here every day, but when they were it was fun. 

His girlfriends are the ones who help pick out his kid’s costume for Halloween.

Which is a boiled lobster? 

His kid wanted to be a boiled lobster for Halloween.

The mind of a child is truly something else.

So yeah, his kid went to school as a boiled lobster and you’d think that no one else would dress up their kid as a boiled lobster for halloween.

I mean, what are the odds, right?

Apparently, the odds are high cause someone dresses up their kid as a lobster too, only they went up a notch and added a freaking pot the child could sit in at times.

Talk about showing off.

So there’s two little kids walking the school grounds as lobsters and no one’s able to differentiate the two and it’s kind of sad.

The teacher’s don’t even put like a sticker to label them they just let the cute kids walk around looking identical.

So when it’s the end of the day and he’s waiting to pick up his kid and he sees just a peach-colored lobster running out of the school, he just picks them up with ease, gives them a kiss (not that the kid can feel it, but it’s the sentiment that matters)

He’s already buckled them up and while the kid is yapping, Tengen can’t really distinguish it under the costume so he’s just agreeing with everything that’s being babbled.

It gets to the point though the kid is so talkative, it’s got him a bit amused. Were they this much of a talker? 

So he’s just pretending to understand what’s being said until the ride home.

Kid’s already taken the buckle off and hopped out of the car and Hinatsuru is standing outside holding a cloth eager for the kid.

[Your girlfriend(s) will always abandon you for something cuter.]

Tengen hasn’t even locked the car when Hinatsuru starts screaming her head off

Here he’s thinking her life is in danger and he rounds the car, Suma and Makio must have thought the same because they’re suddenly standing outside too, but no Hinatsuru is just yelling because that’s not his kid..

“Whose child is this?! Tengen, who is this?”

Tengen just double-takes.

This kid with chubby red cheeks was adorable yeah but…

That’s not his kid, fuck.

(His kid is way cuter, more flamboyant, mind you.)

Now, all of them are yelling while this little toddler is looking back and forth with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen, christ.

Slowly, the yelling dissolves into some solutions. After-school is probably starting and the office should still be open, they could call and ask around.

The kid finally talks again and tells them their name and everything. Hinatsuru takes the child in and she tries to get them some apple juice or something.

It’s an hour of calling people and jumping around and staying in waiting lists that he finally gets a hold of the kid’s mom.

My god, she’s pissed at first. Yeah, she has his kid but the venom dripping off her words are insane, it doesn’t really feel as if it’s directed to him specifically but a woman’s scorn burns everything it touches.

However, you don’t get three girlfriends just being anybody. He’s charismatic and smart with his words.

So, it’s only after like five minutes of talking that he’s able to ease up her biting language and allow him to pick up his child.

Minute she sees him, she’s hooked, he could always see the signs.

She has his kid right beside her, a hand on their shoulder, but she’s not giving them up yet. No, she starts asking questions about him, about his life and what he does. She’s leaning in and listening intently to what he has to say; her eyes never breaking point with his. A manicured hand roams her collarbone with an agonizing slowness and as she leans against the doorframe, she crosses her legs.

Feminine wiles, he was aware of them and he pitied any man that drowned in them. It was the strategy he respected, though.

What was even worse was that he could even see the wedding ring that glistened on her ring finger… Yikes, what kind of awkward environment was their child in? Maybe, he should schedule dates for their kid to come over…

The mother was in a trance and it doesn’t pop until he hears his kid look at her and say, “My dad has three girlfriends!”

And her kid goes, “My mom has a secret boyfriend too!”

Welp.

Kyojuro Rengoku

Kyojuro is a favorite at his kid’s school.

It’s pretty hard for him to pick him up the wrong kid. There’s only one child with eyebrows like his, and he loves them very much!

Plus, they dressed up as the Nyango Star and that was a rare mascot.

You see, Kyojuro is well known at his kid’s school for his eyebrows and hair and the fact he gives the kids money and candy if they ask.

Because of that, the kids love him, it crazy, some of them love him more than their own parents… 

His kid has a lot of friends too and they all love going to his house to play or spend the night.

So, he’s not surprised when he sees like five kids and his run over to him and ask to come over. Kumamon, Umabeh, Octopus, Sushi Roll, Dinosaur, and his beloved Nyango Star all come over and harass him to take them home.

He’s a bit of a pushover with children, he can’t help it, they’re just so cute.

Of course, he greets each parent and tells them about where their child is heading over too.

But now that means he’s stuffing six kids into a car and no-o his kid just has to go pee before they buckle up.

Now, Kyojuro is unzipping their costume a bit and is watching them run back into the school to pee. He’s just ready to take them home and let them have fun.

Also pictures, he’s taking a lot of pictures because they looked so adorable! He’d plaster them on the wall and everything and he’d parade it in their face when they are older and capable of feeling embarrassed.

They’re all waiting for his kid again but then Kyojuro hears a door on the side open and close and he just assumes that it’s his kid, cause y’know, who else would come into this car.

He’s already moving the vehicle when the kids are yelling at him that his kid isn’t here yet! Wait!

Wait.. what?

He brakes, cranes his head and sees some child dressed as a yellow and red clown crouching in his car with huge, wet eyes.

Kumamon-bo points out, “she’s crying, Rengoku-san!”

Clown baby’s face is wet, her makeup is dripping.

then Octopus-chan says, “she looks like Rengoku-san!”

And all the kids are yelling and tittering while this young baby is about to scream.

Kyojuro slowly moves back to the school grounds and there he sees his kid and two parents standing there worryingly.

Of course, his kid is crying too and just clings to his pant leg when he gets out. The kids in the car (minus the little clown) are acting like this is the funniest thing they’ve ever seen in their little life.

Kyojuro’s kid accuses him of not wanting them which is far from the truth but he lets them cry it out as he picks them up and eagerly apologizes to the clown girl’s parents for the mishap.

On the road he offers the loud children food, and that’s the story as to why there’s six toddlers in wrinkled yuru-chara costumes with one grown man all noisily eating Okonomiyaki in a family restaurant.

[emisfritish]

Puppy eyes make everything paw-ssible - Part 4

Pairing: Sarawat/Tine (2gether the series)

Summary: Retraces the journey of how Charlotte came to be the most beloved member of the Guntithanon/Teepakorn household.

Chapters: 4/6 (although each part can be read as a stand alone).

Previous parts : Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Notes: Because we all know Sarawat can be a dramatic little shit, and Tine can be the reasonable one, have this installment. Bonus Earn cameo because I needed her sassy self somewhere in this fic. No actual puppy eyes in this one, because Charlotte is too busy sleeping and making her father panic. 

Sarawat refuses to take his eyes off of her. 

Since Sarawat entered back into the apartment and immediately noticed the lack of Charlotte greeting him excitedly at the door, his eyes instantly made it to the lying form of his dog, currently laying on her mat like she has been for the past 15 minutes since he came home, and he refuses to let her out of his sight yet, worry pitting in his stomach and the only thing keeping him sane being the small movements he can see her belly make with her breathing. 

He knows he’s being stupid right now, and that it’s very likely that nothing is wrong, but he can’t help the worry that is piling in his stomach and he can’t stop his heart from beating fast in his chest.

Ever since Charlotte had come home with them, there hadn’t been one day where she hadn’t been at the door to greet him or Tine as soon as they made it back. And the fact that today she’s just laying down, seemingly sleeping… Let’s just stay that Sarawat is worried, to put it mildly. 

It’s probably nothing, and it’s very likely that Charlotte is just resting but… What if it was actually something ? What if something is wrong and she’s not ok ?

He moves quietly, laying down on his front on the floor just in front of her dog pad so he can observe her tiny belly moving up and down, and stays there until he hears the front door opening. 

“Hello ! Uhm… Wat ?” he hears Tine ask wearily. 

Sarawat knows he needs to be careful about how he says what he’s about to say to Tine. He loves Charlotte, and he doesn’t want Tine to be unnecessarily worried or scared if this is just him over-reacting. Still, he’s also kind of freaking out right now and seeing as Tine knows a lot more about dogs than he does, he needs to share his concerns with him so that they can take action if needed. 

���I think Charlotte might be dying,” is what he settles on saying, and he hears Tine’s gasp from the door, as well as someone sighing. 

Ok, maybe that was a bit overly dramatic. And so much for not worrying Tine. 

“Sarawat, she just looks like she’s sleeping to me. What are you even going on about ?” Tine asks him from the door after a few seconds of silence, which he has probably spent looking at Charlotte to check that she was actually ok. 

Sarawat doesn’t feel comfortable letting Charlotte out of his sight yet, so he answers back without taking the time to turn towards Tine. 

“She could be sleeping. Or she could be dying. What are we going to do Tine ?” he asks, his voice breaking in the middle of his question, panic beginning to pull him under. 

“So I’m going to let you deal with that situation then,” he hears another voice say sarcastically, and he turns towards the door, surprised to find Earn there with Tine. 

Before Sarawat has the time to answer, Tine turns to Earn, a betrayed look on his face. 

“But he’s your best friend, you can’t leave now !” Sarawat hears him say indignantly.

“He is, but he’s your boyfriend. And that definitely trumps friendship. I’ll come and talk to him about our new song tomorrow. So have fun dealing with his meltdown ! My perfect, sweet and sane Pear is waiting for me at home,” he says with a mocking smile, before turning around and leaving. 

Sarawat frowns and watches her back get smaller as she walks away. He wonders what song she wanted to talk to him about, but he quickly pushes the thought away from his mind. He doesn’t have the mental power to deal with it right now anyway. Yes, he is aware she’s mocking him, but Charlotte might be dying and there are priorities to have in life. 

He turns back to Tine when he hears his boyfriend sigh, and close the door, before he makes his way closer to Sarawat. 

“Okay Wat, what’s going on? She’s just asleep,” he says, amusement clear on his face while he sits on the floor next to Sarawat, crossing his legs to make himself more comfortable. 

“I know it may be ridiculous, but she’s barely moved since I came back home. As soon as I cross the door, Charlotte is usually on me in a second and today… What if something is wrong with her ?” he asks, eyeing Tine from where he’s still lying on the floor. 

“Wat, babe…” Tine sighs. He ruffles Sarawat’s hair, causing him to scrunch his nose, before he goes to do the same to Charlotte. 

Charlotte is obviously not in the mood to be bothered by her owners right now, since she lets out a small yap at Tine interrupting her sleep, before wiggling on her mat, rearranging herself so she’s facing away from Tine and Sarawat. 

When he sees her turn around on the mat and hears her small lively bark, Sarawat feels relief rush over him, and he drops his entire body, forehead resting on the floor. 

“Had you not roused her to check she was ok ? You know she’s a dog and not a baby, you can in fact wake up her to check she’s okay if you’re worried,” Tine tells him, laughter evident in his voice. 

“God, I’m such an idiot,” he sighs, and he hears Tine let out a small laugh. He hadn’t wanted to disturb her in case she really wasn’t feeling well, but in hindsight, Sarawat can’t believe how much of an idiot he’d been, instantly panicking instead of calmly checking her out. 

“Not an idiot, just a worried dog father,” Tine teases him, and Sarawat turns his face towards him to frown. 

“She’s a dog Tine, not our daughter,” he scoffs. 

“Want to tell me why your brain skipped all the logical explanations like the fact that she was sleeping, and jumped straight to ‘our dog is dying’ ?” Tine asks, completely ignoring his previous comment. 

“I don’t know,” he sighs in answer, before he lifts up a bit, rearranging his body so he can lie down on his back, still on the floor, but with his head in Tine’s lap this time. Much more comfortable.

One of Tine’s hands immediately starts caressing his hair and scratching his scalp, and Sarawat feels his heartbeat start to slow down for the first time since he came home earlier. 

“I’m just…,” he closes his eyes, not quite knowing how to express what he feels exactly. How Sarawat, in his life, has had few people or things that he’s loved truly. How opening up their home for Charlotte has meant someone new for him to love, and therefore someone new that he could lose. How ever since he got with Tine, and now that they have Charlotte, he’s been the happiest he’s ever been in life and that means something has to give eventually, right ? Because that’s not how life usually works out for Sarawat. 

He’s still trying to figure out how to voice all of this, but it seems like he doesn’t need to because he feels Tine’s lips on his forehead, his boyfriend pressing a soft kiss there before he caresses his cheek. 

“I get it Wat,” he says softly, and it’s true that Tine does know him better than he knows himself sometimes nowadays. 

The words prompt Sarawat to open his eyes back up and stare at him. 

“But you know, sometimes, things work out. Think about what you always tell me. Our life is a movie, right ? Well this is finally us having our happy ending, our Marley and Me moment.”

“The dog dies, in Marley and Me,” he ends up reminding Tine, recalling his boyfriend bawling his eyes out for hours after the movie ended when they watched it when they first got together a couple years ago.

“God, when did you get this cute ?” Tine laughs in answer, bending down to press a kiss to Sarawat’s pouty lips. “Then think of our lives more as like… Beethoven, rather than Marley and Me.” 

Sarawat stays silent for a few seconds, mulling things over. In a way, he has to admit it does kind of fit, with Tine being as excitable as the kids in that movie, and him being as reticent as the father in the movie, before eventually falling in love with the dog too. 

“Charlotte looks nothing like that dog,” he ends up saying to be contrary, and he sees Tine shake his head fondly. 

“Sarawat, everything’s going to be fine, and I promise right now, Charlotte is just sleeping after having stayed up all night to wreak havoc in our living room,” he consoles him, and Sarawat does have to admit he has a point. Destroying all 6 of their kitchen rolls during the night certainly did take some time, after all. 

He looks up at Tine and nods in acceptance, reassured by his boyfriend’s words, and Tine smiles brightly back at him. 

“By the way, seeing as Charlotte is asleep right now…” Tine starts to say. “I do seem to recall saying I would make it up to you when Charlotte kept interrupting us a couple weeks ago,” he finishes with a teasing smile. 

It takes a couple seconds for Sarawat to recall the scene and understand what his boyfriend is implying right now, but as soon as he does he sits up from his perch in Tine’s lap and jumps to his feet, offering his hand down to Tine to lift him up as well. 

“Let’s go,” he says excitedly, prompting Tine to laugh again. 

“Who knew I actually had two puppies in the house ?” Tine mocks him, while he follows Sarawat who’s pulling him towards their bedroom. “I swear if you had a tail it would be wagging back and forth right now.”

“Shut up nuisance, and come quickly before she wakes up,” he replies, pulling Tine in the bedroom after him and closing the door. “And I hope you appreciate the restraint I’m displaying right now, holding off on the ‘tail’ innuendos after you left this one wide open.”

“Saraleo !” Tine exclaims, falsely outraged, before he is cut off by Sarawat’s mouth landing on his, preventing any further words from leaving his mouth. 

Now that he’s reassured about the fact that Charlotte will indeed be ok, Sarawat can think of much better ways they can occupy their dog-free moment rather than talk. And with the promise of Tine making it up to him…. Well. Let’s just say Sarawat hopes Charlotte stays asleep for a little while longer.