#a downright miserable experience lately | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintobio · 8 months ago

Text

sincerely yours. (10)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+

tags/warnings. depression, intoxication, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships,

notes. important announcement ! as you all know, this series has always had an extensive approach into detailing the events in its side stories (ie. sera x sukuna x naoya, yuuji x megumi, maki x yuuta x miwa, etc), but while writing the chapters, the word count and the plot building had become too exhausting for me to produce consistently, esp with the amount of scenes and side stories i was introducing to the story, so i've decided it's best for me to stick to the main characters, reader & gojo, and will only add side stories as necessary. this really hurts me knowing that i can't achieve the level of comprehensive writing and world building that i did for sincerely not, but i really want to finish sy as soon as possible and removing a chunk of side stories would be some of the things that'd help me achieve that 😭 i hope you guys understand. hopefully i'll figure out a way to write those side stories instead of completely abandoning them mid-way in this series. but as always, thanks for ur continued support <3

series masterlist -> episode eleven

“It’s a little weird.”

What was supposed to be her bed time had turned into a moment of reflection for Sera who, instead of being fast asleep at this time of the night, had unconsciously brought herself inside Sukuna’s home office to join the up-and-coming tech mogul in his late-night programming.

She wore her silk pajamas, pacing back and forth in her boyfriend’s office as her mind flew back to the recent encounter she had with her ex-boyfriend. Who knew that Satoru’s kid would look just like a carbon copy of him? No, actually, the question should be: who knew it would be a different woman by his side acting as the mother of his child? Sera had to laugh at herself, shaking her head as she realized how truly and undeniably ridiculous her ex was. It was clear that day that he wasn’t really as loyal of a partner as he claimed himself to be.

Did he really just go through all those crazy things with you, only to look like a whore-hopping fool now?

If he was bound to end up with someone else other than you, then why did he have to make Sera’s life miserable in the first place?

She may have done terrible things before as a selfish and materialistic lover of his, but that wouldn’t change the fact that Satoru also contributed to her role as the side-piece in his marital relationship. He allowed her to cling to him like a mistress. Being his side-piece wasn’t even something that she had forced upon him. It was his promise, an idea that he planted on Sera’s head, saying that she would need to stay by his side and that he would marry her guaranteed that he had already secured the merger and divorced you. He swore like a fool that he would divorce you. But guess what? The jerk ended up falling in love with his wife and suddenly had no use of Sera. Suddenly, he was such a good husband who couldn’t be more loyal. Suddenly, he was a lovestruck man who had always been in love with his childhood friend. If he had downright dumped Sera the moment his engagement was announced, if he had not been prideful and ambitious since the beginning of his marriage, he probably would have had better luck at having that healthy relationship he yearned from you.

But how come the blame of being the third-party was all on Sera when her only mistake then was loving the person who promised her all the good things in life?

Now, you see, this was all just bitterness brewing at the back of her head. She knew what she did was still wrong and that she wasn’t innocent. Sera swore to herself that she would never look back on those awful days ever again, but seeing how Satoru was running around freely with a different woman just reminded Sera of his days as a spiteful, two-timing man. Somehow, it felt like he had changed and yet didn’t at all.

Ha ha ha. How ridiculous was that?

“What’s funny?” asked Sukuna, her present boyfriend and thankfully so. He was Sera’s blessing, because she never would have thought that a man like him could still exist in a world full of Satoru’s and Naoya’s. “You look cute smiling to yourself, though.”

“I know,” she responded to the compliment, shifting to settle herself on his lap, though his attention remained fixed on his laptop screen. “It's just strange to me,” she continued, her voice thoughtful, “how Gojou appears his usual self, yet there's something off about him.”

The question clouded Sukuna’s eyes in confusion, tilting his head to the side as he tried to comprehend her description. “You mean dude got uglier?”

I wish, Sera thought. “No, he’s… he’s different. The vibes are different. For a second, he even looked like he was dissociating the whole time he was with that girl,” she said, referring to Satoru’s new girl as though she was your cheap alternative, “But then again, why is he with her in the first place if he looks absent-minded the whole time, you know what I mean?”

“Was he like that with you before?”

“At times, but it’s not like the way he’s acting right now… I don’t know, I can’t explain it. The energy is off. That’s just not how he acts when he’s really, really into someone.”

To be honest, Sukuna didn’t give a damn about Satoru Gojou’s life and any normal boyfriend wouldn’t really like hearing their girlfriend talking about another man, especially her ex at that, but he knew Sera found joy in old money gossip and he was aware of the demoralizing past she has had by associating herself with them. Sukuna was acting all engaged in their conversation because he wanted to make her feel heard and that he shared her simple joys in life. Besides, it was through her that he learned so many inside scoops about the people that ran the country’s biggest conglomerates. It was like watching one heck of a messy episode of Dynasty.

“Didn’t he get into a car accident?” he recalled, remembering the headlines on the news that day, “Then, we saw him at the expo and he couldn’t really remember you. The guy’s probably got his head all messed up.”

Sera was bitter at the time thinking that Satoru was toying with her when he asked who she was, when the truth was, he was actually diagnosed with amnesia. It was such a shock to her, truthfully, because having amnesia felt like something you would only see on a movie’s screen. Well, in that case, she could also say karma’s a bitch. The director might be onto something here.

“He’s probably not mentally fine, but still…” she thought carefully and played the scene in her head again. What was it about the Gojou that she saw the other day that was different? “He just has a different vibe to him that it feels uncomfortable. It’s like he’s rude, but not so rude? He doesn’t have much of a personality anymore. Like a complete stranger.”

“Maybe it’s the new girl rubbing off on him.” Sukuna was back to typing on his laptop as he said that. Frankly, he was just saying anything at this point.

Sera shook her head in response. “Well, I don’t know about that girl he’s seeing and I don’t really care, but it’s common knowledge to the filthy rich that she’s Y/N’s best friend. That’s why I recognized her right away, and that’s why it disgusted me,” she pressed on, “Tell me, would you—and be honest about this—would you fuck your best friend’s ex?”

The humor on her boyfriend’s face came right as she asked that. “Babe, you fucked a married man. It’s worse than fucking somebody’s ex.”

“Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, she got up from his lap and sighed, but Sukuna wasted no time in pulling her back onto his lap. His chuckle was mingling with the gentle kiss he had planted on her cheek, unaware that his actions made Sera’s heart flutter. “Forget it. I shouldn’t even be talking about Satoru with you.”

The man stretched his arms and finally closed his laptop, patting Sera’s thigh afterwards. “On that note, I do have another ‘dude from your past’ that I gotta meet tomorrow.”

Her reaction alone was a response for him. “Naoya?” she protested, face contorting with disgust. “What for? I told you not to take on that project.”

“Yeah, I considered it, and you know, the partnership could really benefit CleaveTech,” Sukuna reasoned, leaning back as he outlined the situation to her from a business standpoint. Given her own background working for the Gojou Group before, he expected her to grasp the significance of this partnership and set aside any personal grievances or emotional attachments. “The Zen'in Group is a major client. It’s all pros and no cons here.”

“The contra is the guy you’re gonna work with,” she highlighted with a hint of annoyance rising from her throat, “Naoya is nothing but an opportunistic motherfucker. Mind you, he’s a stupid elitist, too.”

He held back a laugh, not even threatened by a man who had a terrible history with his girlfriend. “Nah, I’ll deal with him. Just trust me on this.”

As much as Sera wanted to object, she knew Sukuna had a point and that she really shouldn’t hinder his company from being partnered with such a large conglomerate. She just didn’t like the thought of her boyfriend being around a man who manipulated and humiliated her to the point where she had been blacklisted by multiple companies, leaving her to resort to being somewhat of a prostitute just to make ends meet.

The world was harsh for the not-so-rich, and all Sera wanted was to give those upper class people a taste of their own medicine. But seeing as her desire for revenge would clash with her boyfriend’s chance at company growth, she had to set aside her personal grudge and support him on this one.

Still, there was nothing wrong with being curious. “Is there any other reason you agreed to this partnership?”

Sukuna smirked as if he expected that question from her. “Blame it on my little brother, he’s been bugging me ‘bout it.”

“Yuuji?” Sera asked, clearly confused.

To which her boyfriend quickly answered, “Yeah. He said it’ll give him an opportunity to work with his best friend. You know that kid, Fushiguro, right?”

Ahh. Toji’s kid aka the heir to the Zen’in business empire. Sera had met Megumi before, and while that other brat Mai used to be unreasonably rude to her, the younger boy was always civil and respectful at least. He never even once treated Sera like dirt when she was spending time with Naoya at their mansion. Perhaps their upbringing really differed because he was raised by Toji and the other Zen’ins were raised by demons.

Nevertheless, with a connection now established between Sukuna and Naoya through Yuuji and Megumi, Sera couldn’t help but feel that her peaceful days as a nouveau riche were about to become far more intriguing. Depending on the cards she would choose to play, they could even turn into a living nightmare.

— —

You weren’t exactly abandoning your company; you were merely taking a break, a necessary pause given your current mental state after the whole break-up with Toji and the Osaka thing. Your mind was just too overwhelmingly occupied to even properly function. Each day, mustering the energy to show up at Hearte's head office became increasingly challenging, especially when faced with individuals who relied on you for major decisions and creative direction.

To make matters worse, Akemi’s sudden resignation hit hard.

You received her decision by a simple letter, a mere piece of paper, without even having the guts and decency to meet with you in person. Was she scared? Or was this her way of rubbing salt on the wound, shoving it in your face that she was now taking things to the next level with your ex-husband?

She did cite in her resignation letter that her reason for resigning from the role was due to conflict of interest. You wanted to laugh when you read that part. No, you wanted to choke in your fit of laughter after reading through her asinine reasons. She could have been upfront and mentioned that the so-called ‘conflict’ was the very man her best friend had previously married.

Obviously, everyone in the office felt sad knowing that a core member of the company left without at least a 30-day notice, but they were all also aware that her resignation was due to personal albeit controversial reasons. Did Akemi not care about her image at all? The same colleagues she had trained, managed, and collaborated with would now likely gossip about her behind her back. She would become a hot topic of disrespect among the people that once heavily respected her. Did she also not care about the company you two created together anymore? This was the same company you two had passionately dreamed of during your late-night conversations on a New York rooftop. She was the one who wanted to build a fashion house together with you.

Yet, it seemed she was willing to throw it all away for a man already entangled in complicated familial dynamics. Her immediate resignation and refusal to speak to you in person just further confirmed it to you that Akemi was willing to forsake your friendship by choosing a man who already had a child with someone else.

Since she chose that path, you couldn’t help but interpret Akemi’s actions as a deliberate slight against your friendship. It seemed clear that she no longer viewed you as a friend and was essentially cutting ties with you. Otherwise, why would she take such a step? Akemi wasn’t the type to be vindictive; she likely believed she was sparing you further pain by severing your connection. However, regardless of her intentions, her actions felt deeply disrespectful and hurtful.

If this was what she wanted, then kudos to her and her unbelievable confidence to choose a man like Satoru Gojou. Besides, it didn’t even take you a week to find another replacement. Your family connections were powerful after all. You readily had a pool of potential candidates for the role of the Head of Sales, Retail, and Merchandising—all from prestigious backgrounds and unparalleled expertise. While the competition was tough, you selected the person you deemed was the most qualified to be your second-in-command. This was someone you had esteemed since college, a person who excelled in both business acumen and creative vision.

Yuki Tsukumo. She was influential in every sense, and you trusted that she would be able to manage the high pressure environment of a start-up fashion house and transform it into an iconic brand, a household name that would one day rival Chanel and Miu Miu.

You may have succeeded in replacing Akemi. You may have shown her that her position in the workforce was easily replaceable, but her role as your friend still left a lingering, repugnant mark that proved far more difficult to erase. This underlying sentiment could explain the unreasonable anger festering in your heart—a visceral reaction born from feelings of backstabbing betrayal.

It was hard enough for you to travel all the way to Osaka with a broken heart, but it became much more agonizing to watch your own son run up to Akemi like she was his mother. It was a goddamn slap to your face, indeed, to see that your ex-husband had already chosen a woman to have his happy, little family with. That he wanted to be a good man and be everything you wished for in a husband for her.

As they say, nothing hurts more than building a man for another woman.

And honestly? You cried so much on the way home that you became numb. Now, you were just trying to get over it. You were trying to bury the searing pain in order to forget the betrayal you felt. It was all too much for a person to handle and it wasn’t like you hadn’t gone through the same old shit before. Wasn’t it worse before with Satoru actually cheating and all? He technically wasn’t crossing any lines here, so it shouldn’t hurt you. It shouldn’t. You had been here before. If you had managed to get through such an awful time as his previous wife, his relationship with Akemi shouldn’t be too hard to accept. No, you weren’t trying to lowball your pain, but it was better to be an optimist in this situation than be a suicidal, self-destructive person. You had a business to run and a child to raise. You had to be strong.

Or at least, that was what you told yourself. That was what you had been telling yourself over and over, each time you got up from bed forcing yourself to have a false positive mindset. In fact, that was also why you had to take this extended break because you had to have your peace of mind. You had to have some form of release to remember why you needed to stay alive and keep yourself going.

Not just for Sachiro’s sake, but also for your own.

Your safe haven for now was at the horse ranch, where the tranquility of riding and the beauty of nature provided the perfect ambiance for reflection. How long has it been since your last visit to Willow? Your father had been joking that you shouldn’t be leaving a beautiful, white Friesian horse unattended for years, especially not for the expensive price he paid her for. True enough, because the moment you saw the mare again, you almost forgot how majestic she was for her breed. Willow was a completely docile and graceful horse, so alike to you in many ways. However, one thing that was unlike you, was that she lived in peace, existing solely for herself and not for anyone else.

If only you could be like her.

As you reached out to stroke your rare-breed horse, a new and unfamiliar stallion in the stable caught your eye. To think of it, your family shared this equestrian estate with the Gojou family. This realization meant that the strikingly elegant and tall gray horse in the adjacent stall belonged to none other than Satoru.

“It’s a Thoroughbred,” the equine caretaker informed while guiding your horse out of the stable, “Mr. Satoru got him recently and named him Six.”

A gray Thoroughbred, renowned as the most expensive horse breeds out there. It could fetch a price as high as $70 million, and of course, Satoru was the perfect owner for such a prestigious horse. The stallion embodied his essence completely—its color, its build, its rarity. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but find his naming convention by number a bit odd. His previous black stallion was named Eight. This time around, it was Six. Couldn’t he be more imaginative?

“He’s beautiful,” you mumbled, nonetheless, in awe with the regality of the horse.

“He’s a good boy, too,” added the enthusiastic horsekeeper in a thick country accent, “Mr. Satoru was here yesterday and played polo while riding him. They were perfectly in sync even if it was his first time riding him.”

Of course, he would play polo. That was one of his favorite recreational sports. The burning question at hand was, who was with him during his visit? Because if the caretaker mentioned Akemi, you would certainly lose it. This was your private space with him. This estate was a place that none of his other women had access to, not even Sera. This was a location filled with memories from your childhood. For him to bring another woman here would be crossing the damn line.

“Did he bring anyone with him?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you dusted off your boots.

The caretaker denied. “No, he was alone. He just came to play polo and check the horses he recently bought.”

Oh… “He bought more than one?”

Did he seriously get Akemi her own horse? Your heart was racing at the thought, but the caretaker led you to the stable near the exit to show you the other horse than your ex-husband had purchased. It was a brown Shetland pony.

“He got a fully trained Shetland for your son,” the horsekeeper proudly declared, showcasing the pony as if he had been instructed to do so in anticipation of your visit. It was obvious that Gojou had already briefed him on introducing Sachiro’s new pony to you because he knew you would be asking about it. “His name is Elmo. He is kid-safe and very friendly.”

Frankly, you wanted to sigh in relief, but at the same time, it warmed your heart to know that Satoru got his son his own horse at such a young age. You could already sense him planning to make Sachiro take equestrian classes when he gets older, and probably join him on his horseback riding sessions, too. You could imagine just how perfect it would be to see the father and son bonding here, racing together, playing polo together… yet it would not be you who would be watching them on the side.

This future he was setting up with his son would be an experience he would share with Akemi.

There was no you in that vision anymore.

The caretaker likely questioned your sanity when he noticed the bitter smile on your face as you mounted your mare. He might have even doubted whether you were sane enough to ride alone, without a guide, particularly through the woods since Willow had not been ridden for some time now. However, you had done it countless times before and were quite familiar with the trail, and so you dismissed his offer to lead you and assured him confidently that you knew your way back.

You needed this solitude. You craved this moment of peace, alone with your thoughts and surrounded by nature, to reflect on the ceaseless torture of your life. It was just never-ending, squeezing every drop of happiness out of your system to make sure that you would only live to suffer. You really thought you had your happy ending with someone else? You actually believed you had found the perfect man to be your actual husband?

Well, unfortunately for you, Toji was not the one.

At first, your mind flew to Toji as you went on to the trail, allowing the mare to continue trotting as you held the reins to control her. You remembered Toji’s text that morning, asking you for the hundredth time if he could meet with you. He likely wanted to apologize in person, but you doubted he would change his mind and take back the things he said. Because they were true. He could never fill the void left by his deceased wife by being with another empty soul. It was painfully, unmistakably true. You were better off dead if that was the case, because even if you did end up marrying him, you would never be regarded as the person he loved the most. After all, your role in this world seemed to always be the second option. You were never the first in other people’s books. Not with your ex-husband. Not even with your family, especially with Gen around. You were meant to be a bystander, watching others live their perfect lives while you were forced to be in your misery. Someone like Toji would not have a guaranteed blissful marriage with you and you had to spare him from that. You had to draw the line and step back from this charade that you were playing with him, knowing that you were never the right person to be with him, so at some point, you had to accept his drunken words. They came from a place of truth, and that truth would set the both of you free.

Even it hurt. Even if it fucking hurt to hear his words. You couldn’t deny them.

You could easily forgive him, but his words might take a while for you to forget because even thinking about it now was bringing a wave of pain into your chest. You didn’t even notice that you were losing control on Willow’s reins by the time you entered further into the woods, bouncing on the saddle as you galloped along the challenging path. With the speed you were riding right now, inexperienced riders would certainly find it unsafe and scary. But for you? It was just what you needed. The breeze of fresh air, the thrill of riding alone, the peaceful sound of nature—you could die there and be at your happiest.

Maybe that was where you had to be; to disappear and leave them all behind. Wouldn’t that be best for everyone? If you were to vanish, they could finally be free. Your presence, even from the beginning, was a burden for everyone—for your dad, Gen, Satoru, Toji, and even Akemi. The people you trusted the most would be the same people who would secretly celebrate your demise. So, what else was hindering you from taking matters into your own hands and ending it all yourself?

“Giddy up!”

Was it Sachiro? Definitely. But now he had his father, and he was likely starting to see Akemi as a mother figure as well. Your role as his beloved mama could be easily replaced if you were to leave him now. It wouldn’t hurt him as much that way. Three years with Sachiro seemed sufficient enough, and he was at an age where he could grow up alongside his father. In this short span, he would have lasting memories with you, yet not enough to deeply grieve your absence. He was a young child, surrounded by people who would offer the whole world to him. At least, for that, you were eternally grateful. It brought you comfort knowing that your son would have support after you were gone, and that he would find a mother figure in Akemi. Given the brief time he spent with you and the rest of his life with her as his stepmother, Sachiro would likely come to love and accept Akemi as his own mother. This was the best outcome you could hope for.

My child, my son, my baby… please don’t get mad at mommy.

Tears were gushing out of your eyes and you hadn’t even realized it until they started blurring your vision. You were far too lost in your own thoughts, unaware that you were now in an unfamiliar and seemingly dangerous part of the trail. The path was getting a little bit too steep and poor Willow was clearly stressed at your inconsiderate handling. There were multiple obstacles on your rocky terrain and you weren’t as steady and controlled as you wanted to be because the horse wasn’t comfortable navigating such a difficult path with the pace you were forcing her to.

“Ah!”

Your attempt to balance was interrupted by Willow’s loud neigh, signaling her distress before she bolted into a full rampage. She was sprinting at an estimated speed of 20 miles per hour. Not even a skilled rider like Satoru himself would be cantering that fast on unfamiliar terrain and an unfit horse. But you, you clearly had a death wish, because instead of fearing for your own life, you were far more concerned at the thought of how dreamy Satoru and Akemi’s wedding would look like after your demise. They would definitely make Sachiro their ringbearer. Suguru would be the best man. Shoko, the maid of honor. People on the internet would praise them for being an attractive couple. They would anticipate their beautiful kids together, living in the same mansion he bought as a gift to you. He would kiss her good night, tell her loves her, and offer the whole world to her. They would exchange vows and promise themselves a lifelong commitment to be by each other’s side through sickness and in health, and only in death would they part.

“Willow!”

You let out a shriek as the reins slipped from your grasp, causing you to tumble off the saddle and crash onto the ground. The impact was first felt in your elbow, and a sharp, searing pain then radiated through your body. There you lay, sprawled on the dirt, helplessly watching Willow galloping out of control up the mountain, and then tragically plummeting off a cliff.

“Nooo! Willow, no!”

Utter hysteria overtook you. You sobbed uncontrollably, unable to determine which pain was more agonizing—the clearly broken elbow, the loss of the horse you had inadvertently led to its death, or the heart-wrenching reality of Satoru starting a family with someone else.

You were pathetic. You were such a pathetic excuse of a human being and this was why you deserve hell.

“Willow!”

Toji couldn’t love you. Your own son didn’t want to be around you. Satoru had gotten over you. And now, you drove a poor innocent horse to its demise because of your recklessness!

You were crying hysterically as you held your pained elbow, crawling by the cliff’s edge as you screamed for your horse’s name, but in the end, there was nothing you could do. You could only apologize to poor Willow for having such an irresponsible owner, and now she was dead because of you. 16 years of her life, she was able to live in peace until you came and ruined it all for her. It should have been you. You were the one who should have jumped off a cliff. You should atone for your sins and follow her, but you were too weak, far to overcome by the excruciating pain on your hip and your broken elbow to move or do anything at all.

That was, until your mind had completely shut down, leaving you as a mere body to be discarded alone in the darkness of the woods. You hoped that no one else would find you soon.

— —

“A-Angina?” Satoru’s eyes went wide. His whole world stopped before him.

“Yes. She was diagnosed with stable angina,” Dr. Mori confirmed, much to your husband’s horror. “But there is another factor that requires her to have more rest. You need to take good care of your wife, Mr. Gojou. Her body needs a lot of nutrients so she can carry safely.”

He could barely process the whole thing in his head because the news kept coming one after another, leaving him in a befuddled state with a flood of unanswered questions running through his mind. “What do you mean…?”

“Your wife is seven weeks pregnant.”

…

“Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

You could barely pry your eyes open, but when you finally managed to, you were met with the concerned expression on Gen’s face. The harsh glare of fluorescent lights and the antiseptic scent confirmed to you that you were in the ER, likely an hour or two after the incident in the woods. The memory of the trail quickly flooded your thoughts, and a pang of sorrow gripped your heart as you recalled Willow's final moments before she fell off the cliff. The poor horse had lost her life, while the one responsible for her tragic death remained alive, save for the bandage wrapped around your arm.

“Why did you ride into the woods alone?” Gen persisted with her barrage of questions, standing by your bed as you attempted to sit up. “Are you suicidal or what? Riding your horse in a dangerous trail like that—”

“You know what, maybe I should have just died back there!” you snapped, wincing from the pain in your elbow. Her choice of words struck a nerve in you. “Maybe I’d prefer that over sitting here, listening to your sanctimonious lecture like you're so perfect yourself! How obnoxious.”

“Then, maybe you shouldn’t be riding so recklessly and causing alarm to everyone else!”

“Did I literally ask you to come save me?!”

The atmosphere around you two just became even more uninviting, with discomfiting silence seeping through as you and Gen were engaged in a sharp glaring contest. Your father stood behind her, clearing his throat to cut the tension.

“That’s enough, Gen.” Your dad placed a hand on her shoulder, and although she wanted to protest, she knew better not to keep stirring the pot after receiving his strict gaze. “Let’s just be thankful your sister is safe. There’s no need to be so overwhelming.”

You rolled your eyes, drawing in a deep breath before you looked away from them. None of them would ever understand your pain unless they were in your position. They didn’t carry the same baggage as you, so they would never fully comprehend the weight of your suffering. You had already dealt with similar pain on your own before and that was why you didn’t need any of them to come to your aid, meddling with your life like they knew exactly what you were going through. “Just leave me alone, you guys. I wanna rest.”

Since when did your relationship with your sister start to get rough? It wasn’t really like this before, but ever since she started to become too overprotective over you and your choices in life, particularly choices linked to Satoru, Gen had started to become insufferable in your eyes. She was acting too much like a mother; controlling your decisions, lecturing you about your personal relationships, being too involved with your private life. There, ever since that, you started to distance yourself from her, and she didn’t like that. Her stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to cease acting like this mature, picture perfect big sister to you.

With that said, Gen would have normally gotten annoyed when you asked them to leave you alone, but this time around, she seemed to have reflected on her insensitivity a lot better with your father around. “I’m sorry, okay?” she said, her tone still tinged with stubbornness, “I just got worried. I don’t know what’s gotten into you to put yourself in danger like that, but… please, Y/N. If you’re going through something, you can always speak to us. Dad and I, we’re here for you.”

To be fair, if you had to put yourself in their shoes, it really would have been alarming to know that your sister almost died. This wasn’t the first time you were at death’s door either, so they were probably scared shitless when they were informed of your situation. Your absolutely reckless situation. You didn’t mean to cause a scene, neither did you intend to bother them on their already busy schedules. You just had so many things in your mind while you were horseback riding, too engulfed by your own sorrow that you didn’t realize the repercussions after the incident had already taken place.

“I’m sorry, too.” Your voice softened with humility. “I didn’t mean to worry you guys. It was just really an accident.”

Of course, Gen suspected it was more than just an accident. Your dad did, too. It was obvious on their forlorn faces that they were worried for your mental and emotional well-being, but none of them dared address the elephant in the room. It seemed they didn’t need to, anyway, since one of the many reasons that contributed to your earlier breakdown took a peek from behind the curtains, clearing his throat and sending you a look of sympathy.

“Y/N?” Toji looked at your father and your sister for approval before stepping further inside your space in the ER. “Can I talk to you?”

There was no escaping Toji’s presence anymore. No more hiding, no more avoiding. You knew you had to have this talk with him no matter how many times you ignored his flood of texts and calls. While this may have struck as an opportune moment for him to speak to you in person, facing the painful truth of your situation weighed heavily on you. Besides, hadn’t the irony presented itself right there? If Satoru were the one trying to speak to you, even if he was the father of your child, Gen would have been quick to lash out at him. Yet with Toji, even with the general knowledge of what had transpired between you two, your sister still showed no hostility towards him, allowing him to approach you freely and without interference.

But then again, Toji was far from being a cheating, manipulative scumbag who not only caused you suffering but also sought to selfishly acquire your family’s company. Therefore, he wasn’t considered a threat.

Alright, then. Since Toji genuinely wasn’t a threat to your current emotional state, you agreed to talk with him. It was the first time you had seen the not-so-confident side of Toji Zen’in. He was typically a man of virtue, often holding his chin high, offering the best advice, and having insightful perspectives on life. However, it seemed you had shattered that confidence in him. You could sense his cautiousness around you as he stood by your side in the ER, assisting you with your needs, and eventually agreeing to your request to walk you to the rooftop garden.

“I don’t really think there’s anything else we should talk about.” It was you who first broke the silence, staring at the cityscape while sitting on a wheelchair. The calm breeze allowed your mind to seize the moment with a peaceful mind. “I already heard what you had to say.”

Toji found it better to kneel down in front of you to meet your eyes as he spoke to you in a sincere and earnest voice. “Y/N, I was drunk when I said all that shit back there. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t mean to hurt you with my callous words, and I feel awful that you had to hear them from me. You trusted me. You sought comfort from me. I wasn’t thinking like a normal person when those things came out of my mouth.”

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t true,” you replied with quiet resignation. It was the acceptance in your face that seemed to have caused Toji’s heartbroken gaze. “It’s okay, Toji. I think, when you said all those things, it actually made me realize some aspects of our relationship that had to be addressed. It made me more self-aware and it opened my eyes on the bigger picture.” You touched his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as you mustered the courage to speak your next words. “It’s for the best that we part ways. It’s not fair to me to become a placeholder for your wife the same way it isn’t fair to you to have to deal with my ex-husband always being present in my life. Our unresolved feelings won’t really be resolved by being together.”

“Y/N…” Toji’s voice hinted at his vulnerable emotions, though he restrained himself from showing it fully. And you didn’t miss the apologetic look he had presented to you. “Despite all that, I hope you know that I’d been true to you. I do love you and will always love you. I’ll always be someone you can rely on, someone you can seek comfort from, someone you can turn to when you need help…”

Damn it. Why did he have to make it sound like an actual break up? Now, it tugged at your heartstrings and hit you in a place it shouldn’t have. You weren’t good at these things and it certainly was your first time dealing with such a mature and mutual separation, but wasn’t that a good thing? No further drama was to happen, leaving a stark comparison to your separation with Satoru. While this one didn’t hurt as much, it still brought a hollow feeling in your chest.

“Same for me,” you agreed, displaying a weak smile. “You’ll always have a spot in my heart, Toji. I’ll always be grateful that I met you.”

Sometimes, two people didn’t need to be together to love each other. Friendships could still thrive between ex-lovers, and that was why closure was so important. It not only closed a certain chapter of your life in a healthy way, but also allowed you to heal and open yourselves to a new beginning without any bitterness left behind.

It shouldn’t be considered bad to remain friends with an ex. It also shouldn’t be bad to give a parting kiss from said ex, right?

You weren’t the one who initiated it, after all. It was Toji’s hand that gently stroked your cheek. It was him, who leaned forward and pressed his lips onto yours. It wasn’t forceful, but neither was it passionate. It was simply a tender kiss of goodbye, feeling the warmth of each other’s lips for one last time before you two would transition from being lovers to friends. What you didn’t understand from this supposedly bittersweet moment was the faint tears that somehow managed to escape your eyes, perhaps because you knew that once Toji left, you would be alone again.

You had no one by your side to love you, cherish you, choose you, and offer their entire world for you. You were meant to live this cruel world all by yourself.

As he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours. “Please learn to love yourself before anyone else, Y/N. It’s what you need and what you deserve.”

That night, while you were getting your MRI, your mind kept flying to the possibilities of a future without having anyone by your side. Any normal person would tell you to focus on loving yourself first, as Toji did recently, focusing on what matters most, and ridding yourself of the toxic things that hinder you from moving forward with your life. Things weren’t as easy as they sounded. Besides, it was different being on the receiving end of the said advice. How could you do those things when the primary cause of your pain was someone whose life would always be linked to yours forever?

Based on the result of your MRI scans, your doctor recommended that you undergo elbow arthroscopy. It was just a minimally invasive procedure compared to open surgeries, but considering how much of an overthinker your dad was when it came to your health, he insisted on your confinement at the hospital until you had been completely cleared of any other issues. He really placed a big deal on your condition and emphasized to the doctors that they make sure nothing was missed. It could have been worse; you could have had a broken hip or a fractured leg, but at least you only had a dislocated elbow. Nothing that couldn’t be easily corrected by surgery and physical therapy.

The decision was for you to stay there for two days, and on your first night, a crying Sachiro ran inside your private room because his ‘mama has a boo boo’. Gen said he was picked up from daycare and dropped off at the hospital because the poor kid was looking for you. She didn’t mention who dropped your son off to you, but you could tell it was Satoru. You could sense it by the glances she exchanged with Ian after you asked how Sachiro came to the hospital.

So, in that case, Satoru must have found out about your little incident and didn’t care enough to see you. Did he not even have an ounce of care anymore? Or was it Gen who stopped him from seeing you?

“Did you ask him to leave?” you confronted Gen in a mellow voice, rubbing Sachiro’s back as he snuggled into you on the hospital bed.

Your sister knew exactly which man you were referring to, and she denied having done such. “No, I didn’t even talk to him. He took Sachi here and left.”

You didn’t know why you looked at Ian to confirm the truth of his wife’s words, but hurt yourself upon seeing his bowed head. It was an apologetic expression that did signify your ex-husband’s blatant act of ignoring you. To hear about your near-death experience and simply leave without even checking on you should be your wake-up call. He didn’t care anymore. No, why should he care? He had Akemi. His only responsibility with you was to be a supportive father to your son.

Why did the pain in your heart feel far more agonizing than the discomfort on your dislocated elbow?

If anything, you wanted to ask for the strongest anesthetic they could offer to numb your pain. You were desperate to have anything even if they had to put you into an eternal sleep. That would have been much easier to deal with than feeling disregarded by a person you supposedly had moved on from. Satoru did nothing wrong here. It was you who had that expectation, only to disappoint yourself when things didn’t happen as you imagined.

And just when you thought things would get better as long as you ignore your torturous thoughts, it didn’t help that being in the hospital kept giving you flashbacks of the time you were in this exact room, hearing Satoru crying helplessly from outside and begging for you not to terminate his child. What comes around certainly goes back around. Or worse.

Such depressive thoughts had you occupied throughout your stay there, and your unusual placidness alarmed the nurses instead of being assured that you were doing well. You heard your doctors telling your father and sister to always keep a close eye on you as the incident may not seem serious, but the trauma would undoubtedly be present somewhere and somehow. Were they aware? Of your intrusive thoughts of wanting to hurt yourself?

The elbow arthroscopy was successful and by the second day, you were free to go home. You were placed on certain medications to help with the swelling and the pain, and while you were walking around the hospital with a listless mind, you happened to pass by the Obstetrics and Gynecology Department. What a deja vu it was, remembering the time you had seen Satoru there waiting outside for Sera. Back then, it was one of the climactic events in your life that led to a domino effect on the downfall of your marriage. Not that you were reminiscing, but it did remind you that Shoko was probably there in her consultation room and it would be nice to talk to a friend who had witnessed the wild history of your marriage.

You asked Gen to wait for you in the car while you headed to Ieiri’s consultation room, assuring your visibly worried sister that everything was fine and that you wouldn’t take too long. You had to give Gen some slack, because despite the strains in your relationship as sisters, she was still always there for you. At the end of the day, she was family.

Shoko, on the other hand, was the next closest thing you had for a sister. She welcomed you inside her room in a very worried embrace, telling you that if she had known about the incident, she would have gone straight to your hospital room on your first day, but you told her not to worry about it and understood that being in the medical field already had her schedule tight.

“Well, I guess it’s perfect that you’re here, too.” Shoko smiled warmly, sitting behind her desk. She had exciting news to offer, it seemed. “I just wanna say that… of course, I’ll still be sending you a formal invitation and everything. I actually have a few gifts along with it.”

You shared her enthusiasm. “Hmm… is it what I think it is?”

The wedding. The most eventful day of her life would be arriving soon and you were the first one to hear it.

“Yes!” she answered, with the utmost joy coruscating from her eyes. “I want you to be my maid-of-honor, Y/N. I’d be extremely happy if you could make it. I know you just got into an accident, but it won’t be until two months, so—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You eased her worries by chuckling. “I’m completely fine, of course I’ll be there. I can’t miss it.”

Shoko was grateful to hear your answer, relieved even, because by asking you to be her maid-of-honor, you should already understand who Suguru’s best man would be. That was a touchy subject for you and she was keenly aware of it, but you didn’t want her to worry. You didn’t want your relationship with your ex-husband to have a negative impact on the relationship of all the other people surrounding the both of you. It was already bad enough that Shoko and Suguru almost called off their engagement after they fought over their morals as you and Satoru’s friends, and you were glad that they somehow made things work. They somehow set aside their disagreements and ultimately chose their love over anything else.

Their love was beautiful, and while that wasn’t something you could easily have, it was something you deeply admired.

“Where are you guys planning to hold your wedding?” you asked, steering the conversation away from any mention of your ex-husband. “Here or overseas?”

She delighted you with her answer, sounding as if this was the perfect wedding she had always dreamed of. “It’s an intimate wedding on the lakeside. Suguru chose the location, actually, since he wanted our wedding to have the view of Mount Fuji.”

“That’s perfect,” you said with wide eyes. “Lake Kawaguchiko?”

“Yep. That’s exactly where it’d be.” She smiled with her eyes. “You know this resort… Hoshinoya Fuji? We already booked the place, and we have a luxury cabin for friends and families to stay at.”

You had been there before, but you were too young to remember. All you knew was that it was a high-end resort that had the best panoramic views of Lake Kawaguchiko and Mount Fuji. The hotel owner was also a close friend of the Gojou family, so that was probably why they were able to rent the entire place for the wedding, especially at a peak season for tourists.

Since the fall season was arriving, you could only imagine the stunning views of the autumn foliage there. It offered the perfect weather, too. It wouldn’t be as hot as summer, nor as freezing as winter. Surely, it would be nice to do some nature walks and stargazing, maybe ride a boat or bathe in a hot spring. You looked forward to it, except for the fact that your ex-husband would also be there.

And just what a perfect timing it was, because as Shoko sorted through her patients' medical records above her desk, a file slipped from the pile, revealing the name of your very friend, Akemi.

“Oh,” Shoko murmured apologetically as she retrieved the record, not wanting to ruin the mood of your conversation. “She, uh, came by a few days ago... with Gojou.”

You didn’t need to ask. You didn’t need to hear any further detail. Akemi’s visit likely revolved around her desire to conceive, as she wouldn’t have visited Shoko otherwise. Why? If it were simply to monitor her polycystic ovary, why did she choose Shoko instead of her own gynecologist? Thinking of how your ex-husband and best friend were attempting to start a family together left your heart shattered in unimaginable pieces, stirring up painful memories of your pathetic marriage with Satoru and reopening old wounds you thought had already healed from. Wasn’t it ironic that a couple of years ago, you were crying over the same situation with Sera?

You couldn’t stand this feeling anymore. You thought you had already freed yourself from the pain of loving him, yet here you were suffering from the same heartbreak over and over and over again. Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, the ache in your chest too raw to confront just yet.

“It’s funny.” Although you displayed an outward smile, the sadness in your voice reflected your otherwise inward thoughts. You didn’t know why you said that. You were just too… too emotional. Almost like you couldn’t breathe. “He was never this passionate with me. They seem so in love.”

Ieiri’s eyes carried sisterly concern in them. “Y/N, it’s not really what you think.”

Was it? You weren’t sure what to feel anymore. You certainly weren't there to hear it anymore, either. Satoru chose her, just like what you wanted for him to do. Just like what you asked him to do. He had moved on, he had found someone who would love him for who he was, he had chosen the woman he would share the rest of his future with. Call yourself ridiculous for even feeling hurt about it, because you had no right to be and you definitely chose this. Either you own up to it, or you cry about it for the rest of your life.

Both choices had no happy endings.

— —

When Satoru learned about your incident in the woods, he thought he was going to lose his mind.

Was it out of love that he swiftly left the office in the middle of a meeting just to get to where you were?

He still had to pick up Sachiro from daycare, and he felt bad telling his son on the way to the hospital that his mother was hurt. It actually gave Satoru a hard time explaining to the 3-year old that they had to go to the hospital because his mommy was there and that she had an unfortunate encounter while riding a horse.

“Dada, is… is mama okay?” Sachiro pouted with wide, tearful eyes as he clung to his father’s hand. “Sachi wants to go to mama!”

“She’ll be okay, Sachi.” Gojou carried his son and soothed him as they went inside the hospital, searching for you. “Mommy’s strong, remember?”

Was it out of love that he wanted to be the person that brought your son to you when you most needed him?

According to the nurse, your room was on the seventh floor, but when he got there, your room was empty. It was Ian who told him that you went up the rooftop garden to get some fresh air, insisting that if Satoru wanted to go and talk to you, that it was best to leave Sachiro with them.

And so he did. He ran hastily, almost out of breath, until he reached the rooftop, scanning every face within the vicinity until his tired blue eyes finally landed on you.

Satoru laughed in disbelief. He scoffed bitterly, with each breath full of disgust. The tips of his fingers felt cold, while his breathing grew thin and ragged. He could feel his stomach clenching at the humiliation of seeing you engaged in an intimate make-out session with Toji Zen’in.

How sickeningly sweet.

At that point, he was laughing at his own expense, ignoring the elderly lady who looked at him like he was a crazy person. He stood there frozen for a few minutes, watching you kiss another man before it finally woke him up from reality.

It was out of love that he let you go.

You see? This was where his attachment to you would lead him. It was pure and unreasonable selfishness, but he would gain nothing at all from even seeing you. He didn’t need to care for you at all, no. You had Toji. You seemed to be goddamn happy with your life with Toji. And what a romantic fucking moment that was, too.

Satoru couldn’t think straight when he hurriedly left the hospital and got inside his car. He desperately wanted to forget the painful image of you locking lips with somebody else. How? How would he? Fuck! He was mad, mad at himself for choosing to come to your aid like he still had any role in your life. He was disgusted at himself for ignoring Akemi’s calls after promising her a movie date after work. He couldn’t believe he had her waiting all by herself in that cinema, waiting for him to come while he was stupidly running around the hospital to see his ex-wife.

You chose Toji, then you better be happy. Satoru hoped you were happy, and that wish came from a place of genuineness. He genuinely hoped the best for you. Because for him, it was time to fully let go and stop himself from trying to be the superhero whenever you were in danger. You weren’t his wife anymore.

So, was it out of love that he headed straight to Akemi’s apartment that night with a bouquet of red roses?

She didn’t know what happened nor was she given the full detail as to why he unintentionally stood her up on their date night. He had just briefly explained that he had to drop Sachiro off to you at a hospital because you got into a small accident. Akemi, being your friend, got immediately worried upon hearing the situation and asked if Satoru was able to check on you.

He said no. He said Toji was there. He said he left as soon as dropped Sachiro off.

And in an effort to apologize for not paying attention to the current woman in his life, Satoru pulled Akemi in a tight embrace. He held her in her arms, drunk from the sweet and citrusy notes of her perfume, before pulling away to kiss her. He kissed her with the same passion as you did with Toji. Perhaps even more, even better. He completely devoured her lips, with a hand on her cheek and the other on her waist. The taste of her tongue was sweet like strawberries, while her lips were red like cherries.

This woman was all he needed.

But was this love? He didn’t know. It was too soon to tell, too early to answer, too hasty to even consider.

— —

The current situation you were in reminded you of your younger self after your mother had died. It was the same before; you never left the house, often locking yourself in your room, shutting yourself off from the world, and drowning yourself with the pain and loneliness of losing somebody important.

Sure, no one really died for you to be acting this way right now, but the feeling was still the same. Was this really a comeuppance to all of your wrongdoings before? But just how terrible were you of a person to be hit by this unbelievable truckload of sorrow? You might as well spur on the physical pains of your angina again if this torment continued. Otherwise, how else do you avoid it?

You were being a terrible mother, too. You were too engrossed by your own misery that you couldn’t even properly take care of Sachiro. He didn’t deserve to have an incompetent and irresponsible mother like you. He deserves someone better, someone like Akemi, who not only has all the motherly traits a woman should have, but also the physical and mental capacity of being a true, strong woman.

Sachiro was bound to have that, anyway. Now that his father was planning his lifelong journey with another woman, and now that he was trying to build a happy family with her, you were no longer needed in the picture. There was no need for you.

How many more times would you tell that you have accepted it?

Because, god be damned, you knew you couldn’t. You knew you were lying to yourself when you said everything was fine, lying to Satoru when you told him you didn’t need him in your life anymore, lying to Toji for telling him that you wanted to marry him, lying to Akemi that you didn’t care if she was seeing your ex-husband, and lying to Sachiro when you promised to him that you would never leave his side. You were a liar. A terrible liar. A pitiful, terrible liar.

How would you tell the universe that you couldn’t take it anymore? That, for once, you wanted to be showered by happiness and all the good things in life?

Sera was right. Not everyone could have it all. There were people of lesser fortune who weren’t blessed to live a lavish life like you, yet still work hard to achieve what they want. Why couldn't you achieve your own happiness without blaming it on the universe? If this was simply a lesson, then weren’t you the top student at this rate?

God. God, help me. You really didn’t know how to deal with this life anymore. You weren’t sure how to proceed. You couldn’t rely on anything other than the bottle of alcohol on your hand—what was once full was now half empty after you took another swig. This was your second bottle already, wasn’t it? Or third?

You got up from the floor and failed to walk in a straight line as you made your way towards the balcony. Your steps were unsteady, wavering like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. With each attempt to move forward, your body swayed from side to side, struggling to maintain balance. You almost lost grip of the bottle you were holding. No, it did, in fact, slip from your hand and ended up crashing into the floor. Shards of glass lay across the ground, ready to pierce the soles of your feet to mirror the same physical pain your heart was experiencing.

“Stop,” you muttered under your breath, begging for your chest to stop hurting. But it only worsened, and your antidote to that was to wash it down with even more liquor. No matter how expensive it was, you didn’t even like the taste of alcohol. You hated the sting on your throat whenever you drank it. You despised the bitterness it left on your tongue. However, it did great at numbing your emotions.

It just felt wrong in many ways that you were seeing Satoru’s face whenever you closed your eyes. You could see his smile, his loving eyes, his beautiful lips. You missed his embrace, his kiss, his touch. You missed hearing his I love you’s. Him. You missed him. You yearned for him. Three goddamn years, and you were still undeniably in love with him.

“Satoru…” you cried, sitting on the floor. Each breath made it harder and harder for you to catch as tears continued to stream down your face. You were tired of pretending, denying that you no longer had feelings for him when you knew deep down that you would always choose him. “S-Satoru… come back to me, please.”

Was it him coming inside your room? Or was it your vision making a fool out of you?

“Baby, what are you doing?” Satoru’s expression was engulfed in immense worry as he knelt down and reached out to you, touching your cheek and looking at your eyes somberly. “Don’t do this yourself, Y/N.”

Your head hung low, your gaze unfocused and glazed, as you fought to keep your eyes on the path ahead. You had to reach him. You wanted to touch him, hug him. And despite your best efforts, your movements were disjointed and erratic, betraying the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, that’s enough.” Gen had to use force just to be able to snatch the bottle away from you, forcing you to wake up to the reality where Satoru no longer existed to be there for you. It was her who came rushing inside your room in the middle of the night. The bottle of liquor was now spilled all over the floor. The same could be described with your emotions. “Get it together. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately!”

You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You were in delirium after having dealt with all the terrible things the world had thrown at you. If you couldn’t drown yourself in alcohol, how else would you have been able to numb the pain? How else would you have been able to… forget?

As much as your sister tried to hide the obvious sympathy in her voice, even your drunken mind could recognize it. “We all know you’re going down the depression lane again, but never to this extent.” Her voice cracked in the middle of her sentence, cradling you into her arms as a tear fell down her face. The Gen who would usually lecture you, was now holding you in her arms as her only baby sister. “Stop this, Y/N, please. Don’t ruin your life the second time. I-It’s hurting me. It’s hurting Dad. Do you… do you realize what Sachiro’s gonna think of you when he sees you like this?”

“Gen…” Muffled sobs unwillingly came out of you, leaving you with such excruciating pain in the chest, so much so that it didn’t even feel like you had done surgery to fix your (quite literally) broken heart. “I w-want him back,” you continued to cry, “I want my husband back. I want to be with h-him, Gen.”

“Y/N.”

“Where’s S-Satoru…? D-Did he leave? Please take me to him—”

“Y/N, listen to me.” She gently cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at her pained eyes. “You’re intoxicated. He was never here, and he’d never come for you. You have to let it go.”

“But—”

“He’s not good for you. He never will be.”

— —

It had been two weeks since Satoru last heard about you. Miwa was the one who updated him that you had already returned to your family’s mansion, letting him know that you were okay and that you were recovering well. Frankly, Satoru was starting to get annoyed at the fact that his secretary was still giving him updates about you. What did he care? He wasn’t your husband anymore.

Besides, Toji was probably visiting you every day, so why did he have to worry about you? If there was anyone he should be worried about, it was Akemi. She had been experiencing terrible pelvic cramps lately, which needed to be given serious attention, but you would never see her being dramatic about it. The only thing she needed was for Gojou to accompany her visits to the OB-GYN, and even then, she never showered herself in self-pity. She carried herself like an independent woman, and that was exactly what Satoru needed in his life right now.

He had a son to raise. He had a company to run. It wasn’t the perfect time to commit himself to someone lawfully. Heck, he didn’t even believe in marriage anymore. He realized that two people could still love each other without getting married. As long as Akemi didn’t pressure him about such things, he was fine with having her around. She didn’t ask for anything much, anyway.

As for you, well…

“What are you planning with that mansion you gifted Y/N?” asked Nanami, seated on the couch inside Satoru’s office, casually reading a newspaper. “Do you even remember that?”

He certainly did. “What about it?” he questioned, idly toying with a pen on his desk. “It’s her property now. She can sell it if she wants.”

Better yet, you should let Sachiro inherit the property someday. His son was already set for a life of privilege having wealthy parents on both sides, but wouldn’t the mansion be a substantial addition to his assets in the future? Satoru couldn’t help but envision the kind of man his son would grow up into. He hoped Sachiro would not inherit his father's immaturity and pettiness but would embody the kindness and altruism of his mother. From a business perspective, however, Satoru planned to groom his son to be a leader, as he was the sole heir to the Gojou Group. Additionally, he would also inherit half of Creston and the entirety of Hearte. No wonder Sachiro was recently listed as the wealthiest kid by Forbes Japan. He even beat Megumi Zen’in from the list even though the teenager was the heir of the Zen’in business empire.

These were the thoughts that should consume Satoru—the future, not the past. His kid, not you. And he was right about doing so, because when he came home to his penthouse, he was told that he had a visitor.

A visitor on a Wednesday afternoon?

Your brother-in-law, the esteemed prosecutor who sent his evil stepmother to jail, appeared on his front door, carrying Sachiro in his arms. It was hard to tell what type of emotions were visible on the man’s face, but he definitely didn’t bring any good news.

“Ian?” Satoru promptly made way for the man to come in, ushering him into the penthouse and allowing him to set Sachiro down. The young boy was quick to dart off to his playroom, leaving the two men in an uncomfortable silence. “What’s going on? Weekends are usually my schedule with Sachi.”

Ian cleared his throat, a hand on his pocket. “Do you mind looking after Sachiro for the time being?”

By saying ‘for the time being’, it seemed like Ian wanted to actually say ‘until further notice.’ But that confused Satoru even more, because what was happening for the man to come here and ask him to let Sachiro stay beyond the agreed schedule with his father? He couldn’t read through Ian’s expression and it was making him uneasy.

“I can, but… why so suddenly?” Gojou asked, glancing at his oblivious son.

“It’s Y/N’s idea, Gen doesn’t know about it.” Ian released an awkward chuckle. “You know how my wife is.”

Gen would absolutely hate it, Satoru was aware for sure. Though the questions lingered in his mind. “Why would Y/N want Sachi to stay with me? Where’s she?”

Was it him or was Ian having a hard time explaining the situation? It felt like he was walking on eggshells, deciding between what had to be said and what shouldn’t. He was careful with his words when he spoke again, “Y/N flew to Monaco this morning and will be back when she’s ready. She says Sachiro should spend all of his time with you while she’s gone.”

Monaco? Why would you be there?

Confusion bathed Satoru’s eyes. “Is it for a fashion event or something?”

“No, she’s just…” Ian struggled heavily. “Well, to sum it up, she has to go there to sort some things out. It’s a personal thing, but she really needs this time for herself and we think it’s the best for her right now. I don’t know how long she’s gonna stay there or when she’ll be back, but I hope you understand what I’m trying to say here.”

No, he didn’t. Satoru found it difficult to fathom his ex-brother-in-law’s words, seeing as he had no general idea of what was truly going on. But if you were flying to Monaco, surely Toji wouldn’t allow you to go there all by yourself?

Ahh. It made sense now. I see what’s happening here.

Satoru’s lips curled into sarcasm. You would be vacationing with the love of your life. Is that what it was? Planning your halted wedding? Choosing wedding gowns? Looking for venues? There was no way you would be flying to Monaco alone, especially without Sachiro around when you two had been inseparable since his birth.

“What kinda mother is she?” Satoru muttered in disgust, unaware that Ian had overheard him. But Ian had heard loud and clear. How could you leave your son behind like this? Couldn’t you face your ex-husband to discuss it, instead of just dropping Sachiro off as if he were some unwanted toy?

“Hold it right there,” Ian interjected, becoming defensive at the accusation. “You have no idea what she’s going through.”

How would he know? No one was telling him shit. No one was giving him details, so did they expect him to understand things and accept them as they were? Did they do the same thing to Satoru when he was at the verge of losing his sanity asking everyone for forgiveness over and over?

“I've never taken sides between you two, Satoru, you know that,” Ian continued, trying to maintain a calm demeanor and speak with clear judgment, “But one thing I’m not gonna let you do is call Y/N a bad mother.”

Satoru’s chest tightened at Ian's words, a mixture of guilt and frustration bubbling up inside him. He knew he shouldn’t have spoken out of turn, but the pain and resentment were too raw to contain. It felt like you were abandoning him and your child, like you were off to a new chapter in your life again, and leaving everything behind. Perhaps this was his trauma from the New York thing crawling back at him, but it definitely reminded him of the day you had abandoned him. For three fucking years. How long would it take you to return now?

Why do you keep doing this? He was sick of it. You kept running away instead of talking to him. He gets it, people change, circumstances change, but couldn’t you at least have the decency to talk to him about it? Was it wrong for him to wish you’d handled this differently? To wish that you’d talked to him, involved him in the decision-making process, instead of just making this unilateral decision and leaving him to pick up the pieces?

Satoru took a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of Sachi,” he reassured, “I’ll take some time off work and have ‘Kemi help me out.”

He looked back at Ian, his eyes pleading for further details, for answers, for some semblance of clarity in the midst of this emotional turmoil.

Yet none of it was given.

And so, would it still be wrong to assume that he could now completely forget about you? That this opportunity to be with Sachiro would allow him a chance to share it with someone else? If you spent three years of your life playing house in New York with Toji, would it still be unfair for Satoru to do the same with Akemi?

#series: sincerely yours #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo angst #jjk angst

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 1 year ago

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Track Marks And Dial Tones II

Summary: You promised Clay to get him help but for that, the two of you still need to make it through the night…

Pairing: Clay Roach x fem!cop!Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, Major Hurt/Comfort, Still Angsty, The Slow Burn Is Slowly Burning Y'all, Kinda Calm And Domestic Vibes For A Treacherous Second, Talk About Rehab, Talk About Track Marks, Brief Mentions Of Other Substances (Painkillers And Alcohol), Talk About Past Self-Harm, Clay Still Being Miserable, Crying, A Short Sloppy Make Out Session In The Shower, Smutty Cliffhanger 😬

A/N: I actively lost my mind over this, y'all. Major shout out to @cc-luvr for listening to my demented rambles and proofreading this stuff 🫶🏻

Find Part I and Part III here!

Tagging the horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine

You are all I need

You're all I need

I'm in the middle of your picture

Lying in the reeds

I am a moth

Who just wants to share your light

I'm just an insect

Trying to get out of the night

- All I Need By Radiohead

You knew that you should just hand in your resignation at the Boston PD by now, kiss your badge goodbye and face the fact to get demoted to filing parking tickets again. The second someone just got so much as a whiff of you taking your informant in at your own home would have you suspended in absolutely no time whatsoever. Anyhow, that train of thought had to wait while you scooped a hastily put together grilled cheese sandwich from the pan to a small plate and placed it onto your kitchen table right next to a cup of hot chocolate.

"I know, it's not strawberry milk but basically the next best thing now, no?" You tried to sound a little cheerful although there was nearly no energy left inside of you.

Hauling Clay out if his hellhole of a flat had been hard enough on both of you since he practically broke down crying anew every few steps down the way. Only when you'd put on the heating and the radio in your car did Clay calm down eventually.

Before answering to you, Clay just looked at the food with wide eyes, his form hardly more than a weak silhouette slumped in your kitchen chair. In that moment it dawned on your sleep-deprived mind that he probably hasn't had a real home-cooked meal in god knows how long. While you wouldn't even really call a grilled cheese sandwich home-cooked, it meant the world and more to Clay, who still just stared at it, seemingly hypnotized by the token of hospitality in front of him.

"Thank you…you didn’t…it wouldn't have been necessary." He expressed his gratitude with a sore voice and looked up to you as you took a seat in front of him, your own late-night snack in hand.

"But I wanted to.", You smiled at him softly but with obviously very tired undertones, "Now, please, dig in."

Your invitation to take a bite of the sandwich had hardly left your lips as Clay already munched down on it.

"Please don't choke yourself, okay? I said I'd drive you to rehab first thing in the morning, not the morgue." It rolled over your tongue in an upright and honest chuckle.

"It's kinda the same thing, depending how you look at it." Clay snarled back, the sarcasm heavy in his voice.

"Oh, c'mon now.." You arched your brows at him while taking a much needed bite out of your own sandwich.

"Sorry…" Clay broke from your gaze with an apologetic expression on his face before downright devouring the cheese-stuffed toast and chugging down the cup of hot chocolate, seemingly unbothered by the possibility of burning his mouth with the fresh from the stove liquid.

"That good?", You asked in between bites, the crunchy and creamy texture of the warm sandwich feeling like a near orgasmic experience to your whiplashed senses, "Do you need anything else? Painkillers…alcohol…whatever really?"

"No, not…not yet." Clay shimmied around in his chair a little, "I'm kinda cold though.."

"Maybe a hot shower would help with that? No offense, Clay, but you could use one.." You suggested, eating up the last bits of your sandwich.

"I know.", He reciprocated dryly, "But.."

"But what?" You inquired calmly, taking a deep drag from your steaming cup of coffee.

"The last time I tried, I got heart palpitations, fainted and nearly smashed my head on the fucking tiles.." For the blink of an eye you just stared at him with a deadpan expression on your face.

"Do you need help with that then?" Your question was sincere.

"Fuck off, I'm not a toddler that needs to be mothered." Clay pursed his lips as he started chewing on the insides of his cheeks, crossing his arms in front of his chest in resignation.

"I never implied that, Clay. You asked for help and I am offering it to you. Simple as that." You knew all too well that the current situation you found yourself in was everything but simple, however, that was a problem for sometime tomorrow.

"I'll just be there, making sure that maybe you won't flail out of my shower head first." You suggested while looking at him, waiting for an answer.

It took a good moment of silence for him to redirect his eyes towards yours right before he mumbled: "I'm….I'm embarrassed. My body.. is- is not in a good condition, shocker, I know."

"Clay…", You sighed after taking another sip of coffee, "An hour ago, I pulled a needle from your arm. There's nothing you'd have to be embarrassed about, I promise you."

In a nervous, clearly still unsure motion, he rubbed his palms together, pulling the hem of his sleeves up to his knuckles.

"Promise?" He furrowed his brows and bit down on his bottom lip.

"I promise." You assured him, "How about you go upstairs? It's the first door to the right and I get you some fresh clothes from my wardrobe while you make yourself as comfortable as you can, hm?"

"I guess we can try that." You knew it was the best you could get out of him about that and you acknowledged it with a nod while scooting away from the table.

"I'll be with you right away, yeah?" You smiled at Clay before putting both plates in the sink and taking the stairs towards your bedroom.

At this point, you just left him to himself for a moment. Sure, you thought about him taking his chance and running. Maybe the next thing you'd hear would be the slamming of your front door but that would be his choice then. A choice you wouldn't take from him, there was no use to that. Clay was here on his own accord and you left it up to him to show you that he really wanted this.

While you pulled a long-sleeved shirt from the bottom of your wardrobe's drawer, accompanied by one of your oversized sweatpants, you felt your heart thrashing against your ribcage. Your ears were picking up every possible sound and you couldn't help yourself but to wish that he wouldn't do anything stupid. The pent-up breath leaving your lungs in a heavy sigh as you heard the creaking of the stairs should've given it away to yourself, practically rubbing it into your face that Clay had grown important to you, but you chose active denial instead.

"There should be a leftover toothbrush on the shelf above the sink if you want to use it!" You called down the hallway, folding the clothes into one neat pile before getting up from the carpet floor of your bedroom.

"Noted." Clay answered back after stepping into your bathroom, not fully closing the door behind him.

Before stepping in after him you gently knocked.

"Can I come in?" You asked in a soft tone, leaning your shoulder against the door.

"Uh-Huh." He mumbled in return, the toothbrush already between his jaws.

Steadying yourself with a deep breath, you pushed the door open slowly, the pale skin of Clay's back facing you.

You tried your best not to stare like a total idiot, but the way you could practically count his ribs and the intervertebral disks of his spine up to the nape of his neck had you stunned for a second. Tearing your gaze away from him, you placed the clothes on top of the laundry bin right next to the door and sat down on the closed toilet seat beside the sink, getting yourself out of your PJ pants first.

Up until that moment, you didn't waste a second thought about your own body in this whole scenario but as the soft fabric of the pants pooled on the tiles in front of you, the discomfort shot as a hot wave into your cheeks. Clearing your throat a little, you silently stared down on your thighs, faded out, thick scar tissue ogling right back, mocking you in a way.

"How about…", Clay spat out an amalgamation of saliva and toothpaste, leaning his hands against the sink, "You just stare at me for a moment while I do the same. Get it over with."

"Yeah, hold on…", You pulled the PJ top off, too, leaving you in your underwear. "Now it's fair.."

Your eyes traced the trail of self-induced scars up to your navel before you raised your head back to Clay.

"What happened?" He asked bluntly, turning himself to you, vulnerable and exposed, the waistband of his shorts sitting loosely on his pointy hip bones.

"I could ask you the same." You chuckled dryly, your eyes wandering over his torso, ribs poking through just like his collarbones.

"Life, I'm afraid." He responded in an equally dry tone.

"Same here.", You shrugged your shoulders a little, "How about we put some antiseptics on the puncture sites? They look like they could use some. I have a bottle in the drawer to your left."

With a short nod Clay opened up the drawer, pulling out not only said bottle of antiseptic lotion but also a still wrapped shut set of razor blades.

"The monsters still live in the closet, huh?" He put the package back as fast as he'd pulled it from the drawer.

"They never really moved out, no." You confessed, gathering a few pieces of toilet paper to douse it in the disinfectant.

"I wonder if they ever do." Clay sighed, inhaling sharply as you caressed the plentiful of his track marks with the improvised paper swab.

"Thank you…" You pat every little inch on the inside of his elbow carefully.

"For what?" Clay sounded thoroughly confused.

"For trusting me, shitbum." You said in return, throwing him a faint yet upright smile.

"Uh, sure…" He shrugged it off while you dumped the soggy toilet paper into a trash can underneath the sink.

"Now let's get into that shower, no?" You nudged your head towards the shower.

"Yeah, uhm…", Clay's eyes darted down to his shorts, "Should I…I mean..?"

"Whatever you are comfortable with." You got up and stepped underneath the shower head, fumbling with the faucet handle to not just drench the both of you in ice cold water.

"Uh, okay…" He mumbled, deciding to leave his boxers on before cautiously following you.

"Is the temperature okay for you?" You reached out to gently grab his hand by the wrist, holding it under the softly flowing stream of warm, but not exactly hot water.

"A bit more, maybe? I don't wanna burn you but I feel like I'm freezing." He asked hesitantly.

"Sure, don't worry about me, okay?" You pushed the handle a little more to the left.

"How about now? That better?" A wave of significantly warmer water hit your front and the palm of his hand.

"Yeah…" Clay smiled contentedly whilst stepping into the flow of water coming from above.

A long, low humm of comfort left his lips while you watched him closely as the water soaked his unkempt hair and cascaded down his body.

"Fuck…that feels good." He sighed with eyes closed, his hand now holding on to yours for guidance.

"Good, I got you, yeah?" You carefully wrapped your fingers a little tighter around his, slowly crouching down to pick up a bottle of shampoo.

You let him soak in the heat of the water for a while before you asked: "Mind taking just a little step towards me? I think we should take some care of that hair if yours, no?"

"Sure…" Clay blindly stepped out of the frequent stream, now just standing inches away from you.

With your free hand you unscrewed the bottle and tilted it over the crown of his head until a big dollop of shampoo oozed out of it.

"Am I going to smell like flowers and berries now?" He chuckled whilst you put the bottle back down and started lathering his scalp with tender, circular movements of your fingertips.

"Actually…" You started, his comment eliciting a short laugh out of you as well, "It's mint and green apple scented."

"Oh, I can get behind that." He murmured, his face clearly telling you how much he enjoyed you soaping up his hair right now.

"Well, it's not like you really got a say in this, huh?" You returned, delicately letting go of his hand to put both of yours to use throughout his knotted hair.

"Yeesh, we'll need a lot of conditioner to tame that mess." You noted with slightly pursed lips.

"Conditioner now, too, yeah? Gon' be the best smelling lowlife in rehab tomorrow." At first you smiled but soon enough the reality of his comment hit you deep down again.

For an innocent, foolish moment you simply forgot about it, had allowed yourself to get carried away.

You tried your best to not sound too taken aback as you uttered: "So, you really want it?"

At that Caly also lost his faint smile and you deeply regretted every word that just left your mouth.

"Fuck, sorry…" You whispered to him, feeling sorry for the both of you for bluntly trashing the moment like that.

"No, stop…it's okay.", With his hair full of bubbly shampoo, Clay took another blind step towards you, nearly bumping into you, his arms clumsily wrapping themselves around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder, "It's a valid question and the answer is yes."

For seemingly endless seconds your severely overworked brain oh so desperately tried to compute what was happening.

"Are…are you hugging me right now?" You stammered awkwardly.

"Kinda looks like it, no?" Clay answered, wrapping his arms closer around you as if to prove his point.

"Oh-, okay, cool…", You felt your mind gradually losing the plot, being so utterly stunned by his display of affection, "Let's…how about we rinse that shampoo out now." Trying to regain your composure, you cupped his hips with your hands, gently guiding him back underneath the steady flow of steaming, warm water.

"Yeah, sure…" It bubbled out of his mouth as you watched the shampoo residue slowly trickling down the drain.

Yet again, Clay rested his chin in the crook of your neck, his face slightly tilting towards your collarbone. In this very moment you felt his lips brushing over your skin, his wet hair falling across your shoulder and it led you to forsake all rational reason for good.

In a moment of unadulterated senselessness your hands cupped his face, pulling it up to yours to press a painfully longing kiss to his lips.

"Fuck…" Clay huffed right before reciprocating the kiss, practically shoving himself onto you, tightening his hug around your lower body.

"Shit, fucking hell…no.. we shouldn't-" You rambled into his mouth.

"I know but fuck that." He groaned nonchalantly.

#rory culkin #city on a hill #clay roach x fem!reader #clay roach x you #clay roach x reader #clay roach #clay roach smut #Track Marks And Dial Tones

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pixelkip · 5 months ago

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I hate that companies expect the kinds of people looking for no-experience-required entry level jobs to fuck up their entire sleep schedule or risk driving home late at night when theyre not awake or alert enough to safely do that and be open to working late fucking shifts that are downright unhealthy for most people and you get told you're "too picky and you'll never get a job with that attitude >:[ " when they want to put their health and wellbeing over an awful miserable retail job. Burn these places to the fucking ground all of them every single one I'm so tired of this shit.

#vent #getting an entry level job feels downright impossible if you arent either willing to put up with being treated like garbage #or willing to ruin your sleep schedule or physical health

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stillebesat · 4 years ago

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Demon Comfort (3/3)

DECEMBER DRABBLES DAY 14 Sanders Sides: Logan, Virgil Blurb: Lurking under a Human’s bed should be downright dull for a Demon of Logan’s rank. And yet…he can’t help but be intrigued by his human charge. Fic Type: Demon!AU, Demon!Logan Overall Fic Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Freezing, Burning, Hazing Talk, Manipulation Taglist in reblog. To Catch Up: Part 1 Part 2

He’d been staring at the pages of the book Virgil had brought for him for hours now, not taking in a single word written there.

How could he when his charge was late.

Logan tsked, tail tapping a staccato against the bed frame as he flipped the book shut, turning his head to glare at the door, doing his best to ignore the twisting in his chest the--the worry that he was feeling.

Virgil could take care of himself. He knew that.

But after having to rescue his charge twice from life or death situations. It was...stressful, far more stressful than it should ever be, to wait for him to come back home from class. Especially since it was easily becoming clear that despite his craving for a fresh start, despite the fact that Logan had gone out and handily taken care of the six people responsible for nearly cooking his human in the boiler room, that Virgil still was not happy here.

Logan paused, tilting his head as he felt the first threads of the familiar thundercloud approaching. Finally. He relaxed when the bedroom door swung open, a black and purple backpack dropping to the floor a second later with a muted thud.

If it weren’t for the fact that he was trying to stick to the very last shreds of the rules of conduct between demon and human where he wouldn’t reveal himself unless Virgil called for him, Logan would have been out from under the bed in a flash demanding to know where in the world his charge had been and why he was only getting home now when Logan knew the boy had finished classes before lunch and had a mountain of unfinished final term papers to complete and--

Virgil dropped to his knees next to the bed, a purple blanket pooling at his feet. “Scoot over.” He said, not giving Logan a chance to react before shoving his way under the bed.

“Wha--WHY?!” He choked out in surprise. This wasn’t---Virgil had never indicated an interest in visiting him under here before.

Yet as soon as he caught sight of his tear streaked face, Logan found himself automatically lifting one wing and shifting his position to hold out an arm so he could slip underneath, a hot spike of anger rising in his chest. Virgil didn’t cry. He didn’t--What had happened to his dark and broody charge?

Virgil didn’t hesitate, ducking under both wing and arm to curl up into his chest, his soft hair tickling Logan’s chin as the boy choked back a sob, clinging to him. “Ju--just hold me for a minute, okay?” He whispered.

Logan lowered his wing, easily hiding him from view as he tightened his grip around him, holding Virgil close as he ran gentle claws through his hair. “Of course.” He said, careful to keep his voice from echoing.

He frowned up at the pitch black cloud that hung like an anvil over Virgil’s head, catching only glimpses of the past four hours of torture his charge had been through. Glimpses because Virgil’s thoughts were being slippery, his human not wanting him to know exactly what had gone wrong. Annoying that. He shouldn’t have admitted to being able to see and influence the boy’s thoughts. “You’re safe here.” He whispered, fighting the fury rising within him as Virgil broke down, hot tears dripping onto his chest.

“I-I know. I ju-just--” He shuddered. “I hate this place.”

Logan blinked. Huh? How was that--just this morning his charge had once again shrugged off the light meddling that he’d done to the tangle of thoughts over his head to try and convince him to leave! Yet Virgil had been firm in stating that he was fine here.

Obviously he wasn’t doing so fine if he hated being here.

Logan ran his claws through Virgil’s hair, observing those twisting thoughts with no intention of meddling at the moment.

No, he was seeking to understand why the sudden change of heart when nothing he had suggested had worked. “We both do. Why do you think I’ve been trying to convince you to leave?” The cold for one was getting tiresome. Spring should be bringing warmer temperatures and yet up here in the north it hardly felt like they’d come out of winter at all.

“I just--” The dark cloud over his head seemed to grow darker. “I just...wanted it to change you know? How can I be a thousand miles away from my old life, and yet everyone here still treats me like I’m the scum of the earth? I just--I just...wish someone here besides you would like me. You know? Where I could just--relax and not constantly be worrying if I’m secretly hated and they’re gonna try and--and--”

“Lock you in the janitor’s closet?” Logan asked, his chest rumbling with a suppressed growl as he finally found the thread leading to the event that Virgil had been trying to hide from him.

Even with him drastically reducing his meddling with Virgil’s thoughts, it seemed like his charge really couldn’t catch a break here. Especially if this--this freshman hazing kept up. Even if Virgil kept insisting that it was nothing and that his...peers’…antics should stay unreported to the police--not that that hadn’t stopped Logan from going off and enacting his own little revenge on the people that had threatened his human’s life--it would only be a matter of time before he would need to guard his charge twenty-four seven to keep him safe. To keep him alive.

That was no way for a human to live. A demon’s guardianship was hardly a good guardianship after all.

Virgil gave a bitter laugh, thoughts swirling, giving Logan glimpses of the faces of the new people torturing his charge.

It was a bittersweet realization that. Sure he was proud his ability to terrorize others hadn’t been dulled with this...softening towards this one particular human, but if getting rid of the one batch of rotten eggs only encouraged another group to take up the calling to make Virgil’s life miserable---

“They took my backpack this time.” He whispered, resting his head against Logan’s chest. “I had to MacGyver a way to melt the hinges off the door with chemicals from the closet before I could escape. Then it took me another hour to track down where they’d thrown my bag--at least I found it.”

Was that supposed to be reassuring? That this time, he’d managed to get free by himself? If it was...it didn’t make Logan feel any better. Not when it left his charge in tears.

Not when it left him wondering what would have happened if Virgil hadn’t managed to MacGyver-whatever that meant- his way out of his predicament. Just how long would it have been before Logan would have realized he wasn’t coming back? That he needed help? It just--that ache that--that worry in his chest only grew stronger at the thought.

Honestly, he didn’t understand most human devices, but if he needed to obtain a freaking cell phone and enchant it so that Virgil would always be able to contact him he would. The hassle would be worth it if it meant his charge would remain safe. That at the first sign of trouble Virgil could call for help and immediately receive it.

Better than leaving him wondering if Logan would find him in time. If he’d--- He exhaled. “I know it won’t mean much coming from me.” He whispered, committing to memory the faces of the people he needed to go take care of next, all too aware of how much he, himself, had contributed to his charge’s woes while here. “But you don’t deserve this.”

Virgil let out a shaky breath, the dark cloud swirling over his head shifting to a lighter grey as he looked up meeting Logan’s slitted eyes. “I want to make a deal.”

He blinked, ignoring how his hearts leapt at the words every demon craved to hear at the unexpected phrase. “No you don’t.”

Virgil set his jaw, eyes unwavering. “I do.”

Logan frowned, fighting the desire to break eye contact to see what the twisting threads of thought were leading to. To find out why Virgil was requesting this now. No, it was best to hear it straight from the human himself.

He let out a slow breath. Knowing his charge, his reasoning would be convoluted and yet still make perfect sense. “I’m willing to hear you out, but I do not agree to agree to anything beyond that. You’ve already dealt with enough trouble in your life without adding a demonic deal to it.”

Virgil gave a wobbly smirk, hardly fazed as he tapped Logan’s chest with a single finger. “Your side.” He said. “You want me to move elsewhere. Want me to go to a different school. Someplace warmer. Safer.”

Logan gave a slow nod. “Yes?” Though wasn’t this deal supposed to be about what the human wanted to get instead of the demon?

“Then I’ll agree to moving. Even let you pick the school and the place I’ll stay at IF.” He stressed the word again tapping Logan’s chest. “You agree to three things first.”

Three things in exchange for one of safety? Typical human. He narrowed his eyes, tail tapping against the floorboards. “And those are?”

“One. You stop hiding under my bed like an overgrown dust bunny. Two. You become my roommate and go to the school you’ve chosen with me--don’t give me that look.”

Logan growled, tail dancing back and forth against the wall. He would give out all the looks he wanted thank you very much. Because that was---okay being out from under the bed would be wonderful but be a roommate?! “I can’t replace your need for human interaction and companionship, Virgil.”

Sure, it did make a nice loophole that his superiors couldn’t argue against because the human had requested his near-constant presence in this deal. But it couldn’t work. Demons and Humans weren’t meant to be roommates. It was hardly a healthy relationship when Logan had the ability to manipulate Virgil’s thoughts! Plus! Figuring out an adequate human disguise to uphold all hours of the day in order to go to school would be a nightmare and a half with the rituals and the charm work involved to hide his demonic looks.

“Three.” Virgil continued, ignoring Logan’s outburst, the cloud above his head shifting closer to white as he grew more fond of how this deal was turning out. “You pick out our other roommate or roommates. Ones who know you are a demon so you won’t have to disguise yourself when you’re home.”

That was---huh. So he’d only have to look human while in public? Logan tsked, claws carefully brushing Virgil’s tear streaked cheeks, his wings quivering with the urge to agree to this--this foolhardiness as his mind raced to find any downsides for his end of this deal. For any loopholes to exploit despite him not wanting to do anything of the sort to Virgil. Not when his charge was finally finally willing to move away from this awful place.

Except there was one problem. The humans.

“Most humans who willingly interact with demons are not the sort of individuals I would trust to room with you.” He said, shaking his head. His goal was to keep Virgil safe. Not set him up for further attempts on his life.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, eyes glinting. “I specifically said those who know you are a demon, Lo. That doesn’t have to mean they’ve interacted with others.”

Clever. “But I don’t interact with other humans!” If he hadn’t broken the rules, Virgil would never be having this conversation with him in the first place because he wouldn’t know Logan existed. “Demons don’t interact with humans unless they are summoned. How am I--!”

“I never summoned you though. And yet here we are.”

Logan had to look away at that. Avoid staring at the positively smug face his charge was giving him. “That’s different.” He finally muttered. Most demons didn’t care what happened to the humans they dealt with. Logan was an outlier in that sense. Sent to lurk under a bed as punishment and instead found that he liked it even if Virgil’s stubborn nature drove him up the wall most of the time.

“Different because you were hiding under my bed for who knows how long?”

He grimaced. It hadn’t even been a year yet. Not that long at all in human terms. “In a way.”

He flinched as Virgil placed a palm against his cheek, turning his head back to face him. “You were the monster under my bed until you decided I needed a Guardian instead.” He said softly. “Why can’t you go find another human whose needs are similar to mine? Find someone we both can get along with. And once you do, I’ll move wherever you want me to for school. Those are my terms.”

Logan hardly cared if another human liked him. He was a demon. Humans were supposed to fear his kind. But Virgil? His human needed a good roommate. One that would want to be around him, unlike Virgil’s current set that barely acknowledged his existence unless it was his turn to take out the trash. However, if he was out hunting for this good roommate…that would mean--

“I can hardly be considered a Guardian if you’re left defenseless while I’m off searching who knows where for who knows how long for this hypothetical person!” Logan retorted. “You would have to allow me to establish a means to ensure you’re safe while I am gone or that you could summon me if you find yourself in danger before I would even consider--”

“What sort of thing?”

Logan frowned. Was the stress of three near death attempts addling his charge’s mind? Perhaps the air underneath the bed was’t flowing properly--he shifted, teleporting them both onto Virgil’s bed where he could have this conversation in a more proper format. After all, humans didn’t usually make deals under their beds. Though it probably was too much to expect his charge to draw a sigil on the floor. Not if he wanted his deposit back.

He kept a wing securely around Virgil as the human adjusted his position to rest more comfortably against him, a move that should be more counter-intuitive despite Logan’s proclamations of keeping him safe. There was too much trust here. Virgil had hardly done more than sharply inhale at them suddenly appearing on top of his bed.

“So?” He asked once he was comfortable, fingers brushing against the inside of Logan’s wing. “What sort of thing were you thinking?”

Logan shrugged a shoulder, trying to not focus on how relaxed Virgil was with him. “...I was considering a cell phone.”

The laugh his charge let out shouldn’t make his hearts flutter so.

Virgil grinned, shaking his head, the storm cloud above him glittering brightly despite it’s shifting state. “That’s so...human, Lo. But what if it dies? What if I get mine taken away? They’re hardly reliable despite how much I use mine. Isn’t there a sort of…” He waved a hand around. “Sigil or spell or mark? Something that you can place on me?”

Yes. But--

Before he could speak his charge ducked out from under his wing, grabbing at his backpack on the floor and digging into it. “I could draw something on me.” He offered, pulling out a pen. “And then you enchant it or whatever to--are you okay?”

That was---ha. Logan swallowed, wings shifting back as he looked his human in the eyes. “That is...it’s not a light commitment to make, Virgil.” He finally answered. “You shouldn’t allow any demon, let alone me--” Despite how much he desperately wanted it. It would be so much easier to ensure he could protect Virgil than using a cell phone. “--to mark you so. I doubt you want a permanent connection to me and a sigil once placed on living flesh cannot easily be removed.”

Virgil tapped his pen against his lips, tilting his head as he silently studied Logan.

His tail twisted at the scrutiny. “It’s too much of a risk.” He repeated, holding his hands palm up. “You have no guarantee that I will remain a...Guardian to you.” Though at this point he couldn’t see him being anything else. “I am a Demon. It’s not in our nature to--”

He cut off as Virgil reached out, resting his hands in Logan’s clawed ones, gently squeezing them. “Lo.”

His hearts skipped a beat at the nickname. Gah. If Virgil ever figured out how being called Lo truly affected him, far more than any deal would, he would be completely done for--he flinched, inhaling sharply as a purplish glow appeared, covering both of their hands as his charge gave a small smirk.

“You’ve saved my life twice now.” He said softly, leaning forward, unfazed by the glow.

Though of course Virgil would have no idea that this wasn’t normal, not when Logan hadn’t done anything!

“That’s hardly a demon’s nature now is it? To save someone? Someone who made no deal to gain such protection?”

….No. It wasn’t normal. He knew that. He-- Logan made a sound in his throat as the purplish glow shifted between them winding like a ribbon around their wrists. He eyed it warily, it was a sign, despite the fact that the glowing ribbon should be red instead of purple, that a deal was being struck though Logan had made no active attempt to initiate one. Hadn’t wanted--

“You’re no ordinary demon, Lo.”

No...he wasn’t much like the others was he? Interacting with humans...a human...with Virgil willingly without being compelled to. To want to protect his charge, seeking to help him instead of...well...continuing to make him suffer.

“If you don’t want the mark on me to be permanent then make it temporary.” Virgil said, maintaining eye contact. “Make it last as long as you need it to. But I know you know you want to know I’m okay. Is this not a good way to go about it?”

His breath caught in his throat. There was too much trust in him here. Far too much. Virgil didn’t know what he was getting into. He couldn’t--it wasn’t safe. “I don’t--” Logan swallowed, fingers trembling in Virgil’s hands as the ribbon pulsed around them. “A demonic deal is never safe.” He couldn’t risk his charge like this. Something would go wrong. It wasn’t worth it. “I don’t want to make this type of deal. Any deal with you.” He whispered, wings fluttering with heat as he broke eye contact, bowing his head to his charge.

“Lo?” Virgil adjusted his grip, squeezing his hands.

He shuddered, eyes burning despite his inability to shed tears, his hearts pounding like the drums of war as he clung to those hands, careful always careful so that his claws wouldn’t pierce his delicate flesh, wouldn’t draw blood to seal whatever deal this purple ribbon was trying to instigate. He couldn’t hurt him.

“It’s not proper.” He said softly. “A demon shouldn’t care about this. A demon would just say yes. But I can’t. Because I do. I care. I just want you safe, Virgil. Protected. Happy. A deal won’t-- I can’t---a demon can’t--”

“Perhaps.” Virgil tilted his head, peering up into Logan’s slitted eyes. “You should stop thinking of yourself as a demon then.”

He blinked, wings drawing back as the purple ribbon pulsed. “What?” But that--that’s what he was. Sure, he wasn’t acting like one currently, but no one would look at him and think he was anything else.

“Well...you’ve already said it yourself, haven’t you? Starting back when I nearly froze to death. What you really are.”

He’d said a lot of--Wait. Logan looked up, barely able to breathe from how tight his chest felt. “You...remember that time?”

Virgil shook his head. “Not all of it. But I do remember one thing, Lo.” He grinned, eyes glittering as the purple ribbon flashed a brilliant indigo, the bright warm light washing over Logan before he could blink.

“You’re a Guardian. My Guardian.” End.

#Demon Comfort #December Drabbles #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Logan #Virgil #Logic #Anxiety #Demon!Logan #Near Death experience tw #Hazing tw #Manipulation tw #December Day 14

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idontlikeem · 3 years ago

Note

Sick/Injured Fic + I Didn't Mean to Turn You On

you can find the fic tropes mashup game here!

REALLY great combo, oh man! I had this idea right away—be warned, nonsense ahead!

sidney i promise i love your vocal fry

Zhenya’s never paid much attention to how Sidney talks.

He’s familiar with Sidney’s laughs—the slightly-stilted media chuckle he uses when he’s trying to buy time to think through an uncomfortable question, the gentle camera-friendly laugh when something genuinely amuses him but he’s very aware of the public within earshot, and of course the ridiculous high-pitched honking giggle that comes out when he really, really thinks something’s funny and can’t modulate his response.

Zhenya covets that last laugh, goes out of his way to elicit it, makes a fool of himself far more frequently than he’s willing to cop to in order to hear it, to watch the way it squinches Sidney’s whole face up, making his eyes disappear into half-moons above his cheeks, which get so, so pink.

So, yeah. Sidney’s laughs—Zhenya can categorize them all. But his voice? He’s never thought much about it. Sidney’s soft-spoken, and his singing is terrible, and Zhenya can easily drown him out in the room simply by virtue of having a lower voice.

Zhenya tends to not pay attention to the interviews they do. He doesn’t watch the stupid Christmas specials they make, he doesn’t stick around for postgames unless he’s actively participating, and he generally does his own thing during team media days if he can manage it. So, whenever Tanger teases Sidney with who are you trying to be when you talk to reporters, Kim Kardashian? you’ve already got the ass—, Zhenya’s ignored it—he doesn’t know what Sidney’s getting up to in his interviews, but it certainly isn’t any of his business.

(Tanger might be onto something, though. About the ass, at least.)

Finally, though, for the first time ever, they get roped into a joint interview during the league media day, and it’s clear when they get on the plane that Sidney has a cold.

He’s taken a decongestant so at least he’s not sniffling and sneezing all over, but his eyes are red-rimmed, and he’s sucking down cough drops like they’re pieces of candy.

Jen outright laughs at him on the plane. “Well, that’ll make at least that part of your interview easier, won’t it?” she asks as she holds up her phone and snaps a few pictures of them sprawled out in their seats.

Zhenya frowns. “What she mean?” he demands. In his experience, being sick only makes an interview worse, unless they’ve given him the good drugs beforehand.

Sid looks miserable. “Ugh,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “I kind of...I do this voice thing, sometimes. I don’t mean to,” he shoots Jen a glare, but she raises an unimpressed eyebrow and goes back to ignoring them, “but I guess sometimes I talk...lower, you know. Lower than usual.”

His voice sounds a little harsh, sure, but Zhenya probably wouldn’t have noticed unless he was listening for it.

He shrugs. “Okay, is fine. You do all questions, since special voice easier for you today.”

Sidney frowns heavily at him. Zhenya serenely ignores it in favor of demanding the picture from Jen to post to his Instagram. They look good, and Sid’s smiling—not quite one of his best smiles, but close. The internet will like it.

As the day wears on, though, Zhenya...figures it out.

When Sidney’s being interviewed, he can’t mainline cough drops, and his voice gets rougher and rougher as the day goes on. By the time they sit down with Friedman, he’s downright husky, and Zhenya—has a problem.

He’s distracted all through the questions, brushing past being asked about his desires to leave the Penguins (as if) and smiling vaguely down at the video Sportsnet took of him the previous year at his house. He’s babbling a little bit, he knows it, but if he doesn’t fill the silence—

Well, if he isn’t talking, Sidney is, and Tanger’s jokes about Kim Kardashian are suddenly, horribly explained.

It’s not right, Zhenya thinks miserably, listening to Sidney earnestly spill out the same meaningless platitudes about winning as a team he’s no doubt used a dozen times today already and trying not to shift too obviously. It’s not right that he feels so shitty and sounds like...like…

Christ in heaven, Sidney sounds sexy, and there is something seriously, seriously wrong for Zhenya to be thinking so when Sidney is so clearly miserable.

The interview ends, eventually, and Jen picks them up and chats at them the entire drive back to the hotel. Zhenya’s not required to contribute, thank god; he’s so past being able to hold polite conversation in public, it’s not even funny.

Naturally, this means Sidney follows Zhenya back to his room, recapping the day and whining about his sore throat. He stands too close when Zhenya fumbles the keycard into his room’s lock, like always. He smells like menthol from the cough drops, and his shirt is wrinkled and one side of his collar is flipped weirdly, and really, how hadn’t Zhenya realized how desperately, hopelessly attracted he is to Sidney before today?

Zhenya beelines for the minibar as soon as he’s got his shoes off inside his room, hoping that a few tiny bottles of mediocre vodka will at least kill off the semi he’s been sporting since halfway through the interview, if not distract him from the problem entirely.

It would help if Sidney would stop. Talking.

Instead, though, he flops back on Zhenya’s bed—he’s in my bed, Zhenya thinks hysterically, throwing one of the shitty flavored rums Sidney pretends he doesn’t like over before Sidney can ask—and keeps it up, talking about the other players they saw and what did Zhenya think of doing a co-interview, and did he really mean it when he said he’d seriously considered leaving, because—

“Sid,” Zhenya finally interrupts desperately, turning to look over his shoulder at the bed. Sidney’s voice is getting raspier by the second—he’s starting to sound like a girlfriend Zhenya used to have who was a heavy smoker, especially after she had been… He wrenches himself away from that train of thought. “Sid, please, stop talk, please.”

Sidney snaps his mouth shut and stares at him, eyes big and sad.

Zhenya winces and downs a bottle of—god, is that Svedka, disgusting—before jumping to try and smooth this over. “Not— Don’t mean, like, not want to talk, just…” He trails off and turns around, facing Sidney and scrambling to come up with something that doesn’t make him sound like an asshole, or insane.

Too late, though, he remembers his situation, and before he can sit down or do something to cover himself, Sidney’s gaze has already settled at Zhenya’s waist.

“Geno,” Sidney rasps out. “Geno, are you…?”

“Is your voice, I’m sorry!” Zhenya wails, sitting heavily in the desk chair and dropping his head in his hands. “I’m not mean! Is just, you sound…” He shrugs and trails off. There’s no point in trying to explain—he doesn’t have the words in English for it, and frankly, he’d rather Sidney not put together how much of a perv he is.

Sidney’s quiet for a minute, and when Zhenya dares to peek at him from between his fingers, he’s chewing on his lip, color high in his cheeks.

“I sound like I’ve been giving head, don’t I?” Sidney says abruptly, the corner of his mouth curling a little, and Zhenya’s whole body jolts. “I sound like I’ve had a cock down my throat, and now you’re thinking about that, and it’s making you—” He gestures vaguely at where Zhenya’s dick has now definitively gone from semi to fully hard.

“Please, Sid, I’m not—” Zhenya starts desperately. This is going off the rails, fast, and he doesn’t know what to do to fix it.

“I think you are,” Sidney says softly, and oh, now he’s doing it on purpose, Zhenya just knows it, and all he can do is stare when Sidney gets up and crosses the room, before dropping to his knees between Zhenya’s legs, holy shit.

“Sid, you—” Zhenya chokes when Sidney runs his hands up the inside of Zhenya’s thighs. His hands are hot through the thin suit fabric.

“Wanna hear what I really sound like, after?” Sid says, a gleam in his eye.

#sidgeno #flash fic #fic asks #my fic #hockey rpf

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jayeray-hq · 4 years ago

Text

The Great Christmas Bake-Off

This is my SFW secret Santa fic for @rice-hime! You have no idea how excited I was to see that you were who I got for the SFW secret Santa, Rice! You were one of my very first requests, and I love all your writing! I know you’ve been having a bit of a tough time lately, so I hope this makes you smile!

Want more Osamu? Check out my Character Masterlist!

Thanks to the amazing @deathcab4daddy for beta-reading for me! Love you Tay! 😊💖 Timeskip/Manga Spoilers! 8.6K words

Warnings: Brief mentions of depression but drowned in Fluff

You stared out the window quietly watching the snow fall, nursing a cup of your favorite hot beverage in your hands. It was Christmas Eve day, and for the first time since you’d started dating your boyfriend, you were home alone. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Osamu was supposed to be on his way back from a business meeting in Tokyo yesterday, but inclement weather meant he hadn’t been able to travel home safely.

When you’d taken his call earlier that morning he’d told you trains were delayed, and there was no word on whether or not they’d be up and running again any time soon. It didn’t help that it had yet to stop snowing. Your poor boyfriend had sounded extremely frustrated and put out with everything when you’d talked, and you’d done your best to assure him that everything would be fine. You’d told him that you’d wait for him, and that you much preferred he get home safe rather than rush and potentially get hurt because of the weather.

You had also made sure to tell him you didn’t blame him for not being able to make it home, that you wouldn’t be angry even if he couldn’t get home until after Christmas. It wasn’t like he could control the weather after all, and the meeting in Tokyo had been incredibly important so it wouldn’t have been possible to cancel or delay it. After all it had been about finally getting approval to open up a branch of Onigiri Miya in Tokyo, expanding his business out of the Hyogo prefecture for the first time.

Both of you had been excited at the possibility of expanding his dream restaurant, and you firmly believed that the chance had been worth potentially missing a single Christmas with him. However, despite your beliefs it didn’t stop you from missing him, from wishing rather desperately that he was there with you and not trapped in Tokyo.

It was probably a bit strange, but you thought it might actually be harder to not have him today than it would be to not have him on Christmas. The two of you had created your own tradition for Christmas Eve, one that you couldn’t imagine doing without him.

It had all started back during the first year the two of you had started dating. Osamu had claimed to have the recipe for the best sugar cookies ever. You’d decided to challenge him, not really understanding just how obsessed your new boyfriend was with eating, and creating the perfect foods.

He’d brought his recipe, one he’d spent several years perfecting, and you’d brought one you found on the internet. The two of you had made both recipes together in the kitchen on Christmas Eve Day, the one day the two of you could find that neither of you had previous obligations for.

Originally, you’d planned to make the cookies separately, each of you making your own, on your own time, but Osamu had insisted on doing the activity together. He’d convinced you that everything had to be done with the same quality of ingredients, the same oven, and in the same space in order for things to be equal. You’d conceded, figuring your new boyfriend was even more of a food nut than you’d initially assumed and finding it rather cute. It wouldn’t be until several years down the line that he’d admitted he’d only insisted so he could spend more time with you.

After the cookies were baked, you then frosted and decorated them with the exact same frosting and tried both for comparison. In the end, you’d been forced to concede that his were much better than the ones from the recipe you’d found, but had sworn you’d find something better by the next year. Thus, your little tradition had been born.

This year you had all the ingredients, bought well beforehand, all the equipment, and your own beautiful kitchen that you shared with your boyfriend. The recipe you’d picked out even had thousands of five-star reviews. The problem, of course, was that you didn’t have your boyfriend. Technically speaking, you could probably do it yourself. You’d made his version of the cookies with him enough times now you could do it in your sleep, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Thus, you’d decided to wait until he came home. Was it a little disappointing not to be able to do it on the day you’d planned? Yes of course, but it couldn’t be helped. However, you’d rather do it on a different day than do it without your boyfriend. It was just one more thing that had gone wrong this year, which hadn’t been all that great considering everything that had happened.

It was honestly wearing, and the blow of not having him there felt far heavier than it would under normal circumstances. Usually you’d be able to shrug it off with a smile and go about your day, but with everything else it felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. You’d done your best to put on a cheerful, optimistic façade during your phone call with your boyfriend, not wanting to stress him out more than he already was.

However, after that call you’d spent a good majority of your morning feeling out of sorts, listless, and unmotivated to do much of anything but watch the snow fall and hope it would let up soon. You wanted your boyfriend home, not just because you wanted to make cookies with him, but because Osamu gave the best hugs, and there was nothing you wanted more than to be wrapped up in his arms for a while.

The sound of several loud knocks at the door startled you out of trying to quietly calculate how long it might take the snow to stop and when your boyfriend might be home. You hadn’t been expecting any guests today, but the sound of a scraping key in the lock let you know exactly who was at the door before it opened. After all, there was only one person who would knock like he was trying to break the door down and who you’d given a key, even if it had been a rather reluctant concession on your boyfriend’s part.

“Well, ain’t this cheery,” a voice that was both exactly what you wanted to hear, and absolutely not at the same time, announced as your boyfriend’s twin brother breezed into the door. You shivered slightly at the cold wind he let in with his arrival, and turned to watch in bemusement as he stomped off the snow from his boots and began stripping off his outer layers, clearly making himself at home.

“Atsumu,” you greeted, a little puzzled at the blond twin’s sudden unannounced arrival at your home, “What are you doing here? You know Samu is still in Tokyo, right?”

“Is that really the way ya should be greetin’ yer future brother-in-law?” he asked teasingly, a wide grin on his face, “And o’ course I knew! Who do ya think was the first person that scrubby brother of mine called after he got off the phone with ya?”

“Your mother probably,” you countered wryly, “Considering she was probably worried about him, and both of you are too afraid of her to not check in when she wants you to.”

“Okay, so the second person,” Atsumu conceded without argument, making you smirk slightly. It always amused you that the twins were absolutely petrified of getting on their mother’s bad side. The Miya matriarch was a sweet, kindly woman, who absolutely doted on you, but according to the twins she was actually a dragon in disguise and downright terrifying in the same way Kita Shinsuke apparently was. You’d personally never witnessed this so-called terrifying side, but you had bowed to the twins’ experience.

“So what, ‘Samu asked you to check on me?” you asked with a frown. You’d been fairly certain you’d managed to conceal your feelings from your boyfriend, but maybe you hadn’t done as good a job as you’d thought you had.

“Actually, he sent me here ta be yer assistant fer the day,” Atsumu told you with a slight pout on his face, “Somethin’ about subbin’ in fer him and makin’ cookies.”

“You realize you can’t actually sub out for one another in real life, right?” you asked him with a sigh. You were torn between annoyance that your boyfriend would think it was alright to substitute his twin in his place for your tradition, and touched that he wanted you to still be able to do it despite the fact that he wasn’t there.

“Hey! I will have ya know that yer getting’ the superior twin fer the day!” Atsumu protested giving you a cocky smirk, “I even agreed ta put myself at yer disposal and everythin’!”

“What did he bribe you with?” you asked skeptically, well aware the twins, despite being fond of each other deep down, never actually did anything for one another without at least some token bribery.

“I can’t just come ta bake cookies with my brother’s lovely girlfriend outta the goodness of my heart?” Atsumu demanded, clearly affronted. You raised an eyebrow at him, and waited arms folded across your chest.

“Okay so maybe there was a promise of some of those famous sugar cookies fer myself,” he conceded, with a huff.

“Thought so,” you acknowledged with a triumphant smile, ignoring his indignant grumbles about Osamu dating a woman as scary as Kita and their mother.

“Does that mean ya aren’t gonna make cookies with me?” Atsumu whined unhappily, “After I came all this way in the snow and everythin’ just ta help ya out?”

“You literally live a block and a half away,” you protested with a laugh.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a cold, wet, and miserable block an a half,” he informed you with a pout, “C’mon please? I never get any cookies from the two of ya, ‘Samu always hogs em all!”

You briefly considered saying no, wanting to uphold the sanctity of tradition. You’d meant what you’d said before, you couldn’t just replace one twin with the other. You loved Atsumu, but he wasn’t your boyfriend, more like a bratty little brother, ironic considering he was technically the older twin. However, even just his presence had been a fantastic distraction from how miserable you’d been before. Besides, Atsumu could be a lot of fun in his own way, and you could always make cookies with Osamu later.

“Fine,” you conceded with a huff, “Let’s make cookies then.”

“Alright!” He cheered his entire face lighting up with a boyish grin, the same grin your boyfriend wore whenever he got to cook something new. It was simultaneously comforting and a bit of a punch to the gut, though you chose to push aside the negative feeling and focus on the positive for now. Even if your boyfriend wasn’t here you still had a friend with you, one who was surprisingly sweet when he wanted to be, and you were grateful for it.

Baking with Atsumu turned out to be absolutely nothing like baking with Osamu. With your boyfriend, the two of you had it down to an art, working with and around one another easily. You trusted one another in the kitchen and were very used to one another’s presence and it showed. Atsumu on the other hand, was a bit of a disaster.

For all that the man was absolutely graceful on the volleyball court, it turned out he was a bit of a disaster in the kitchen. He did admittedly know what he was doing, he just wasn’t as careful as he should be. It meant eggshells accidentally got in the batter and had to be fished out, baking soda and baking powder got confused, the vanilla got knocked over, and flour exploded everywhere when he turned on the mixer, covering the two of you and leaving white residue everywhere.

It took twice as long as it usually did because you spent over half your time babysitting Atsumu to ensure he didn’t screw anything up too badly. By the end of it all you, Atsumu and the kitchen were a mess, but you were smiling. The presence of your boyfriend’s twin having cheered you immensely, mostly because despite how cool they tried to act, both Miya twins were idiots, lovable idiots, but idiots nonetheless.

You were so caught up in Atsumu’s antics that you didn’t notice you’d been joined by someone new, not until an extremely annoyed voice piped up, “Oy, ya scrub! What the hell did ya do ta my kitchen and my girl huh?”

You whirled around surprised to see your boyfriend standing in the entryway, flecks of snow still clinging to his hair and eyelashes as he glared at his twin. Your heart jumped in your chest, a mixture of disbelief and joy swirling inside of you at the sight of him, home where he should be when you’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to make it at all.

“Ya told me to distract her so I distracted her,” Atsumu protested, “And yer the scrubby one ya scrub! I ain’t the one who got stuck in Tokyo after all!”

“’Samu!” you practically barreled into your boyfriend, throwing yourself at him without even bothering to take off your dirty apron. Not that he seemed to mind at all, catching you up in his arms and cradling you to his chest without complaint, nuzzling his face into your hair.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted, pressing an affectionate kiss to the side of your head, both of you ignoring the gagging sounds Atsumu was making in the background.

“What are you doing here?” you asked a bit tearfully, “I thought you weren’t going to make it home?”

“And miss Christmas with you, sweets? Not a chance,” he assured you, pulling back a bit so he could cradle your face in one of his large hands, swiping his thumb affectionately along your cheekbone.

“But I thought the trains weren’t running?” you pointed out anxiously.

“They’re not. I rented a car and drove,” he admitted with a casual shrug, as if he hadn’t admitted to making a six-hour drive in terrible conditions.

“’Samu that’s dangerous,” you protested. Your eyes automatically roving over him to assure yourself he was there and in one piece, as your hands clutched at him a reminder that he was solid, warm, and present, “I could’ve waited for you. I would’ve waited for you.”

“I was real careful sweetheart,” he assured you earnestly, “Drove slow and everythin’ plus the highways weren’t so bad, promise. I just really wanted ta be home with ya fer Christmas, and I didn’t want ya to be frettin’ bout me, which is why I sent ‘Tsumu over to distract ya.”

“Well, he did that at least,” you acknowledged with a huff, casting a glance at Atsumu who looked immeasurably pleased with himself.

“And made a right mess of the kitchen while he was at it,” Osamu noted with clear disapproval on his face, as he gazed around the disaster zone.

“Hey, I’ll have ya know we’re equally responsible fer the mess,” Atsumu informed him promptly shifting some of the blame your way, completely unashamed at the blatant lie, “Yer girl helped me out too.”

The completely unimpressed look your boyfriend leveled at him let you know just how much he believed his brother. Which was, of course, not a bit. Osamu knew you were fairly tidy when the two of you worked together, so he knew who was at fault for the mess. Still, you were grateful that Atsumu had come over at all. It was sweet of him in his own way, so you decided you wouldn’t let him take the fall on his own, not this time anyway.

“Don’t worry ‘Samu, Atsumu and I will clean it up,” you assured him, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Your boyfriend let out a long-suffering sigh in response, giving you a look that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. However, he must’ve been feeling pretty indulgent because he went along with it anyway, “Alright sweetheart, let me just put my things away and I’ll help the two of ya clean up.”

“You don’t have to,” you insisted, reluctantly releasing him so he could move away, “Atsumu and I can handle it.”

“Yeah ‘Samu, we don’t need ya,” Atsumu taunted, slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling a face at his twin, “So buzz off, or I won’t share any of my cookies with ya!”

“Pretty sure it’s my kitchen and my ingredients ya used to make those cookies,” Osamu pointed out, leveling a glare at his brother, clear annoyance written all over his face.

“And I think I’m the one who made them, bought the ingredients, and it’s my kitchen too, which I believe makes them my cookies,” you informed the twins before they could really start squabbling, “And I won’t be sharing with either of you if you don’t behave. ‘Samu go put your things away and get settled in, and Atsumu we have a kitchen to clean.”

The twins exchanged glances over your head, one of those looks that spoke volumes and sometimes made you wonder if they could read one another’s minds. However, in the end they conceded, Osamu ambling down the hall with his bags and Atsumu joining you to clean up the mess in the kitchen, though not before Osamu pressed an affectionate kiss to your cheek.

Between the two of you it didn’t take too long to clean the kitchen up, and get everything looking pristine. It did slow down a bit when Osamu returned from your bedroom and began ‘supervising’ meaning heckling his brother and generally being a pain as he insisted things weren’t clean enough.

By the time you finished, all the cookies were out of the oven and completely cooled, which meant it was time for frosting. Luckily this time things went much faster as Atsumu was firmly pushed out of the kitchen by Osamu, who insisted it was only right he take over since it was his tradition with you. Atsumu whined, but had eventually been appeased by you agreeing to let him lick the spoon.

You laid out several bowls and split up your icing, quickly deciding to do red, yellow, green, and white for your colors to make it nice and simple. Or at least it should’ve been nice and easy, if not for Atsumu’s commentary.

“Is that supposed to be red?” Atsumu asked, casually licking frosting off as he watched his brother add food coloring to the frosting, “Cuz I’m tellin’ ya it definitely looks pink from where I’m standin’.”

A quick glance over your boyfriend’s shoulder proved that it was a little on the pink side, but getting a true red with frosting was extremely difficult without adding enough food coloring to stain your mouth. Though the comments didn’t stop there either.

“Is that really a Christmas green? I’m thinkin’ it looks kinda pastel, don’tcha think ‘Samu?” he pressed eyeing the other bowl, “I hope ya don’t think I’m gonna be decoratin’ my cookies with such a weak lookin’ color.”

“Who says yer getting’ to decorate any cookies at all, huh?” Osamu demanded flatly.

“I did, cuz I helped make ‘em,” Atsumu informed him bluntly, “And I’m gonna do a much better job than you could even dream of.”

“Oh, ya think so do ya?” Osamu asked, his eye twitching slightly in clear annoyance.

“I know so,” Atsumu informed him smugly.

“Then how about a bet?” your boyfriend proposed, with a challenging stare at his brother, “Whoever decorates the best cookie wins.”

“What do I get when I win?” Atsumu demanded, as you watched them go back and forth feeling a bit like a spectator at a tennis match.

“The cookies o’ course,” Osamu proposed evenly, staring his brother down.

“No way! I was supposed to get ‘em anyway fer comin’ over here to help out, and I ain’t wagerin’ ‘em fer nothin’ in return,” Atsumu protested, vehemently.

“Fine, the cookies an I’ll make ya bento fer a week,” Osamu countered, “But in return when I win, I get the cookies an’ you have ta deal with Ritsu Baa-chan at the annual holiday party.”

You snorted at that, trying hard not to laugh at Atsumu’s terrified expression. Ritsu Baa-chan was their grandmother’s sister, their great aunt. She was honestly a rather sweet elderly woman, but she was also a bit blind and couldn’t tell the twins apart despite having different hair colors. She also liked to pinch cheeks a lot, and tended to go on long tangents about her youth.

“That’s unless yer chicken?” your boyfriend taunted, well aware his brother would fall for it.

“Fine, yer on, but she ain’t allowed to judge,” he compromised, the sudden finger in your face making you flinch in surprise. Honestly, you’d thought the twins had forgotten you were there for a moment, so the unexpected acknowledgment was a bit baffling.

“Don’t point at her. It’s rude,” ‘Samu scolded, smacking Atsumu’s hand with the back of the frosting covered spoon he’d been using to mix, making the blond yelp in surprise and indignation, “And who’s gonna judge if not her eh? Don’t tell me yer tryin’ to say somethin’s wrong with my girlfriend.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with her!” Atsumu conceded immediately, shooting you an apologetic look. For all the twins argued, he’d always been extremely courteous to you outside a bit of teasing, so you weren’t at all hurt, “But she still can’t judge, she’ll just pick ya and won’t give me a fair chance cuz yer her boyfriend!”

“So, who’s gonna judge then?” your boyfriend asked skeptically, “Everyone we know likes me better.”

“That ain’t true!” Atsumu pouted at him, as he absently licked the frosting off the back of his hand, earning a disgusted look from his twin, “Everyone knows I’m the superior twin!”

You watched them squabble for a minute as you considered their little conundrum. Osamu had told you back in high school he’d been known as the ‘nice twin’ of the two of them. It was actually a little hilarious to you, as the longer you’d spent around your boyfriend, getting to know both him and Atsumu by extension, the more you realized he wasn’t actually nicer. He just hid it better.

According to Aran, your one trustworthy source on what the twins had been like in high school, things had gotten better as the twins matured, Atsumu becoming a little less uptight, and Osamu a little more open. When you’d met Osamu in college and then Atsumu shortly after, you wouldn’t have pegged either of them as nice or better necessarily, until you’d gotten to know them. Osamu was simply a bit more laidback than his twin, sarcastic, and witty. He was a bit more conscious of the people around him, and their opinions. He was also quieter and less prone to emotional outbursts. It made him come off a bit more thoughtful and mature, though he definitely still had his moments. He was meticulous and incredibly sweet when he wanted to be.

Atsumu on the other hand, was a ball of energy- impulsive but fun. If he loved something he loved it wholeheartedly, and if he hated something he hated it just as ardently. He definitely came off as less mature, and a bit more naïve in some ways as well, which was why you’d never been able to see him as anything more than a good friend or younger brother figure despite being head over heels for his twin.

You wouldn’t call the two of them opposites per se, but you would say to those who knew them knew that the twins were very different. It meant that despite them sharing a lot of the same friends, most of those friends had a ‘favorite’ of the twins, one whose company they preferred even if they liked both of them. It made having someone neutral to be the judge of the outcome of the little bets they liked to make with each other a bit of an interesting conundrum.

The only two friends you could think of off the top of your head who both twins would agree on as neutral were Aran and Kita. However, you weren’t about to let the twins pester their friends on Christmas Eve. Luckily, there was one person who was guaranteed neutral that not even the twins would argue against, and who wouldn’t mind having you call, would in fact probably enjoy it a lot.

“Why don’t we ask your mom to judge then?” you cut in, breaking off their little tiff, “We should call her tonight anyway, to wish her happy holidays. You let her know you got home safely didn’t you ‘Samu?”

“Course I did,” your boyfriend agreed looking a bit horrified that you’d think he wouldn’t, “I ain’t a scrub like ‘Tsumu.”

“A guy forgets to text one time,” Atsumu whined, looking more than a bit traumatized at the mere mention of the wrath he’d apparently brought down on his head for forgetting.

“Then we’ll have her judge,” you told them, ending the argument you knew could last hours if you didn’t intervene, “It will be nice to talk to her later anyway.”

The twins exchanged another of their speaking looks, but in the end agreed to do things your way. In order to be fair, you split up the cookies and frosting as evenly as you could between the three of you, and set to work.

Honestly, you probably should’ve known it would be a disaster. The twins had always been competitive, and liked to do anything they could to win, which apparently meant sabotage. It had started off innocently enough, and you were fairly sure it was an accident. Atsumu’s elbow had knocked into an open bottle of red sugar sprinkles and tipped the whole thing on to one of Osamu’s cookies.

Your boyfriend had been outraged of course, and immediately tried to retaliate by smearing red frosting on to Atsumu’s green Christmas tree. It had only escalated from there, as sprinkles and frosting flew, Osamu’s usual concern for his kitchen flying out the window in the face of competition with his brother.

Luckily, you’d had the foresight to put yourself outside the disaster zone, well aware there was nothing that brought out immaturity from your boyfriend quite like Atsumu. Therefore, instead of stressing, you got to watch, thoroughly entertained from the side lines. Taking a leaf from Suna’s book, you recording some of it on your phone, fully prepared to share it later.

You couldn’t help the quiet giggles that escaped your lips as you watched their antics, giggles that devolved into side splitting laughter as Osamu, fed up with having sprinkles flicked at him by Atsumu, dipped his hand into the frosting and smeared it all over his brother’s face.

Both twins froze at the sound, your boyfriend giving you a soft fond look, the kind he reserved just for you. He quickly abandoned his cookies to come over to where you were sitting so he could wrap his arms around you.

“Samu you’re getting frosting all over me,” you protested with a laugh even as you hugged him in return, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

“Ya know ya love it, sweetheart,” Osamu teased affectionately, “Besides weren’t ya the one who got flour all over me earlier?”

You hummed in agreement, sighing contentedly in his arms. You probably could’ve stayed there for a good while longer, except you were interrupted by a very pointed throat clearing.

“I’m still here ya know,” Atsumu pointed out clearly disgruntled, “Can’t ya save yer gross coupley stuff until I don’t have to watch?”

“Yer just jealous,” Osamu brushed him off, squeezing you affectionately and shooting his brother a look over your head, “Ya don’t have to watch ya know. Yer free to leave at any time.”

“An’ leave ya alone to sabotage my cookies?” the blond demanded self-righteously, “What do ya think I’m an idiot or somethin’?”

The look your boyfriend gave his brother for that question was really all the answer that was needed. You coughed, pressing your face into his neck to stifle your giggles at the extremely indignant look on Atsumu’s face.

“I ain’t gonna sabotage yer cookies, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu informed his brother, resting his cheek on top of your head, “I don’t think they could get any uglier if I tried.”

“An whose fault is that!” Atsumu protested, as easily riled as usual, “Besides it ain’t like yers are any better!”

It was true both of their cookies were complete and utter disasters, a smear of frosting all blended together into an ugly brownish color with only hints of the previous green and red. Mounds of sprinkles were smeared in and thrown everywhere in a mish mash of colored sugar some on the cookies but a lot on the floor. They honestly barely looked edible, even though you were sure the taste was probably fine. They were, truthfully, some of the ugliest cookies you’d ever seen in your life.

“Still better than yers,” Osamu countered stubbornly, “I’m still gonna win.”

“Like hell ya are, mine are clearly superior!” Atsumu retorted.

“We’ll leave that up to Miya-san to decide,” you cut in before they could really start bickering again, “In the meantime, why don’t we all get cleaned up.”

You glanced pointedly at Atsumu’s face, still covered in flecks of frosting despite his attempts to wipe it clean, along with the globs on his shirt, and at Osamu’s hair, which was shedding sprinkles everywhere.

Atsumu grimaced down at this shirt, pouting at the frosting that covered it, and promptly reached for the hem, clearly ready to strip it right off. He didn’t get very far, as Osamu promptly released you to smack at his twins hands.

“The hell! Don’t just start strippin’ ya scrub!” your boyfriend protested.

“Why not?” Atsumu protested genuinely baffled, “It ain’t like ya’ve never seen it before ‘Samu, we shared a room fer years.”

“Do ya always just casually take yer shirt off in front of girls without warnin’?” Osamu asked aggrieved, “No wonder ya can’t get a girlfriend!”

“Oy! I’ll have ya know the ladies love when I take my shirt off,” Atsumu informed him snottily.

“Well my lady doesn’t,” Osamu informed him, gesturing to where you were sitting, watching the whole thing play out.

“Why would she mind?” Atsumu pointed out snottily, “If she’s seen ya naked, she’s basically seen me too.”

“Eww no,” you interjected, unable to resist, your face scrunching up in disgust, even as your boyfriend smacked his brother over the back of the head.

“What do ya mean eww no?” Atsumu demanded clutching at his head and turning slightly watery eyes on you, glaring in offense, “We’re twins! We look the exact same!”

“’Samu is sexy,” you explained with a shrug, unable to resist teasing him a little, “You’re just… you.”

Atsumu squawked in indignation, clearly very offended, though your boyfriend just looked amused, winking at you from behind his brother’s back and adding, “That’s right, so keep yer damn shirt on ‘Tsumu, no one wants to see it.”

“But it’s got brown gunk all over it,” he whined gesturing at the rather unfortunately colored frosting smeared down his front from where he’d wiped his face clean with it, “It looks like someone wiped their ass with it!”

You choked at the realization that he was unfortunately correct, nearly falling off your chair as you were overtaken by laughter again. Really, the twins could start their own comedy show, you had the feeling they’d make a killing. It was no wonder Suna had managed to collect so much blackmail on them over the years, the two of them really made it too easy.

“So, go home and change then stupid,” Osamu informed his brother flatly, though you could tell from the way his lips twitched that he also found it terribly amusing.

“No way!” Atsumu griped, “If ya don’t want me shirtless in front of yer girlfriend then just let borrow a shirt ya jerk!”

“Go get yer own,” your boyfriend countered, completely unimpressed, “No way in hell am I lendin’ ya one of mine again. I’ll never get it back.”

“Yer so cruel ‘Samu, and here everyone still thinks yer the nice twin,” Atsumu informed his brother snottily, “Tryin’ to send me out into a storm like that!”

Surprised you glanced at the window only to find Atsumu was right, the weather had gone from bad to worse. Enormous flakes of snow falling from the sky, coming down so hard you could barely see the blurred outline of the home across the street from yours. It looked like a genuine blizzard out there. It looked absolutely nasty, and even though he did live fairly close by you were hesitant to send Atsumu out in it.

You glanced at your boyfriend, and he clearly saw the concern on your face because he heaved a sigh and nodded in acknowledgment.

“Fine ‘Tsumu, but yer changin’ in the bathroom so ya don’t make a mess in our room, and ya ain’t leavin’ in it. Rinse yer shirt while yer in there and toss it in the wash,” Osamu ordered as he grabbed hold of his brother hauling him away down the hall, completely ignoring Atsumu’s protests at being manhandled.

You smiled after them for a moment, amused. You knew without a doubt, no matter how much he griped about it, that Osamu would never have sent Atsumu home when the weather was like this. Which meant you should probably resign yourself to having a guest for the night. Not that you minded all that much.

You’d known from the beginning that while they were separate people, the Miya twins came as a set. If you were going to be dating Osamu, Atsumu was going to be part of your life, that was a simple, inarguable fact. You were just glad you got along well with him, even if having the two of them together did end with your kitchen a complete and utter disaster area for the second time that day.

Huffing a sigh, you finished up the last of your own cookies that you’d carefully kept out of the line of fire, covered them and hid them in one of the cupboards. You were well aware if you didn’t they were bound to get snitched by one of the twins. With your cookies safe, you surveyed the mess that was the kitchen and grabbed a cloth intent on getting things cleaned back up again while you had the chance.

Your work was interrupted by the feel of strong arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you upright and back into a solid chest. You immediately relaxed into the embrace tilting your head back against your boyfriend’s shoulder so you could see him.

“Hi there,” you greeted affectionately, tossing the rag you’d been using to wipe things down on to the counter in favor of wrapping your arms over his, savoring the feeling of being held.

“Hey sweetness,” he returned, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, “I missed ya.”

“I missed you too,” you admitted quietly, “I’m so glad you made it home, even if you really should’ve stayed where it was safe.”

“Like I’d let somethin’ as stupid as a snowstorm keep me away from my girl on Christmas Eve,” Osamu scoffed, “This is our day. I wasn’t gonna miss it fer anythin’ sweetheart.”

You hummed in response, feeling immeasurably comforted by the feel of him wrapped around you, the loneliness and depression chased away completely by the afternoon’s laughter and the warm presence of your boyfriend.

“How’d the meeting go?” you asked quietly as he rocked the two of you back and forth, the motion familiar and soothing. You’d learned early on he was completely unable to stay still for any length of time unless he was sleeping, a trait he shared with his twin.

“It was good. The investors are all in, looks like we’re gonna get our new shop in Tokyo after all,” he told you, clear pride in his voice.

“Our shop huh?” you asked teasingly, more than a bit touched that he said it so easily. Onigiri Miya was his dream after all, and the fact that he shared it so openly with you meant the world.

“O’course sweetheart,” he told you, “I…!”

Unfortunately, whatever he might’ve wanted to say after that was interrupted by the untimely arrival of his brother, who reappeared, dressed in a clean shirt, all traces of frosting removed from his person.

“Oy! This place is still a disaster! I thought ya said ya were goin’ ta help her clean, ‘Samu?” he demanded, turning judging eyes on the kitchen.

You sighed, partly annoyed and partly amused at the sheer audacity of the blond twin, as Osamu reluctantly untangled himself from you. The glare he sent his twin would’ve had lesser men cringing away, but Atsumu was unfortunately rather immune by this point.

“Ya have no sense of timing at all do ya, ya scrub?” Osamu asked him rhetorically, heaving a put-upon sigh before smacking his brother over the back of the head in punishment and shoving a cloth in his hands, ordering to, “Help clean too, ya ungrateful jerk! Since half this mess is yers anyways.”

Luckily, though they squabbled through the whole thing, they did manage to get things cleaned up, just in time for dinner. The snow was still coming down hard, so you quickly invited Atsumu to stay, though Osamu ordered him to stay out of the kitchen. He went, though you quickly sent Osamu after him, insisting that he’d had a long day of travel and didn’t need to cook tonight as you’d fully planned to cook for the two of you.

Osamu gave you a soft look for that, one that got him thoroughly teased by Atsumu for being a sap. Your boyfriend pressed a quick, chaste kiss to your lips before joining his brother to stream the latest Black Jackals game on the tv, clearly fully intending to heckle his brother over any mistakes he made while you put together something for all three of you to eat.

Dinner was lively and enjoyable as Osamu told the two of you more about the meeting in Tokyo. Apparently, the area they were looking to open the next restaurant was in a prime location, and construction would start after the new year once the property lease was signed. If things went well it would be open before summer, which was incredibly exciting.

In turn, Atsumu shared some of what he’d been up to with the Jackals. He had a lot of funny stories to tell about the players you’d met briefly and heard lots of stories about from their high school days. His stories about Hinata Shouyou, Sakusa Kiyoomi, and Bokuto Koutarou in particular were always amusing, mostly because they were always teasing him in some way, never allowing him to get his way completely.

The twins also asked you some about what you’d been up to, and you shared the things that you knew they’d find interesting, little anecdotes about your day, or small stories you knew would make them laugh. It was honestly heartwarming how both of them worked to include you in their dynamic, trying to ensure you never felt excluded, and you understood how very much it meant that they tried so hard for you.

After dinner the three of you gathered together at the twins insistence to video call their mother. The kindly woman answered on the third ring, and immediately leveled a suspicious look at the twins.

“What did the two of ya do now?” she asked clearly resigned to whatever antics the twins had gotten up to this point. You giggled, unable to help yourself at the identical expressions of offense on their faces.

“Oh, hello darling!” their mother greeted you warmly, “How are ya doin’? Are these two rascals causin’ trouble fer ya?”

“Hello Miya-san,” you returned just as warm, to the woman who’d gladly welcomed you into their family with open arms, nudging your face into the frame so you could see her better, “It’s good to see you!”

“You too dear, and I told ya, no need for Miya-san, call me kaa-san okay? Yer my future daughter-in-law after all!” she told you jovially, making you flush slightly, pleased and a little flustered, glancing hesitantly at your boyfriend out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t look at all bothered by the insinuation, simply watching you with a fond look in his eyes.

“Kaa-san then,” you agreed a little shyly, earning a beaming smile in return.

“What can I do fer ya tonight darlin’?” she asked, both of you ignoring the way Atsumu was grumbling to his brother about how unfair it was that their mother loved you more than she loved them.

“The twins are having a bit of a contest and we were hoping you’d be a neutral judge,” you told her with an amused grin.

“Really?” she asked partly amused, partly resigned, “Again? Ya would’ve thought at their age they’d stop doin’ silly things like this, but I shoulda known. I really probably shoulda stopped ‘em the very first time they brought me the prettiest rocks they could find and asked which I liked better when they were toddlers. It was too cute at the time though, and I didn’t have the heart ta tell em to knock it off.”

“That is cute,” you told her with a helpless little grin, giving your boyfriend, who was pointedly not looking at you, a fond look trying not to giggle at the slight pink tinge on his cheeks. He at least was doing better than Atsumu who was fire engine red and sputtering indignantly.

“So, what did they do this time?” she prompted, looking all too amused at having managed to embarrass them both, the vicious twinkle in her eyes reminding you yet again where the two of them had gotten their mischievous side from.

“Decorated Christmas cookies,” you told her wryly amused, “I’ve been volunteered to show them to you, so you don’t know whose is whose.”

The two of you exchanged eye rolls at that, both completely done with how seriously the twins took their ridiculous contests. It was a little hilarious honestly while also being simultaneously endearing and annoying.

“Let’s see it then,” she agreed, heaving a put-upon sigh.

You did as asked, holding up the plate with the two cookies. The twins had each chosen the one they thought came out best from their lot, though that wasn’t saying much considering they all looked rather terrible. The look on her face let you know that their mother shared your thoughts on this as she deadpanned at the cookies, which were a complete and utter mess.

“Is yer kitchen still intact?” she asked, her spot-on guess startling you into laughter as the twins both gave indignant shouts, Osamu insisting he would never destroy his own kitchen, and Atsumu indignant at being accused of destroying kitchens in general.

“It was a bit of a mess for a while, but they cleaned it up for me,” you answered easily, completely ignoring the pout sent your way from Atsumu and the betrayal on the face of your boyfriend for outing them to their mom.

“Well there’s that at least,” she conceded with a put-upon sigh, “Did ya save any of the cookies fer yerself darlin’.”

You grinned at her and stood, retrieving your own nicely decorated cookies from where you’d hid them earlier to show them off to her, “I did kaa-san, these ones are for me, and for the holiday party in a couple days.”

“Yer such a good girl,” she praised with a proud smile, “It’s no wonder yer my favorite child.”

“Oy!” both twins protested, clearly indignant, though Osamu looked torn between indignation and pride. Still she completely ignored them with the ease of long practice.

“I think it’s obvious who the winner is dears, hers are much better than either of yers,” their mother proclaimed, her word clearly final, making the twins sulk.

“How did ya know somethin’ went wrong with ours anyway?” Atsumu whined, taking his own cookie from the plate and shoving it into his mouth rather mutinously.

“I’m well aware neither of ya have much in the way of artistic skills,” their mother informed him with a put-upon sigh, “But that was bad even for the two of ya. Besides I’m yer kaa-san, it’s my job ta’ know.”

You giggled at that, well aware that it was the truth. Osamu could make a very pretty plate of food when he wanted to, but only when he was copying someone else. He didn’t seem to have a single original bone in his body when it came to design or aesthetics even if some of the recipes he came up with were absolutely inspired. Atsumu also could pull off beautiful movements, and plays in volleyball that were enough to impress the most seasoned of professionals. However, you’d seen him attempt to color before and the man could barely keep within the lines. There was no doubt the twins were talented, but artistic they were most certainly not.

With the cookie judgment out of the way, the rest of the conversation was nice and casual. The family was actually due to meet up in a few days, and you were looking forward to it. The Miyas had treated you like family from the very first time Osamu had brought you home, welcoming you with open arms, and you never failed to feel included and loved when they had their gatherings.

It didn’t hurt that your boyfriend never failed to keep an arm around you the entire time. The affectionate gesture garnered only approval from his relatives, even as it reassured you of his presence at your side.

By the time you’d finished up your conversation with the twins’ mother it was fairly late, and just as you’d expected the snow was still coming down rather heavily. Atsumu had made one, incredibly half-hearted attempt to leave, and Osamu one even less fervent attempt to push him out the door. Attempts that your fervent insistence he stay in the guest room, one that was basically his anyway, easily overrode.

The three of you chatted for a while longer, but eventually the long day caught up with your boyfriend. Atsumu teased him a bit about going to bed early like an old man, but considering he was yawning just as badly at that point, he didn’t really have a leg to stand on. You’d ushered both of them off to bed, following Osamu into your shared bedroom. The two of you had your night time routine down pat by now, easily working around one another to get ready for bed.

You’d just settled down on the side you’d claimed for yourself when you were gently tugged forward, your boyfriend pulling you into his arms. You went without a fuss, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar comforting scent.

“Thanks for today,” you told him, lifting your face so you could look him in the eye. You were more than a bit sleepy after all the activity from the day, but you really wanted to tell him this before you let yourself fall asleep, “For sending Atsumu to cheer me up, for distracting me and making me smile.”

You were well aware that both twins had played up their antics a bit for you today. Yes, they bickered, but it had been a bit over the top even for them. It was only as you’d been talking to their mother that you realized how well they’d distracted you from the glum mood you’d been in, not just earlier that day but for a while now as things had begun to weigh on you. You’d thought you’d hidden it well, but apparently your boyfriend knew you too well for that and had gone out of his way to help cheer you up, even dragging his brother into it.

“I’m the one who should be thankin’ you,” he pointed out gently brushing his fingers over your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, “Fer puttin’ up with his whiney ass, especially since he destroyed our kitchen twice.”

There was a tenderness in his face and voice that belayed his words as he casually brushed off your thanks, one that let you know he knew just how much it had meant to you, and that he was just pleased it had worked. He’d always said he didn’t need thanks for being there for you, for cheering you up when you were down, or holding you when you needed it, and it seemed he was determined to stand by those words.

“He was sweet,” you protested a bit on his behalf, accepting the gentle redirection with grace and giggling a bit at the skeptical look he gave you for that assertion, “Besides it was partly your fault the kitchen got destroyed a second time.”

“Keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna start ta think ya prefer him over me,” he grumbled at you a slight pout on his lips, one that you were quick to press a smacking kiss to, your over dramatics making him smile.

“You know you’re my favorite Miya twin, ‘Samu,” you told him earnestly, gently brushing his dark hair back from his forehead and meeting his eyes, hoping he could see the honesty in your own, “Always and forever.”

“If ya say it like that sweetheart, then I guess I’ve got no choice but ta believe ya,” he told you, a faint smile tugging his lips upwards, the soft look he reserved just for you on his face, “Cause always and fer ever is just exactly what I’m after with ya.”

“Good,” you told him, nuzzling your nose against his, and smiling into the soft kiss he pressed to your willing mouth, “that’s all I want, for this Christmas and for every Christmas to come.”

“Ya’ve got me sweetheart,” he assured you, his voice warm and filled with promise.

“I love you, ‘Samu,” you murmured to him tiredly, unable to help the yawn that took you over. You were utterly exhausted.

“I love ya too sweetness,” he affirmed fervently, gently tucking you into his chest and settling the two of you comfortably into the bed, “sleep well.”

You hummed in agreement, unaware that as you fell asleep his eyes were locked on the bedside table, quietly contemplating the future and the small precious box he’d hidden in there earlier, where it would be safe from your prying eyes. He’d thought he’d had the perfect moment earlier when you’d asked why he’d called the new Tokyo branch ‘ours’ instead of his, but then ‘Tsumu had interrupted.

That was alright though. He had time. Time to figure out just what he wanted to say, and time to ensure you really truly understood how much you meant to him. You’d said always and forever, and he intended to hold up his end of the bargain, for this Christmas and every Christmas to come.

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x you #osamu #osamu fluff #miya osamu fluff #haikyuu!!#osamu x reader #osamu x you #osamu x y/n #haikyū!!#haikyu fluff #JayeRayWrites

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unyieldingvalxr · 3 years ago

Text

An Upheld Bargain:

@honorhearted continued from X

Denial paints a pretty portrait upon her features. “Don’t ya even think a’ smilin’ at me, ya stuffed coated connivin’ weasel.” Elsie grits out between clenched teeth. Her outstretched hands feebly attempt to smooth down the overly broad expanse of skirt surrounding her tiny figure. Of all the infuriating experiences, this managed to top the chart. This incident just barely managed to squeak by blindly planning ambushes.

Fancy pointed and buckled shoes. Massive ruffled skirts that weighed a hundred tons. Tight bodice and sleeves dripping with lace. All of these things made her long for the simplicity of life in the swamps. It was hard enough to mask her discomfort without the addition of a rogue door or two.

“Rescue?” She scoffs. Her sea glass orbs hone in upon him like well trained arrows. “Oh, yes. Cause the door was ‘bout ta devour me like a bloody gator. I’m a damsel in distress...” Her eyes roll to punctuate her sarcastic remark. In truth, Elsie would prefer the toothy predator to gowns and trap doors.

“I owe ya my many thanks.” Internally, she adds, ‘and a good knuckle sandwich’ simply for the humiliation she is now being forced to endure.

“Whatever possessed me ta trust ya enough ta make that bet, musta been temporary lunacy.” Elsie rumbles. Her disposition was mildly improving with her renewed sense of freedom.

Then flashing him a false smile, Elsie prods. “Is it too late ta defect?” There is no seriousness nor bite to her tone; even if a very real frustration was harbored deep within the words.

“Or ta find a window?” There is a brief, but nevertheless, active pursuit of aforementioned escape. Elsie can only envision the crap she’s about to get from everyone. If Tallmadge was already having this much fun, she can only imagine the other officers.

Unbidden, a genuine softness taints her countenance at Ben’s offering. A promise was indeed a promise, and Elsie Marion was not raised to be a coward. Fleeing would be an act of cowardice that she could never hope to live down. She could and would survive this night, even if it made her absolutely miserable.

“I don’t know. You’re not gonna make fun’a me for waddlin’ when I walk are ya?” Her eyes tentatively meet his. Then her gaze swivels around to glance at the other single attendees that she could be saddled with, should she refuse his offer. There were familiar faces in the crowd like the dog-faced Charles Lee and his equally as abhorrent whelp. Deciding that Ben could hardly be the worst bet, she begrudgingly elects to concede. “I suppose, I will.” Her arm delicately links with his. “Do me a favor, and forget hurried steps tonight. You’re liable ta trip me up. Not that these skirts don’t do a fine job on their own.” For a woman who prided herself on being as nimble, athletic, and graceful as a fox, this apparent lack of maneuverability was downright demeaning!

#honorhearted #Muse: Elsie Marion #she is grumbling soo LOUDLY about this #an upheld bargain #ben might want to learn a habit of sleeping with one eye open XDDD #I kid. XDD #sorry this isn't my best work #in this icon she looks like she's about to PLUME or throttle someone with those flowers

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pettyprocrastination · 4 years ago

Note

hello my lovely tj, i would like to request some headcanons for incubus!ezra please!

YES YOU CAN MY BABEY!!! It’s spooky night so Honestly if yall wanna talk about incubus!Ezra or ANY of the spook prompts (which YES im still going to write them i KNOW it wont be october but who cares) Lets get INTO IT ALSO HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY BABY ILY AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOURSELF.

For those who are wondering, these headcanons surround an au of mine, in which ezra is an incubus who finds himself entangled with a nun who calls onto him and foolishly falls in love. It is called The Devil Beckons (And I Must Heed His Call) and the first chapter is here

Before ezra died, he lived during the 1600’s, more specifically during the Salem witch trials. Even before his death and becoming a demon, he was a man of charm and poetry. Spouting sweet words during a secret romance that eventually cost him his life.

His white streak of hair is a mark he didn’t have when he was alive. It’s sort of a Devil’s mark. One he got after his death and being reborn as an incubus.

Ezra can shapeshift. Something many and if not all demons do, to make themselves appear more intimidating or inviting, depending on what the situation calls for. During the day if he doesn’t want to go out in his human form, he’ll usually take the form of a black cat, a stray with a white streak in it’s fur that walks as if it were a purebred. And if a cat matching that same description often find itself lounging at the window of his favorite little nun to listen to her speak about the “wickedly beautiful” man in her life while she rubs the cat’s fur and he purrs for her? Well that’s simply a coincidence.

Ezra has both arms in this au. Though originally he did lose his right arm in a very traumatic experience shortly before his death. Being reborn as a demon gave him powers, one of which comes with a new limb. His right arm is now a collection of solidified shadow, pitch black and clawed with wisps moving along it as if it were made of the wind. But if you were to touch it, you would find that it was solid and extremely soft against your skin.

Ezra feeds off of sexual encounters through one’s dreams. Though physical sex can also work. He finds it easier to simply enter your dream and let your secret desires take over before he vanishes in the morning so he may rest, before the night comes again and he seeks out another lover who’s desires he can expose.

Halloween makes Ezra (like many demons) different. He’s unhinged, less in control and could be described as downright feral. While one person a night is more than enough to satiate him, on the night of All Hallows Eve he jumps from person to person, filling their desires in the most filthy and carnal way possible. He doesn’t stop until the sun begins to rise the next day to which he then sleeps for two days straight after.

He always feels drained after Halloween, often empty and solemn.

Halloween always reminds him of the ghost stories his father used to tell him after tending to the crops, the way he’d paint such vivid images for his children before sending them off to bed with a comforting smile.

“I would never let anything bad happen to the two of you.”

His father stopped telling ghost stories when the church became more overbearing and would whisper of them being people of the devil.

After he lost his father and sister to influenza, he left in search of another settlement.

When he found one, he ignored the whispers of the men and judgmental stares of the women. He told his ghost stories at length, and would read the palms of anybody who allowed him.

Which is how he met Elizabeth.

She was a married woman, who unlike the others that stared and whispered harsh words pointed at his lack of a wife and his “Godless games.” She was one who offered out her palm for him to tell her of her fortune.

Ezra found himself entranced as he trailed his fingers along the lines of her palm, he wanted to see more of her, feel more of her.

And he did. Anytime her husband wasn’t looking, he was there. Reciting poetry that hadn’t yet been written about her smile, her skin, her voice.

He would sing praises as they made love, of how he wasn’t sure whether she was an angel sent to save him, or a demon leading him to damnation.

“Either way, I will happily be the sheep for you to Sheppard.”

But he soon learned. She wasn’t an angel nor a demon. She was a human. A selfish woman who would throw an accusation, a black card of death into the lap of an innocent man if it meant keeping her “virtue” in tact.

Selfish. Deceitful. Vain. Just like all humans.

Ezra was fine jumping from host to host each night, he found solace in giving them a pleasure they’d never be able to obtain with anybody esle before he left to find a new one.

In all of the centuries since he’d been reborn, he had never visited another person again. Never again to show them that mind-numbing pleasure a second time for them to enjoy.

Until he met you. A curious little lamb who’s hunger for knowledge of the world she lived in and the one Ezra came from, the world of fire and brimstone was only a touch stronger than that of her faith in the Holy Father whose believers killed him four hundred years ago.

So he would entertain that curiosity. Showing you things about the world and things about yourself that you never knew, before his interest in you dissipates and he leaves you for the rest of your short miserable little mortal life.

At least, that was his intention at first.

If you guys want to send in spooky requests for any fics or headcanons PLEASE DO!!!! I’m gonna be awake for a while and i’d love to get into the halloween spirit with you all!!!!!

#ask #asks #TDBAIMHHC #tdbaimhhc inspo #Ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #incubus!ezra #incubus ezra #i love love love this au its v special to me KDKSKSK

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shera-dnd · 3 years ago

Link

Oh boy am I late with this one, but here it is.

And now Weiss and Ilia finally get to interact in the story. It’s mostly anger and threats, but they’re at least interacting.

Oh god this is gonna be a long fic.

Anyways AO3 link up top if you’d like to read it over there and read more link bellow if you’d rather stay around.

The days that followed were tense, to put it mildly. Though Weiss’s faith in Blake’s honor - and Ilia’s certainty that her fellow fae could not lie to her - had afforded the Black Knight a considerable degree of freedom, Weiss and Ilia granted each other no such privilege, neither allowing the other a moment away from their sight.

That meant many quiet meals shared under a heavy atmosphere of anger and distrust. That meant catching the other glaring at them from the corner of their eye as they tried to enjoy the festival. That meant Ilia had very few chances to talk to her fellow fae alone.

It was on the fourth day of their unbearable standoff that Ilia finally managed to catch Blake alone while Weiss went through the laborious process of donning her armor.

“Belladonna!” She called.

The fae sighed at the sound of that name. Ilia was fully aware of every ounce of suspicion that dripped from that singular word, but she couldn’t care less right now, she had to know why Belladonna had abandoned them, why she had abandoned her.

“You’re a traitor and a deserter,” she continued, “but I did not think you mad.”

“Just ask the damned question and get this over with,” Belladonna complained, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What reason would you have to join the humans after everything they’ve done to us?” Ilia demanded.

"I simply believe that their potential for good outweighs their potential for evil,” Belladonna answered truthfully, “yes, I still believe the evils of men must be paid for, but I've seen what we can accomplish together, and I truly believe that is worth far more than anything war could ever bring us."

Ilia wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this. She had braced herself for another shouting match, and was fully prepared to bring her full fury to bear upon her. She was prepared for anything but this.

When Belladonna spoke she made it sound so simple, like it was the most obvious choice for her, like the court, or Taurus, or Ilia were only afterthoughts.

“And what of us?” Ilia asked, not even trying to mask her hurt, “you speak of bringing peace to men and fae, but when have you last stepped into one of our courts? When have you last seen the face of your people?”

‘And what of me?’ she nearly asked, but the words died as the Schnee stepped out of her tent. Though she looked utterly disinterested in their argument, Ilia did not feel comfortable pursuing that topic with the Schnee around.

Belladonna tried to speak again, “Ami--”

She raised a hand to silence her, “I don’t wanna hear it!”

“Very well,” the fae knight sighed, and picked up her belongings, “I must attend to my knightly duties now. I hope I can trust you both to not kill each other while I’m away.”

“I make no such promises,” Ilia replied.

“And I won’t hesitate to retaliate,” the Schnee bit back.

Utterly unsatisfied with these responses, but also already far too tired of the two of them, Belladonna simply shook her head, and left them to their own devices. They silently glared at each other for a few moments, before the Schnee spoke up.

“I have a proposition for you, Ilia.”

“I’m not interested,” she replied, promptly.

“Won’t you at least hear what I have to say?” She asked, annoyed.

“Why would I even deign to entertain you, Schnee?” She demanded.

“Because we’re both miserable, distrusting fools, and I know how to fix at least one of those things,” she replied.

“You truly believe you can make me trust you?” She mocked.

“No, but I can make us both less miserable,” she replied and for once Ilia didn’t have some overly belligerent retort, “we may both refuse to let the other away from our sights, but at the very least we can try to keep tabs on each other while enjoying the festival, instead of sulking around our tents all day.”

“So what do you propose, Schnee?” Ilia asked, “that we walk the festival grounds together like we’re the best of friends?”

“No,” she answered, again, “we’ll walk the festival grounds as noble and bodyguard.”

“What?”

“I need someone to speak for me, so I won’t be recognized,” she explained, “and you need someone to protect you from drunk fools.”

“I do not need your protection!” She insisted.

“Half the people here are armed with iron,” the Schnee replied, fully aware Ilia would act like that, “but please, do try to cast your spells,see if your head won’t be on a pike by sundown.”

Ilia clenched her fists and wondered if Belladonna would mind if she returned to find the Schnee girl had been mysteriously turned into mulch. It took a few deep breaths for her to stop considering ways of returning that woman to the ground.

“We can’t give you the satisfaction of watching that, now can we?” Ilia replied, with a smile that was only slightly less threatening than her scowl, “very well. I’ll be your noble lady and you’ll be my silent knight.”

The Schnee girl puffed up her chest a little, and her lips twitched into the first hint of a possible smile, pride shining in the woman’s eye at being described as a ‘knight’. Ilia could not be more displeased with the knowledge that she had made a Schnee feel happy.

Ilia made a disgusted sound that immediately crushed the Schnee’s smile, good, “just allow me to change my glamours and we’ll be on our way.”

Soon enough she walked through the many tents of the festival once more, the Schnee following dutifully behind her. This time Ilia took her time to stop by each of their performers and enjoy their shows. It made for a far more enjoyable experience than these past few grueling days.

She had been watching this young fae man present his magic tricks for a while now. He was quite clever with his presentation, mixing practical tricks with true magic so as to make his show more grounded, more believable to a mortal eye. Ilia was impressed, but clearly not as impressed as her bodyguard.

The man had barely finished his last trick when the Schnee marched up to him and offered him a considerable amount of money. The man’s eyes went wide and offered her a deep bow as he took the coins from her.

It was clear that this generosity was born both of kindness and a lack of monetary sense. These few gold coins would change that man’s life, but were only a fraction of a fraction of the wealth she had to her name. Still this gave Ilia quite the interesting idea.

For the rest of that day she made a point to stop only by the performing fae. Musicians, magicians, artists, and actors alike, all who took their time to entertain the crowds of the festival. And without fail, Weiss offered them some of her wealth before they moved on to the next performer. By the end of the day they had left many fae happier and the Schnee’s purse a few fractions lighter.

It was only when they had settled down back at their camp and sat together around their bonfire that Ilia had finally deigned to speak of what happened to her companion.

“You were quite generous today, Lady Schnee,” Ilia commented.

The Schnee took off her helmet and stared at her for a moment, “I sense there’s a twist to your compliment.”

“Of course not,” Ilia replied, “I was just surprised that a Schnee would freely offer so much of their money to the fae.”

It took her a moment to process what was said, but when she did instead of looking angry at Ilia, she appeared instead to be… offended?

“Was that why you led me to these people?” She asked, “so you’d have something to rub in my face come sundown?”

“Of course not,” she denied, “but I must admit that your reaction was as rewarding as the act of helping my people.”

She could see the anger in the woman’s eyes even as she tried her best not to show the rage Ilia wanted to see from her.

“I wanted to help the people my family had neglected,” she eventually replied, “fae or not, my intentions remain the same.”

“You can’t claim that you don’t care who they are,” she countered, “you were the one who tried to ambush me and Blake but a few nights ago. Had it been any of these people in the woods you would have hunted them down just the same.”

“I drew my blade against you only in defense,” she countered.

“Was it in defense then that you stalked us in the middle of the night?” She demanded.

She clenched her jaw and stood up to Ilia, but her gaze faltered. She was utterly furious, but only at herself, at her own hypocrisy.

“You’re right,” she admitted defeat, “I stalked you and was ready to strike you down in the name of some...false glory.”

Ilia was almost satisfied with this response. She had gotten that Schnee fool to see herself for what she really was

“If I wish to become a knight, I must act like one,” she declared, “and that means I shouldn’t allow my actions to contradict my words again.”

And that caught Ilia by surprise.

“I have sworn I would dedicate my life to making the Schnee name mean more than the destruction and pain my father has brought,” she explained, “I cannot keep my word if I keep acting like this.”

“Am I simply to believe that?” Ilia challenged, “when it was Schnee men that cut down our forests! When it was Schnee iron that branded our people!”

Weiss faltered again. Guilt was clear in her eyes, but guilt would not bring back all the people her kind had killed.

“No,” Weiss admitted, “all I have done was sow bad faith, and earn your mistrust.”

The woman seemed to shrink before her, even in her armor she looked downright fragile with how she held herself, shame imprinted into every word and action.

“But I’ll do what I can to make things better, to earn your trust, lady Ilia,” she offered.

“By what?” Ilia bit back, “handing off pocket change whenever you feel guilty? Making empty declarations of loyalty? I will never trust you, Schnee. No matter how many empty acts of kindness you offer.”

“Even if I can’t,” she returned, fire burning in her eyes once more, “I will do everything within my power to be a person deserving of it.”

“Then you will labor for the rest of your life.”

“Then I’ll accept that fate,” she replied, “and if Lady Blake is truthful about her talks of peace, I swear to match her effort tenfold.”

“Careful, Lady Weiss,” Belladonna’s voice called, playfully, “I’ll be holding you to your word.”

“And I am grateful for that,” Weiss replied.

Ilia stared up at her as Belladonna sat down by Weiss’s side.

“So be it,” she huffed, “may you both waste your lives in this fruitless pursuit.”

“Gladly, my lady!” Belladonna replied with a cheerful laugh, “now I take it you two had an interesting day.”

#rwby #prismatic ponytails #weiss schnee #ilia amitola #blake belladonna #medieval au #fanfic

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pasteljeon · 5 years ago

Text

handcrafted | heartbeat 1

When you put out a roommates ad for your newly purchased house, the only requirement you set out had been cleanliness.

The last thing you’d expected was for the 7 most eligible bachelors of your university to come calling.

Throw in school, crazy fan girls and the most sought for men suddenly chasing after you with heart eyes, comes a college experience of a lifetime.

Would it be so wrong to want them all?

1: handcrafted

summary | they needed a place to stay. You needed money. You are so fucking screwed. They want you to screw them instead.

series index.

“I’m sorry,” comes a high-pitched, exasperated whine for the umpteenth time.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say, suitcase dropping unceremoniously onto the gravel floor with a sad thud. You stare up at the building with dread, a knot forming in your stomach. Now that you think of it, it does seem to loom overhead rather ominously. And you liked the design so much, too.

“You’re telling me that I just dropped half a million into a house and now I have no one to room with and no way to pay off my mortgage?”

“It was last minute,” Ahri tries to explain feebly, but you close your eyes.

“So let me get this straight,” you say slowly, sucking in a long breath, “All seven of you magically got offered the very same jobs you have right now … in the same city?”

“…Yes?” She coughs. “Same company, just a different branch. And, uh, just not this city.”

Silence.

You tap your foot impatiently.

“___?” You can already imagine the way your best friend is cringing, voice meek as she asks mildly, “Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” you say through gritted teeth as you drag your luggage to the front.

With the autumn leaves stirring in your wake, every step is heavy and dredged with defeat as you make your way to the coffee shop on campus.

“I’m sure there are still plenty of people looking for rent,” Ahri says sympathetically, rubbing your shoulder as you slump over the table.

“How am I going to find seven people to fill the spaces before the semester starts?” You wail, banging your head against the glass. “Classes start in a week and I need people now so I can pay the obnoxiously inflated mortgage.”

“Are you sure—” Jisoo starts, but you throw up a hand instantly. “Never gonna go down that alley. If I have to, I’ll sell the house and live on the streets. Since you’re all basically abandoning me anyway.”

“Not all of us,” Ryujin reminds you as she takes a seat, sliding your signature drink across.

“Yeah, just 90% of us,” Ahri supplies helpfully. You glare at her playfully as you sit up, taking a tentative sip from the cup. Letting out a sigh, you lean back into your seat.

“No, but in all seriousness. How am I going to find replacement roommates in time?” You trace the lid absently, propping your chin up with the other hand.

“We still have a week before we leave for our co-op terms. We can help you out until then. We’ll find people,” Jisoo promises. She’s already pulled out her phone, tapping away at the multitude of chats she’s in to put out word for you.

“I’ll ask a friend to make a mock up of an ad,” Ryujin offers. Ahri nods vigorously.

“Okay. Thanks guys, you’re the realest,” you say gratefully. Perhaps all hope is not yet lost, you conclude rather miserably.

Despite the collective efforts of all your braincells, skills and networking circles pooled together, the week is drawing to a close. Every decline is for the same reason: it’s just too late.

Between your unpacking, shopping, arranging furniture and rearranging décor (with the help of Dara, the interior design major, of course), suddenly it’s Thursday and you’re looking pretty fucking doomed.

“How is it everything fell through so fast?”

“Mhmm. You tell me,” you say absentmindedly as you straighten a painting.

You can feel Dara’s amusement as she readjusts the frame you were fiddling with. “Stop touching. It’s fine.”

“It’s crooked,” you protest.

“You know, that reminds me,” she says thoughtfully as she steps back. “Jiyong’s been working on his new album, and there’s these new singers he’s scouted out. It might be a long shot since classes are about to start, but he’s talked about how much they complain about their residence. I can ask if they’re still up to moving.”

“Yes, please,” you nod. “It honestly doesn’t matter anymore. I just need money. I don’t even know why this was a good idea in the first place.”

“It was a good idea. When we were all going to be here,” Dara amends.

You exhale. “Fuck me in the ass.”

“Uh … who are you?” You blink, cocking your head to the side curiously.

There’s a … person standing at your door, awkwardly gripping a suspiciously familiar flyer. He’s … someone you’ve never spoken to before. He’s grown his hair out this summer, brushing away the curls as they frame his big, doe eyes. The scar on his cheek is hidden by the makeshift ebony curtain. He’s clearly been busy, veins and muscles rippling under golden skin virtually straining to explode from that tight pair of black jeans he’s wearing.

You are not charmed. You are not charmed. You are not fucking charmed.

“Um … are you ___?”

You nod, waiting for an explanation. The bags in your hands are getting heavier with every passing second and you silently beg him to hurry it along before your arms snap clean off.

“M-my hyungs asked me to check you out,” he stutters.

A beat, and then –

“Ah! I-I mean check the place out, not you, that would be weird, why would I ever check you out,” he corrects quickly. You raise an eyebrow warily. The sheet crumples in his whitening fist.

“I-I mean I check you out all the time so that’s not really new, i-it’s just y-you have vacancy right,” he’s word-vomiting, cheeks ripening furiously and he looks like he’s about ready for the ground to swallow him up.

“We want to move in,” he practically screams. You recoil, the bags hitting your thigh painfully.

Huh.

This is … unexpected. Every time you’ve ever encountered him on campus, he’s never been so … clumsy. Is clumsy the right word to describe this?

“Oooookay,” you say. “Yeah, I can give you a tour and answer any questions you have, just let me unload first.”

“O-oh, I can take those for you,” he stumbles over to relieve you of your physical burden. He ducks his head, scores of pink still marring his expression as you unlock the door.

“Come in.”

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he says shyly, slipping off his sneakers and trailing behind you to set the groceries on the counter as you indicated.

You shrug off your jacket before rummaging in one of the bags to pull out a bottle of banana milk. His eyes light up instantly when you slide it over the counter to him.

“Thank you, noona!” He tears open the lid and gulps down the concoction eagerly.

Noona? You squint. Are you really older than him? You’ll have to check later.

“So will your … hyungs be joining us today, or would you guys like to book another time to come altogether?”

Just as he’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to reply, the doorbell rings.

“Dara,” you hiss into the phone, cupping the microphone close to you as you huddle in one of the upper floor bathrooms. “You didn’t tell me there were seven of them.”

“Huh? But wasn’t seven the exact number you needed?” She answers innocently.

“You said some and singers! None of them are singers or new! They’re the fucking guys from the Calvin Klein underwear ads and that one Gucci perfume commercial!”

“Technically, they are singers. A couple of them are composers and they all have really good voices. According to Jiyong anyway, no one else has had the privilege of hearing them,” she states.

“I’m going to die,” you say flatly. You’re pacing, practically wearing the new carpet you just bought. “I am going to die a horrible, horrible death. Fangirls will hunt me down, I’m going to get death threats and I’ll have to live in the shadows for the rest of my life. There are a lot of rich people here, and they’re going to hire hitmen and I’ll –”

“– Die a horrible death, yes, I heard the first time,” Dara cuts you off dryly.

Your eyes widen. “You knew!” You accuse. “How could you do this to me?!”

“___,” she sighs suddenly, sounding disappointed. “This was the best I could do, okay? It was the perfect opportunity. Look, just go downstairs, gauge their characters and all that jazz, and if you still think it’s not a good fit, just tell them that and keep looking. You’re not locked in on this.”

You rest your head on the wall. “… Yeah. Okay. True. Thanks a lot, Dara.”

“Of course. I always got your back. Let me know how things go and what you decide,” she reassures you.

“I will.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, phone gripped tightly in your hand, before groaning aloud. Splashing water on your face and smoothing out your disgruntled locks, you make your way back to the living room.

It’s awkward. Oh fuck, it’s so awkward you think you’ll die of sheer awkwardness instead.

There are seven men smiling up at you, all crammed in the three sets of sofas you’d recently purchased. They have such long legs. One of them has really broad shoulders.

“I know you,” you say stupidly, pointing at the man with dimples. He waves.

“___,” he says pleasantly. “How has your summer been?”

“You were my TA,” you continue, finger quivering. You’re downright flabbergasted. “Isn’t there like a … like a rule or something against TAs moving in with previous students?”

“We never officially met,” he replies smoothly. Why the fuck is he still smiling?! This is so freaky. You can’t do this. Holy shit.

“In fact, the TAs for that course were never formally introduced. We only marked your exams in random groups, nothing more. I can’t say I’ve had the privilege of marking your work.”

Liar. You know he’s marked one of your essays. You can easily tell his thick strokes and thoughtful feedback scrawled in the margins apart from all the other cursive nonsense the others liked to write.

You move on. “You,” you say, examining the peculiar orange locks and disappearing eye smile. “You’re one of the dancers. You and … you,” the one next to him nods, his grin heart-shaped.

“You make music,” the one with mint hair and catlike eyes. What is with them and their rainbow styled colours? He shrugs noncommittally.

“Photos,” the one with a boxy beam. The camera looped around his neck was pretty self-explanatory, but you’ve seen him around.

“You … are old,” his plush lips instantly downturn.

“Excuse me?” He harrumphs. “Is that how you speak to your elders?” There’s no real bite to his tone, just a tinge of annoyance. The rest of the boys are hiding laughs.

“Didn’t you graduate a while ago?” You ask instead.

He uncrosses his arms, slumping. “… Yes,” he says guiltily. “I’m getting my Masters.”

“Hyung doesn’t like being called old,” the one still clutching the milk explains, mirth dancing in his eyes. “He’s old, but not obsolete. Not yet, anyway.”

“Shut it,” he snaps, pouting. He certainly doesn’t act old, you remark silently, stifling a giggle.

“We should do formal introductions,” the dimpled boy offers.

“My name is Kim Namjoon. I’m a Philosophy and History double major. I do TA for a couple courses.”

“Kim Taehyung! I like taking photos, so photography. Obviously. I’m thinking about picking up media arts or something on the side, though.”

“Jeon Jungkook. Graphic design and Photography.”

“Contemporary dance, Park Jimin.”

“Performing dance, Jung Hoseok! My stage name is J-Hope.”

“Music composition. Min Yoongi.”

“I’m Kim Seokjin, though you’ve probably already heard of me,” he smirks, puffing his chest out proudly. “Film and Acting.”

“Oh!” You say, nodding very seriously. “You were in that one fried chicken commercial, right?”

Seokjin stares, unimpressed even as the boys are falling into pieces beside him. “It was for the new Palisade.”

“Oh. They’re cool, too,” you agree. You don’t know much about cars.

“I’m ___. Do you guys want a tour?”

“So? Spill the beans!”

“On what?” You quirk an eyebrow as you flick through the menu. Ahri looks like she’s almost bouncing from her seat in excitement.

“Were they as handsome as they say?”

“What do people say about them, now?” The menu hasn’t changed, this restaurant is just as overpriced and basic as it’s been the past two years. You don’t even know why you bothered opening the damn thing. With a sigh, you toss it to the side.

“I heard Jimin looks like an angel when he sleeps. Rumour has it, once you’ve kissed Jin once, you can never go back. Have you seen his lips? God, they’re to die for,” Ahri moans.

You give her a look. “You’re kidding. And you believe that crap? They look like regular people. Albeit yes, handsome, really good looking people.”

“Hi, are you ready to order?” A soft, timid voice interrupts your gossip session.

“Jungkook,” you say, surprised. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

Okay, fuck, you have to admit he looks so very delicious with that rumpled look of his, ruffled chestnut hair, the return of those killer black jeans, paired with a fitted black turtleneck. A red apron is tied around his unfairly thin waist.

“Ah,” he says, scratching his neck. Already reddening as he fiddles with the pad in his hand. “Um. I just started today, actually. I needed money … you know, for-for rent and stuff.”

“Oh no,” you say immediately, concern colouring your tone. “Was the rate too high? If it’s unaffordable for you, we can always figure something else out—”

“No, no!” Jungkook says hastily. “It’s not that. I was planning on getting another job anyway, regardless of where I ended up. I’d have to pay rent no matter where I lived.”

“Oh,” you nod. “In that case …”

Jungkook excuses himself as soon as your orders are scrawled down, still seemingly unable to meet your gaze for long.

“He’s just so cute,” Ahri swoons. You choke down the bile that threatens to hurl itself up from the mere sight of her exaggerated love struck expression. “Uh huh.”

“Okay, so what did you do? The tea, the tea,” she demands.

“There is no tea,” you throw your hands up. “I gave them the standard tour, copies of the lease to take home, but they said they wanted it so they signed them on the spot, paid the deposit and everything. It was super quick and they all just left right after. That’s it.”

“Wow, they must’ve been desperate,” she comments. “Though the house is really nice. It’s huge, totally worth the price you paid. I’m glad they came through, though. It would’ve been a death sentence to pay it all off yourself.”

“Yeah, especially since I don’t start my own co-op term till next year,” you grouch.

“Mhm. All that aside, it’s time you started living above that rock of yours,” Ahri says seriously. She pulls out her phone as the food arrives.

You push aside the trickle of disappointment that filters in when the waiter that delivers your respective meals isn’t Jungkook.

“Crash course on your hot new roommates,” she starts, passing the device to you. An unfamiliar YouTube page is opened to a video.

“Jung Hoseok and Park Jimin. Hoseok’s stage name is J-Hope, named after his sunny disposition. He has a YouTube series called Hope on the Street. Jimin runs it with him, and the two do all kinds of dance challenges and covers. They’re also the Co-Presidents of the school’s dance committee. They join the national competitions every year since they took over and have been winning ever since.”

You would think it would be a bit disconcerting seeing the two very diverse dance styles on two very different people on stage, but they don’t fight. They complement each other so brilliantly, it’s hard to tear your eyes away. You can’t decide who to watch, just sitting back to observe the entire frame.

“Jeon Jungkook and Kim Taehyung. They have a vlog series called House of Bangtan. Mostly just random shit with the other guys, but it’s super entertaining and hilarious. Like the kind of content you know is genuine and makes you willing to die just for a chance to be a part of it. That’s how you know the seven of them are really good friends despite the age gaps. They also do challenges and giveaways.”

You’re watching Jin lose a game of charades, and he looks like he’s about to blow a fuse. The camera shakes uncontrollably as Jungkook runs way from his hyung, who’s screaming bloody murder behind him, chasing with the rubber duck he used to cheat with. Sore loser, the youngest mouths to the camera with a grin.

“Jungkook also owns a personal channel called Golden Closet Films. Pretty self-explanatory, but he makes movie clips of stuff like Hoseok and Jimin practising for the showcase and the like. He used to be part of the varsity volleyball team, but had to give it up when he tore his Achilles’ heel. It was pretty devastating for the school, too, since he was one of the best players. Taehyung has an Instagram page full of pictures for his photography collection. They’re super aesthetic. He goes under Vante.”

You scroll through the page, and you can definitely see why he’s so sought for by students and so famous in the department. He has a wicked eye and thinks so vividly outside the box. You also vaguely remember Jungkook’s impromptu early retirement being a huge deal when it happened. You were never really caught up with the school’s news, more academic driven, but you had your share of intramural sports. You imagine ‘devastating’ is a rather underwhelming way of describing that kind of pain.

“Kim Seokjin, or Jin he likes to be called, is a Films major and he’s done a bunch of commercials and modelling gigs. He loves food though, and he has a cooking channel plus an Instagram page. He’s the campus Heartthrob. He’s had that title for over five years. I mean, who can blame him? Do you see the man? He’s fucking cut from the image of perfection!”

Yeah, okay. He does look fucking good. And his cooking looks amazing. You rub your mouth discreetly, making sure you’re not actually physically drooling. You have food right in front of you, for fuck’s sake!

“Min Yoongi, he’s actually the same age as Jin but started late. He used to be an underground rapper by the name of Gloss. Now he works at the studio here with Jiyong and Slow Rabbit. Rumour has it he has a composing deal lined up with BigHit when he graduates. He goes by Suga now. He has a Soundcloud for distributing his self-composed music. I heard he also raps, but no one knows his stage name for that.”

This man is talented. His lyricism is fucking beautiful. Your heart constricts a bit, even though it’s not his voice, it doesn’t soften the hurt. It’s real.

“Kim Namjoon, he was one of our TAs for Business History last semester. He’s really smart. I’m talking grade A book smart. Heard his IQ is somewhere between 140 to 160. He’s crazy intelligent. Okay, but get this – he also composes on the side. He works with Yoongi and they’ve produced some stuff together. Here, listen to this.”

Put two galaxies together, and what do you get? A fucking supercluster and that shit is no joke. Together, they are something else. Someone who sees the world beyond its manmade barriers, someone who criticises, someone who is unflinchingly honest in what lies in the heart. Someone that feels, empathizes. Dreamers.

“So basically, the next year is just going to be me feeling all useless and untalented in a house full of very attractive and single men,” you surmise flatly.

“Yep,” Ahri says cheerfully, stabbing at a lettuce leaf.

“Fucking awesome.”

It’s the incessant knocking that wakes you. The doorbell follows soon after, buzzing loudly as you groan, rolling over.

“Who the f – oh.” You squint, the sunlight merrily blinding you as you open the door.

“___-noona, is now not a good time?” It’s Jimin that speaks, expression worried.

“What time is it?” You murmur, rubbing your temples. Fuck, you definitely drank too much last night. Dara dragged you to some frat party to celebrate your new roommates, who are, ironically enough, now all looking at you with palpable concern.

“It’s twelve,” Namjoon says, eyebrows furrowing. “But we can always come back later if it’s inconvenient for you.”

Oh, shit. Your gaze trails down to the multiple bags and suitcases they’re holding.

“No, no, of course not,” you croak. “Come in. Sorry. I had a long night.” Clearly.

You step to the side, allowing them to file in one by one, before locking the door behind them.

“Cute PJs,” Jin winks as he passes. You look down, horrified. Your pug print pajama pants and flimsy tee are on full display.

You slap your forehead, thoroughly embarrassed. You probably have awful bed head, too.

Running your fingers through the tangled locks, you follow them as they crowd around the living room. Grabbing a box you had the insight to leave on the counter much earlier this week, they tell you what room they’ve picked and you hand them their respective keys.

“Feel free to settle in and do whatever,” you call as you head back to your own room to get ready. “My only rule is that you clean after yourselves. This house is big enough as it is, so cleaning is a hassle. I don’t want to add personal trash into that.”

They make noises of agreement and you shut the door quickly, making your way to the bathroom to take a shower and to scream into a towel for five minutes.

The semester returns with a full swing. You’re nearly knocked over on the first punch, when the syllabus for each class is dropped and you realize you have six assignments due on the same day two weeks from now.

You’ve managed to avoid any further embarrassing interactions with your new roommates, having been bouncing around the city with your soon-to-be-AWOL friends before the term began.

From what you can tell, though, they’re fairly polite and greet you whenever there’s an opportunity. Some try for small talk, like Namjoon, Jimin and Hoseok. Jungkook is still skittish and practically flies out the room if you’re in it for too long. Yoongi tends to disappear to his room for long periods of time, but Hoseok had told you it was because he was stacking up on sleep. You guessed his work would soon require much out of him, though how the hibernation storage thing worked was beyond you.

Jin was often out; Namjoon had informed you it was because he had a few other contracts to lock down for modelling and whatnot. Taehyung’s schedule was a bit flaky, since he liked taking impromptu trips around campus and the city whenever inspiration struck.

You said farewells to some of your friends, all boxed and hugged, they promised to call often and FaceTime, to which you knew they would hold their end of the bargain to. You weren’t worried, and wished them well.

Your real point of anxiety was how you were going to survive this year. Word had apparently spread like wildfire that the most eligible bachelors of your university had moved in … together … with you.

You’ve already gotten several rather disturbing messages from unknown numbers. You’re unsurprised but still annoyed. The content gets more disconcerting every time, and at this rate, you’re going to end up having to switch numbers. You’re broke, damn it! Broke. Why can’t people just focus on their own lives for once and chill the fuck out? Your wallet wails.

“Good morning, noona.” His smile is so warm for someone who’s just woken up. How does he look so good doing it, too? He’s got a pair of loose sweats and an oversized shirt on, hair mussed and eyes silted adorably as he yawns. It’s 8:30 in the fucking morning and you already want to run yourself over with a school bus.

“Jimin, hello,” you say distractedly, stuffing your laptop into your bag and snatching your keys from the bowl. “Can’t talk, got class.”

“Wait!” He says, rushing up to meet you. He’s holding a piece of buttered toast in his hand. “Eat something while you go. It’s bad to sit in lecture without a breakfast. You won’t be able to focus.”

“Oh,” you blink. “Thank you.” Your smile softens. Jimin scuffs his bare feet shyly in response. “You’re welcome, noona. Stay safe.”

You never eat breakfast. You either never wake up in time to make anything, or you’re too lazy. This is kind of nice, you admit. Have someone take care of you, or think of you. It’s sweet.

You could get used to this, you decide. But you don’t want to get too comfortable. You’ll only end up missing it when they’re gone.

The toast is oddly delicious.

“There’s a showcase coming up.”

“Yes, and?” You say, phone squished to your cheek as you check the course code of the wrapped textbook you’re holding.

“So you’re going, right?” Ahri demands. You can hear her heels clicking against the concrete as she makes her way to her car.

You stand, huffing as you survey the neat stacks of books you’ve spent the last hour organizing. “You’re joking, right? What reason do I have to be at that showcase? I’ve never gone before and there’s no way I’m going this year,” you answer matter-of-factly as you dust yourself off.

“___, we need you at the front,” your manager calls, poking her head in to flash you an apologetic smile.

You give her a thumbs up before returning to the call. “Look, just because Hoseok and Jimin now share a living accommodation with me and we talk casually does not mean I’m suddenly their best friend. Have fun at work!”

You cut off her protests as you pocket your device decisively.

Of course.

“___!” He beams. “Hi! I didn’t know you worked here.”

“That’s because I usually work the tech section. What can I do for you today, Hoseok-sunbae?” Speak of the devil, you crack a polite smile.

“Just Hoseok, please. I was wondering if you guys sell the code for a digital copy of behavioural economics?” Why are his eyes practically sparkling? How can he be so cheerful?

“Hoseok, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why are you taking a senior economics course as a dance major?” You ask bluntly.

Hoseok splutters, rubbing his neck. “Um. Namjoon said it would be good for me?” He tries.

You look at him strangely, but shrug. It’s not your business anyway. His loss. Though you’re certain he doesn’t care much about his GPA, considering he’s pretty much got a bunch of prestigious studios vying for him already.

“Anything else I can help you with today?” You say as you scan the code.

“Actually … I was wondering if you were coming to the showcase,” Hoseok says, sounding almost shy.

You eye him suspiciously. “Do you want me there to support you or something? I thought this was only the preliminaries or something.”

“I … We’d really like it if you could make it. Jimin and I … we haven’t had much inspiration lately, to be honest,” he admits. His head hangs, like he’s on the verge of defeat. It doesn’t suit him, and you find yourself frowning.

“The last thing we want is to repeat stuff we’ve done before, but I’ve been stumped all summer. Usually I’d be done choreographing everything, but this year … I dunno,” he trails off.

“I understand that, but why would me being there help?” You tap your fingers against the counter. The campus bookstore is fairly empty today, given that you’re closing in half an hour.

“I just … I thought maybe you could be an unbiased third party, that’s all,” Hoseok says awkwardly. “If you don’t, I totally understand! It was just a suggestion, I guess.”

You sigh, pushing the terminal to him as he fumbles for his wallet. “What time is your practice?”

Hoseok’s grin is blinding and you can’t decide if you’re going to greatly regret or thank yourself for this later on.

“Thank you! Friday, at four in AR Studios. You know where the music department is, right? The practise rooms are on the hallway to the left.”

You manage a weak smile. “I’ll be there.”

It’s a Tuesday, and Taehyung’s fallen asleep on the couch.

You’re exhausted, running yourself a bit thin with the amount of work you’ve been putting in already. You perch on the edge, the soft material sinking slightly under your weight, but the angel doesn’t stir.

And you concede he might as well be one, given how ethereal he appears. He hugs a pillow to his chest, expression serene and limbs lax as he slumbers on. His dark-coloured curls obscure his forehead, pink lips parted lightly as he exhales slowly.

Before you can quench the urge, you reach over and brush his fringe from his eyes.

You’re tired. That’s the only explanation you can offer for what happens next.

Taehyung’s hand shoots up to grab your wrist tightly.

And you find yourself falling as he tugs you on top of him. A quiet oomph escapes you as you bracket his body, arms trembling faintly at the sheer proximity.

His expression, half-lidded and hazy, tells you he’s still flitting in and out of consciousness. Suspended, like he’s replaying his dream in real life.

His smile is lopsided as he cups your cheek, thumbing your cheekbones tenderly. His touch is feverish, so warm it startles you when he guides your palm to his chest, two buttons undone already.

“Heart,” he whispers, and you inhale sharply. His voice breaks, tone anguished and defeated. It both shocks and scares you.

“Taehyung,” you say shakily, ignoring the fluttering beat of his heart and the blood rushing in your ears to press your forehead against his. “Taehyung, you’re burning up.”

“I finally found you,” he sighs, and it alarms you to see he’s fading fast, eyes flickering as he sinks into the couch. “Where did you go, heart? You promised …”

“Promised? Promised what? Tae, what are you talking about?” You say frantically, shaking him lightly. His head rolls and he manages a weak chuckle. “You finally called me Tae again …”

Your eyebrows knit. “What …?” Before you manage anything more, Taehyung collapses.

“He’ll be alright. He’s got a pretty high fever, but it should break by tonight.” Seokjin sounds so self-assured and calm that you find yourself relaxing.

You’ve been fretting, pacing restlessly as you waited for the eldest to return. You contacted him the moment Taehyung knocked out, anxious and unsure of what to do next. The room filled with his laboured breathing, and you tried to alleviate some of the heat by resting a cool towel on his forehead.

The house was typically empty for the day, everyone off to their respective classes and work. The boys usually congregated at night, for dinner and the movies or games that followed. They’ve invited you several times, but you declined each time. You’ve been … busy.

You hesitated on doing more, considering how little you truly knew of Taehyung. You weren’t sure he’d appreciate you accidentally poisoning him with the wrong dose of medication. That, and invading his personal space.

Seokjin opted to buy some medication on his way back instead, and the photography major seems to sleep a bit easier now.

The eldest gives the patient one last once-over before rising to his feet.

“I might as well make dinner, then. Want to come along?” He asks lightly. You follow him to kitchen, shaking your head guiltily. “I’m sorry for making you come back so early. I just didn’t know what else to do. Everyone else was so busy, and—”

“—And I’m the only real adult, I know,” Seokjin says, chuckling. “I’m glad you called. I was about done with my shoot anyway.”

You linger at the island counter awkwardly as you watch him tie an apron to his waist and comb through the fridge for ingredients.

“Sunbae …,” you falter, but he beckons you forward with an encouraging smile. You’re relieved to see he doesn’t seem upset the slightest, though you honestly can’t say you know him enough to determine whether it was sincere or merely a practised mask.

“Jin, please. I’m not that much older, truth be told,” he tells you as you wash the rice.

“Then, Jin … Is Taehyung … with someone right now?” You keep your gaze trained to your task, draining the murky water so carefully you miss the way Seokjin tenses.

“Why? Do you have your sights set on our baby?” Seokjin says lightly, but his voice hints of strain, and he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

You snort unintentionally, coughing quickly to cover it up. “Hardly. I was just wondering.”

“Did he do something weird? Taehyung can act pretty strange when he’s out of it like that. He’ll say or do pretty weird things when he’s drunk or has a really high fever,” Seokjin explains as he pours the vegetables he’s cut into the pot on the stove.

“Oh,” you say as you plug the machine in. “I see.” The rice maker beeps, and you excuse yourself politely.

Thursday is a disaster. You’d hoped he’d keep his distance, given you’d been quite clear the last time you spoke. But of course -

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve been dodging me since we moved in. Why?”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me. You’re the only person that’s been lying since we met. You made your point very clear that day, and you moving in? It doesn’t change a damn thing. Now tell me what you want or get out. I’m done with your shit.”

“You can’t mean that. You know I didn’t have a choice!”

“You did have a choice. Me, or that damn reputation of yours. You told me to go to hell. What more do you want?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I didn’t know—”

“Didn’t know what? That it would mean I would lose everything? I didn’t mean shit to you. I don’t know why I ever thought I could trust you.”

“If I had known, I would’ve—”

“Would have what? Tried harder? Bull. Shit. You don’t care about anything but yourself and your career. You can tell yourself different, but you and I both know if I hadn’t trusted you, I wouldn’t be in this position. You did this to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your weakass excuse for an apology. I said I was done with you and I am. This is the last time I’m going to sit here and listen to you pretend you’re the victim. For the sake of peace, I will play niceties with you in front of your friends, but make no mistake: You can’t turn back time. You cannot change what happened, you cannot fix it, you cannot make it better. So go away. Don’t talk to me. Don’t seek me out. We’re not friends. We’ll never be anything ever again. I hope, in time, I can forget you ever existed at all.”

“I’m going to make this right, I swear. I love you more than anything, and I’ll spend the rest of my life if I have to proving it to you.”

“Please just go.”

You stare out the window, the city lights blinding in the night skyline. The glass reflects the emptiness in your eyes, and there’s only deafening silence that’s shattered in the next beat by the slamming of your door.

Hugging your arms to your chest, you refuse to acknowledge the sharp sting in your eye.

You wish you’d never met him.

“Just … be careful,” Yoongi says quietly. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him outside of their initial tour. “Housing wasn’t the only reason some of us are here.”

You stifle a sigh. All you wanted was some water, not another 2 am detox on everything wrong in your life.

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask carefully. His hand pauses on the doorknob.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” is all he says.

You’re left to ponder his warning as he disappears into his room. Your phone lights up in your hand.

[01:25] Unknown: I need to see you. Can we talk?

#jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jin x reader #ot7 x reader #ggukienet #hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #btsguild #jungkook fanfic #jimin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #heartbeat

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years ago

Note

Can we get a fic of Everyone's first reaction to snowflake?

“Everyone was used to supernatural bullshit and as the toons already existed for several years now, they already knew that the Ink could create life. So while there was a bit of shock for some at the thought of the Janitor being the new father of a toon of his own, they mostly congratulated Wally on his new son and/or gave him parenting advice.”

...Sorry, this feels like a cop out, so we just gotta throw a child into a different dimension for kicks and giggles and character development.

Knowing the magic user's history with this kind of thing, Snowflake couldn't help but feel nervous when he saw Joey painting a large circle on the wall and intricate symbols within the said circle.

"G-grandpa Joey, what are you doing?"

"Opening a portal to a different dimension." The animator replied nonchalantly. "An important key ingredient for several reversal spells no longer seems to exist in this one, so I'm getting more from the closest one that has a lot of it before the Ink starts acting up again."

"Oh?" The little devil looked intrigued, the last time a visitor from another dimension came to their own, he was strange, but friendly! And wondered what the rest of that dimension, or other ones like it were like. "Can I come? I-I'll be good I promise!"

"Well..." Joey brushed his mustache in thought as the portal started to open. "Other dimensions can be quite unpredictable, especially ones where magic is much more secretive than it is in our own, I don't think the studio on the other side even has living toons yet!" The animator fidgeted with his collar. "And given the track record other Joeys have with their own studios and magic, I don't think it's smart for me to take you..."

"Pleeeeeaaaaasse!" the imp begged. "I promise that I'll stay close and not run off! ...unless it's an emergency."

"Hmm..."

The magic user narrowed his eyebrows and continued to stroke his mustache as he thought about the potential consequences for bringing Snowflake along. The thought of a distraught Wally discovering that he had taken his son somewhere dangerous and the kid got hurt as a result had made the man immune to the imp's otherwise irresistible puppy eyes, but the Ink behind the imp slowly rising from a puddle to a featureless figure that was making threatening gestures made him quickly realize that the consequences for NOT bringing Snowflake along might be even worse than taking him.

"Okay."

"Yay!" the little devil cheered, taking Joey by the hand and pulling him through the portal. "C'mon! Let's go see what other dad's like!"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," the old man gave a sharp tug on the speckled imp as he tried to run off and knelt down to be closer to his eye level. "This is *just* a last-resort errand run, nothing more, nothing less. Now that we're here, we are going to find the ingredient, get it and get out. Ideally, we won't even come across our alternate selves, let alone speak to them!"

"Why?"

Joey looked around nervously before bringing his voice down to a whisper and gestured for Snowflake to do the same.

"Because of the butterfly effect we'll bring here! How do you think the Wally on this side will react when you tell him you're his son from a different dimension when where he's from, magic is genuinely not real for him?"

"...He'll freak out?"

"Yes! Not only will he freak out but he'll probably tell everyone he knows! Including this world's Joey, who judging by his nickname; "That shi- shoot heel puppeteer", is the last person who needs to know about magic, let alone how to use it..."

"Oh. Yeah, that doesn't sound good..." the imp agreed as he suddenly regretted his decision. "Do you think it's too late to throw me back-"

The pair gazed at the now blank spot on the wall where they came from.

"...Unfortunately yes, so stay close and put on a disguise."

"I-I didn't bring one..." the imp sheepishly responded. "...Sorry, I got too caught up in the excitement."

Joey sighed deeply as he took off his glasses and sweater vest, putting them on the kid toon instead.

"It's not the best, but it'll do for now as long as we don't stick around long enough for them to see past it, so let's hurry out of here!"

Snowflake nodded and guided Joey as he tried to navigate the similar-yet different studio. (The man did not wear glasses for the sake of aesthetic.)

The layout seemed similar enough, but there were less pipes running through the building, the colors were duller, the stale smell of tobacco, old coffee, sweat, and a coppery-earthy scent that reminded Joey of blood but wasn't quite similar enough for him to call it that lingered in every single room they entered, the employees that they passed might as well have been reanimated corpses with how drained of energy they looked, all of them didn't even so much as acknowledge the pair's presence.

That was, until, an unfamiliar-looking yet familiar sounding janitor took notice. The man didn't look like Snowflake's dad, he was a lanky fellow and wore the same hat that his own father wore to work, but the similarities in appearance stopped right there. This world's Wally had shaggy, dark brown hair, eyes so dark that they looked black, a crooked nose, and when he smiled at them, Snowflake could clearly see that the man was missing a tooth.

"Hey, how'd you two get in 'ere?"

Joey cursed under his breath before answering the other Wally.

"Well, I was just-"

The dimension-traveling duo suddenly felt dozens of angry eyes on them, which had melted into confusion and mild intriguement as they realized that the man who spoke looked more like a kindly grandpa with an odd-looking Bendy doll with him instead of their sleazy boss. The pair of outsiders were afraid they fucked everything up before to the relief of the pair and the horror to everybody else, they heard the voice of Sammy in the other room shouting "God dammit Joey! I told you time and time again to stay out of the music department!" followed by the revving of a chainsaw.

The animator was quick to realize his mistake as he cleared his throat and did his best 'sounds like a normal voice but isn't MY normal voice' voice.

"-I was just looking for a herbal shop nearby but got turned around. If one of you fine folks could give my grandson and I directions, we'll happily get out of your hair."

Wally frowned in confusion as he looked at the very obviously not-human creature who smiled meekly at him and waved. He shrugged off the mild weirdness as he remembered that he did know where an herbal shop was.

"Dat's all? No problem! Herbal shop's right next to a really good burgah joint, has a statue of a knight wranglin' a unicorn right outside da place, ya can't miss it, an' by extension, ya can't miss da herbal shop eithah."

"Why thank you, you're too kind..."

"Oh and uh, Sorry if da musicians 'ere freaked ya out." The janitor adjusted his hat, it now covered the man's eyes. "Our music director recently got re-hirahed but nobody's willin' ta forgive da boss ova what he put him through, not dat I blame 'em, I get jitteahs every time I think about it happenin' ta me too!"

Joey nodded sympathetically as he reached for his companion's hand and internally panicked as he couldn't find it.

---

Snowflake ran off, the eyes on his back and by proxy, the pressure of knowing that the fate of this world and his own was on his back was far too intense. In his mad rush, he had only made his situation worse with everywhere he ran as he had lost Joey's glasses on accident, which was a vital part of the disguise.

"Holy sheit! is that a bloody livin' toy?!"

"What in the goddamn... Bertrum! Come look! You gotta see this!"

"My word! What has Drew done?"

"Okay, this time I'm finally going to quit for real! I swear, these hallucinations are just getting worse every time I come into work!"

"It... it worked! Tom, look!"

"Or at least, this one looks better than the first model- Hey! Get back here!"

It was terrifying thinking about how these alternate versions of the people he knew and grew to love, ones who shared their voices and careers, but not appearances, memories, and experiences could very well be his enemies. Most chilling of all, he heard Joey's voice in the crowd.

"Well done Tommy! At least this one looked halfway presentable!"

He shuddered at the thought of that Joey getting his hands on him. He didn't even know where he ran off to, only that he had to escape from them, he then squeezed himself into a small crack in the wall, an easy feat for a boneless ink creature, not so much for anything else.

His heart pounded loudly against his chest, the little imp tried to hush it, and prayed that the noise wouldn’t give him away he just needed to calm down. But his prayers went unanswered as the 'click-clack' of a pair of high heels passed by, and a woman crouched down, possibly hearing him.

“Now how on earth did you manage to wedge yourself in there, little guy?”

He recognized that voice all right, he scooched deeper into his hiding spot, hoping she’d leave him alone. The woman, the Susie Campbell of this world judging by her voice, might’ve looked at him with concern, but something about her just felt… wrong to him. He knew of alternate realities, good ones, bad ones, and downright weird ones, but this one felt uncanny to him and he just wanted to go home, it wasn't outright worse than most dimensions, but it seemed so bleak and miserable.

Hopefully he was wrong, but as of right now, it felt like this was a world that wouldn't even so much as bat an eye at its own destruction.

"I-I shouldn't have asked in the f-first place..." he muttered to himself. "I s-should've j-just left Joey to do his errand and s-stayed out of it..."

"Hey," the woman gently knocked on the wall, all the imp could see of her was her face, a face that looked mostly normal except for her left eye, which looked glassy and didn't look at him like her right eye did. "Are you okay in there?"

Snowflake stayed quiet.

"Oh no..." the woman muttered to herself. "Don't panic, I'll go get help!"

She said as she left, but her words didn't make the little guy feel any better.

He slowly crawled out of his hiding spot, ready to hunt down another one while fighting off the guilt that came with making the other Susie worry about him, while her eye was weird, she seemed just as nice as the one from his own dimension.

What seemed less nice however, was the sudden cold, yet firm grip on his shoulder.

"You know, it's very rude ta ignore folks who's just tryin' ta help you."

"Eep!"

The imp spun around to face a man with a familiar voice, he was a tall, dark-skinned, older man with an eye patch on his right eye, had a thin frame, and attire that vaguely reminded Snowflake of a comic about a western vampire hunter that Buddy showed him.

"Awfully jumpy, aren't ya, kiddo?" Norman chuckled as he knelt down to his eye level. "I get that a lot from people. But in all seriousness, we can't just have yous wanderin' around wherever you please, this here studio's a dang deathtrap, even on the best of days."

"S-sorry Norman..." Snowflake adjusted Joey's sweater vest as a realization dawned on him: judging by the studio workers' lack of a surprised reaction to him, this world might be more magical than his own world's Joey assumed. "Hey, wait a minute, are toons real h-here too? Can I find Bendy, Alice and Boris around here?"

Norman raised an eyebrow in confusion, but thankfully for the imp's sake, he stayed calm.

"Mr. Drew's tryin' but he ain't got a dang thing ta show for it. Although, I'm kinda hoping he can't, it doesn't sit too right with me. Just call it a gut feelin', but I don't trust that anythin' good will come from him messing with things like that."

"Y-yeah..." Snowflake nodded. "I've been here for less than f-fifteen minutes and I think I can see exactly what you mean. This place's Joey seems so much worse than my Joey."

"Sorry ta hear that little guy..." Norman knelt down to the little demon. "So, would ya mind ta tell me about this 'other Joey?"

"Oh, sure thing!"

---

True to her word, when Susie returned, she brought over three people; Wally, Joey who was now wearing his slightly broken glasses (Who Snowflake was relieved to see), and a shirtless, long-haired man with a chainsaw in his hands.

He was tall and broad, had dark brown hair and tan skin, his eyes were a stormy gray, and they were sharp with a steadfast determination that made Snowflake feel nervous, the little imp felt like there was something deeply terrifying about this man, and not just because he was currently carrying a dangerous weapon. Although, he couldn't deny that he felt a sense of familiarity with this man that he had not felt with the others in this dimension.

Snowflake felt like he's met this man before.

"Alright, and he should be right here..." The voice actress trailed off as she saw the timid devil shyly wave at her, very much freed from his wall prison and seemed to be chatting with her favorite projectionist. "Oh! Hi Norman! Thanks for getting him out for us and keeping him company!"

"It was no problem, the kid wasn't half bad company."

"Ya know kid, we're glad ta see ya okay, but your grandpops and I was lookin' everywhere for you! Not gonna lie, ya gave us both a scare when ya ran off alone like dat."

"The fuck is that thing?"

"Sammy!" The woman elbowed the shirtless man in the ribs. "Be nice!"

"Alright..." The man rolled his eyes and gave a forced smile that showed off black gums and yellowish-grayish teeth that creeped Snowflake out (the smile itself, not the man's gums or teeth, judging by his smell, he was an avid smoker and it was at least normal for him to have a mouth like that, the smile however... he doesn't think a man's smile should be that wide.). As he lifted the little devil up by the shirt like a scruffed kitten, he presented him to Joey. "Now then, is this your lost little lamb?"

"Yes." Joey reached for the imp. "Please don't hold him like that."

"Nearest exit is down the hall, take a right turn when you reach the giant broken pipe that's leaking everywhere and hasn't been touched for at least a week." The man gestured fluidly as he still held up that creepy smile. "As... lovely as it was for you two to visit us and our little studio, we really should be getting back to work before Joey decides to fire and blacklist everyone in this room for loitering or something."

"Uh... thanks?" Joey suddenly snapped upright. "Wait, how are you all so calm about this?! All of you are barely even reacting over a living cartoon character right there!"

"Speaking of which do you know who doesn't need to know about that? Our boss. You claim you're not here for a meet and greet and I don't think this should turn into one. You got the information you came here for, now get what you needed from here and get out."

"Wow, you're a rather blunt fellow, aren't you?"

"You could say so."

"W-well, I-it was scary, but it was also nice meeting all of you! Maybe we should visit again later so we can know each other better!"

"Oooh! I'll look forward to it!" Susie smiled warmly. "Good luck with your ingredient hunt, boys!"

Sammy started to shove the pair down the hall as he felt they wouldn't leave otherwise.

"Yeah, yeah, goodbye and all that, see you soon, I won't forget to write... Have yourselves some happy travels! Goodbye again."

The musician led them out of the building and dusted off his hands as he returned to the others who did not look happy with him.

"That was very rude, Lawrence..." Susie scolded. "They just wanted our help!"

Wally shook his head but didn't add anything.

"And we gave it!” He hissed. “Do you really think it would be safe for them to stay and talk with the shitheel around? Especially after what he just did to us?! Do you want HIM to know that there's a different version of him who got everything he's wanted and more? What do you think he'll do to them when he finds them? Do you want to find out?"

Susie's face scrunched up in realization as the other two men uncomfortably shuffled in their spots.

"I thought so..."

"...Think they'll come back?" Norman piped up. "I kinda wanted to talk with that other Joey."

The musician shrugged.

"Do ya at least think we'll find a way ta get ta 'em ourselves?"

"Maybe? If they would a way here, I wouldn't be surprised if we could get there."

"Wanna look for a way there? Ya gotta admit you're curious what the other us are like too!"

"Hmm... Well, maybe after hours."

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #Hell's Studio AU #joey drew #snowflake the demon #wally franks #norman polk #susie campbell #sammy lawrence #fanfic

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wizardofozymandias · 4 years ago

Text

Five Best Bits From 2020

Edit: I was tagged by @noire-pandora and Tumblr decided to bury the notification.

Tagging: @blarfkey, @nug-juggler, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @queenaeducan, @luzial, @myrddinderwydd. Sorry for re-tagging most of y’all, but it’s hard to keep up with everyone who’s been tagged.

2020 was my most productive year for writing, and the first time I published any fanfiction. I’ve put my five favorite snippets under the cut, along with links to my AO3.

From The Cult of Fen’Harel, Chapter 4, The Bard and the Bees. This is probably my favorite passage I’ve written so far. I love the idea of Solas getting desperate enough to try recruiting Sera. And it goes as well as anyone could expect.

Sera made a face. “Don’t want none of your elven glory shite. Did you forget, my people are the friends of Red Jenny? Ellana’s my friend, and you hurt her. My people look out for each other, don’t team up with nobs who hurt us. Besides, it’s all stupid. Your magic and ancient rot, you’ll just burn the world down to get what you want. Couldn’t make me be part of that.”

“Please, Sera, think of what you could be, what you could do.”

“I could be dead, workin’ for you! Can’t you hear my no? Let me say it louder for you: NO.”

“Don’t you see that the elves are just the type of people you claim you want to help? The little people you fight for could finally have something of their own, instead of being relegated to the dregs of society.”

That seemed to set Sera off. She was on her feet and in his face in seconds. “Solas, you nug-sucking, piss-brained, moldy-arsed wanker! Don’t talk to me about little people! I’ve seen your altars and shite, you think you’re some mercy-giving god? Fuck you! You never see anybody ‘cept your elfy elves! You don’t give a shit for anybody but your people!”

Her tirade went on for several minutes. Solas remained as still as stone while she harangued him. Truthfully, he feared for his life. He had seen what a powerhouse Sera was on the battlefield. He was only grateful she was too close to shoot him. When she seemed to be winding down, he opened his mouth to speak again.

She stuck a finger in his face. “No!”

He gently pushed her hand away, then tried to speak again.

She repeated the gesture. “No! I’m leaving, and my lot had better not hear a peep outta yours!”

Sera started walking away. Solas took a step in her direction, one last futile attempt to persuade her, and was hit in the chest with a jar of bees.

From Daisy’s Garden: This conversation between Merrill and Keeper Marethari is based heavily on my own experiences with an abusive parent. Marethari struck me immediately as someone who gets away with treating Merrill like shit by burying her viciousness in concern for Merrill. Slight verbal/emotional abuse cw.

Merrill couldn’t get her breath between her sobs. She didn’t want Marethari so near, didn’t want to be touched, didn’t deserve to be touched. Here she was, crying without a reason, and delaying her lessons, and babbling about nothing. When she did manage to speak again, she simply choked out another, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for being a fool,” Merrill said miserably.

“That’s a terrible thing to say about yourself, da’len. You’re a capable, intelligent, beautiful young woman. Just because you take these silly notions is no reason to torment yourself. You simply need to be more careful about not saying every ridiculous thing that enters your head.”

From The Cult of Fen’Harel, Chapter 5, Fresh Brewed Trouble. This is the first time Solas actually asks Ellana about the cult. It was fun to write him having a complete meltdown about his opposition being. . .less well-organized than he expected.

“What is the Cult of Fen’Harel?” he demanded.

Ellana grinned mischievously. “Enjoying your reading material?”

“Brother Genitivi,” he spat, “seems to think that they are a Dalish fertility cult.”

“That’s been the most popular theory, based on ‘the proliferation of crude phallic imagery’ found at the sites where the cultists have gathered. Although Brother Burbadur has some unique ideas.”

“That hack?! They still allow him to publish?!”

Ellana giggled. “So, you know about Brother Burbadur? I’ve sent you a copy of his latest book. It’s all about your cult.”

“With his Snake-Kings and lunatics? Mythal enaste, what have you done?”

“You mean Moon Men?” Ellana corrected. “Don’t you realize, Solas? I don’t have to instigate everything. It’s like Thedas itself wants you to fail.”

From The Cult of Fen’Harel, Chapter 6, The Mirror’s Secret. I love, love, love any instances of Solas interacting with an old Keeper Lavellan. So of course I had to send him to Clan Lavellan to bargain with Ellana’s grandmother. (For clarification, Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel goes by Mae in CoFH.)

Solas coldly repeated his question: “Again, what do you expect me to do here?”

Mae put her hands on her hips. “Well, I don’t want you to join the ‘rituals,’ if that’s what you’re afraid of. Your followers have been nothing but a nuisance lately. I’d like you to put the fear of their god in them.”

“How exactly?”

“You’re the Dread Wolf. Figure it out. I just want you to chase them off and scare them enough that they’ll stop trashing the altars and stealing the clan’s statues. I won’t mention what we had to clean off those statues last time.”

Solas shuddered.

Boisterous laughter and torchlight from the clearing signaled the cultists’ arrival.

“They’re here,” Mae whispered. “Get to it. Just don’t hurt any of them.”

“You should go now,” Solas warned.

“Before you become too terrifying for my mortal eyes to behold?”

Solas looked at her pointedly.

She snorted. “I’m not missing this show. But you’d better get out there before they start stripping.” She peered around a tree. “They’re barely wearing anything as it is.”

Solas shuddered again. Then, feeling more than a little embarrassed with someone watching, shrugged off his mortal form. The howl of the giant, six-eyed wolf echoed to the ends of the Free Marches.

From Of Mages and Moon Men. I desperately want Solas and Dorian to be friends, so writing them having fun together makes me happy.

Dorian chuckled and looked at Solas. “It seems you aren’t such a wet blanket after all. Just present you with silly books about ancient elves and you’re downright companionable.”

Solas ignored Dorian’s attempt to bait him. “You are not such bad company yourself, Master Pavus. I would not have expected it.”

Dorian made a face. “Solas, I will promise never to insult your wardrobe again if you will promise to never refer to me as Master Pavus.”

“Does it irk you so much?” Solas couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I hope to be old and grey before I’m forced to go by Master Pavus.”

“Fair enough. I suppose we can consider this a cease fire between us?”

“Certainly!” Dorian held out his hand for Solas to shake. “I’ve never laughed at ridiculous Chantry scholarship with a better fellow.”

#my writing #dragon age #fanfiction #tag game #five best bits of 2020 #ozy writes #solavellan #solas & sera #merrill #solas & keeper lavellan #solas & dorian #can you tell i enjoy writing solas?#most of these are just me laughing at my own jokes tbh #maybe i should try writing something serious this year

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vannahfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Sentimentality

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Mashirao Ojiro, Tooru Hagakure

Hi, everyone! Here again, with another story in association with the @bnhabookclub Bingo Event, this time for the prompt "Stealing Clothes"! I hope you enjoy it!

A lost sock is an inevitability. A misplaced tee-shirt or pair of shorts is a likelihood. Hell, even leaving a jacket behind on one's school desk isn't exactly an uncommon occurrence. Mashirao definitely had misplaced some clothing articles in his life, for sure. Yet… He wasn't sure he was air-headed enough to lose an entire half of his wardrobe. Well, half was an exaggeration, but three tee-shirts and a hoodie in two days was just plain suspicious.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he inspected the empty hangers in his closet. Yep. There are definitely more of them than usual, he concluded with a puzzled hum. He wouldn't consider them clothes that were particularly worth stealing; it wasn't like the thief could pawn them online and make a substantial amount. No, that wasn't the motive. Maybe I should ask Tooru. She's friends with Mina, and Mina knows everyone's secrets. He suddenly narrowed his eyes. Come to think of it… I haven't seen Tooru at all these past two days.

It was easy to miss an invisible girl, even when she was dressed in a school uniform or fluffy pajamas, but Mashirao genuinely couldn't recall seeing her in the past forty-eight hours. Friday afternoon after class, she had stumbled off to her bedroom, and had been suspiciously absent ever since. He had not seen her at meals, though he dimly recalled Ochako mentioning she would take plates to the girl later. It was now late Sunday evening. Could she be sick? He wondered and rubbed the back of his neck. The riddle of his missing clothes would likely remain unsolved, so at the very least, he ought to crack the mystery of a missing invisible girl.

The wooden planks thrummed with his footfalls as he meandered to the girls' side of the dorms. The rest of the students were downstairs in the common room; Mashirao had been there as well, and had only left to finish his laundry, wherein he discovered the missing clothing articles. The dormitory halls were eerily silent as he proceeded towards Tooru's room. When he arrived, he cleared his throat loudly before knocking on the door.

"Hagakure? Are you all right in there?" A wheedling, pitiful whine bled through the wood. It prickled the hairs on the back of his neck; she sounded downright miserable. He could faintly hear her whimpering within, and the bed groaning as she tossed and turned. Mashirao thoughtfully chewed on the inside of his cheek. Just barging in is rude, but she sounds like she's in a lot of pain… The proper thing to do is check on her, right? He tried the doorknob, and it turned with no resistance. "Hagakure, I'm coming in."

The room was shrouded in darkness; Tooru's thick curtains were drawn over the window, blotting out the light from the night sky. Mashirao wrinkled his nose at the acrid scent of sweat staining the air. "Hagakure?" He called softly. Her bed was a mass of blankets and sheets and pillows, tangled and disarrayed. The lump of cloth wriggled a bit, and a muffled, pained moan sounded from within the mass. "You okay?"

"No," she whimpered in response. Mashirao spied several empty water bottles on the ground and a half-empty one on her nightstand. He plodded closer to see a small, aluminum dish filled with generic fever reducers and pain relievers. His eyes swept to the bed as it wiggled some more, and her head popped up. The only way he knew it was her head was because of the damp dishcloth draped over her invisible forehead. "I'm on my period."

Mashirao's cheeks turned the color of the Tylenol pills in the dish. Mashirao only had marginal experience with girls; of course, he knew what a period was and that they were extraordinarily unpleasant, but… That was it. Coughing uncomfortably, he scratched at the scrubby blonde hairs at the nape of his neck.

"Oh," he said simply. He frowned as Tooru whimpered again and wound the thick comforter between her fingers. Dark patches of discoloration appeared in the imprint of her sweaty hands. "Is there anything I can do to help?" He inquired gently.

"I feel bad," she pouted. "Ochako and Momo and Mina have been offering all weekend to stay with me, but… That's not fair. I can manage all right! Please go enjoy yourself with the others."

"I'll stay with you if that's what you want. I can't enjoy myself knowing you're suffering up here all alone." He couldn't see her expression, but he fancied that a relieved smile formed on her lips. The mountain of pillows and blankets wobbled as she adjusted her position to clear a space on the bed. Mashirao would've been quite content to just lounge in her desk chair, but he couldn't refuse the ailing girl when she invitingly patted the empty mattress beside her. The tip of his tail twitched uncomfortably as a blush alit his cheeks; nevertheless, he climbed into the bed. He exhaled shakily as he reclined against the headboard with a pillow tucked under the small of his back and crossed his legs, winding his thick tail around his middle. He blushed darker when he felt Tooru snuggle up to him.

The bed dipped where her weight concentrated, forming the outline of her curvy figure. The bedsheets were damp with her perspiration, and Mashirao could feel her body heat seeping into the areas where they were in contact. He could even feel the quiver in her feverish body. I will never let any of the guys make period jokes again, he resolved solemnly. "Here, Hagakure, cover up," he said while pulling the sheets up over where he thought her shoulders might be. He raised an eyebrow when he spotted a familiar pattern peeking out of the folds of the thick down comforter. He felt the invisible girl squirm as he gently tugged it out to reveal one of his missing tees.

"... Hagakure, am I going to find my two other missing shirts and my missing hoodie in this bed?"

"... Mayyyyybe," came the meek reply. He smiled amusedly as Tooru squealed and slapped her invisible hands to her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Ojiro! I-I just… I felt good enough to grab a glass of milk last night and passed the laundry room, and the detergent smelled soooo good, and… one thing kinda led to another…"

Ojiro smirked and spun the tee shirt by the collar around his index finger. Denki and Sero were always complimenting his mountain breeze-scented laundry detergent. "I'm sorry… I get weirdly sentimental on my period," the girl sniffed in mortification. Ojiro shrugged and dropped the tee-shirt on her head, making her squeak.

"It's no big deal. I think it's really cute."

"You don't think it's creepy?" she asked shyly as she pulled the shirt from her head and hugged it to her chest.

"Nah," he reassured her and rested his arms behind his head. "I mean, what kind of guy would I be to deny a girl so clearly in need? I can handle a few missing clothes." She giggled girlishly and huddled back down within the mound of blankets. She inhaled deeply, no doubt savoring the earthy scent wafting around the freshly-cleaned article of clothing.

"Thanks, Ojiro." He leisurely nodded and settled himself further against the headboard. He glanced down when Tooru abruptly whimpered and screwed her fingers into his side. He ignored the excruciating pain in his intercostal muscles to ask her what was the matter. "Ah, sorry… Cramps," she groaned. The wet rag flopped onto his belly as she pressed her head into his abdomen. He soothingly stroked her back through her thin tank top while stretching his arm out to fumble for the bottled water and painkillers.

"Here, take these," he instructed while uncapping the water and handing her two pills. He heard her sigh gratefully as she downed the two tablets and drained the rest of the water. She tossed the bottle onto the floor with the others before draping herself back over his middle, whimpering.

"A uterus is a curse." Mashirao chuckled and began palming soothing circles between her shoulder blades.

"I certainly don't envy you."

"Ojiro, you're really sweet," she said suddenly, making him blush. He wondered if her hormones were raging out control again, and she was growing sappy. He felt her head roll on his chest to look up at him. "You're gonna make a great boyfriend one day." He began sputtering out words with no idea of the sentence he wanted to form, his entire face red from the tips of his ears to the column of his neck. Tooru giggled and shifted so that she propped up beside him. "You know… You could be my great boyfriend."

"Have I given you too many Ibuprofen?!" He cried and snatched up the bottle to check the dose limit and the side effects, because surely the drugs were making her loopy. Tooru laughed giddily and slapped him lightly on the shoulder, and he set the useless bottle aside.

"I'm serious! You're so kind," she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. He gulped audibly and tugged at the collar of his shirt, unbearably hot all of a sudden. Her fingers curled into the golden waves of his blonde hairs to wind the strands around. "You've made me feel a lot better, and… I've liked you for a long time." Mashirao smiled sheepishly and looked out of the corners of his eyes at her invisible face.

"Well, if we're being honest here, everything about you is cute- not just nabbing my shirts.” She snorted piggishly and, in her giddiness, cuddled further into him. Feeling a little more confident, he snaked his arm around her waist, marveling how small it was compared to his muscled arm.

"So is that a 'yes'?"

"How about we let dinner next Friday night decide that?" He laughed as she playfully slapped his chest.

"So smooth! Look at you." Mashirao grinned and played with the sheets. Looks like listening to Denki and Hanta debate dating advice paid off after all… Tooru sighed contentedly and, once more, pressed her face into the side of his neck. Her warm breath puffed over his skin, gentle and comforting. "... Hey."

"What?"

"Can we start the boyfriend-girlfriend thing early so you can get me a bowl of ice cream? <3" He snorted haughtily, but his true feelings were betrayed by the adoring smile stretching over his face.

"Sure. Chocolate or vanilla?"

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @simplybakugou @sadistiks @wesparklebitch @deliathedork

#bnhabookclub #bnhabookclub event #bnhabookclub bingo event #toojiro #hagakure x ojiro #ojiro x hagakure #tooru x mashirao #mashirao x tooru #tooru hagakure #hagakure tooru #mashirao ojiro #ojiro mashirao #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my hero #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic

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elllamalaka · 3 years ago

Text

I’m so Glad You’re Home

It was late, but not exceedingly so, when Kate finally banged through the apartment door she shared with Elizabeth and got out of the steady, unrelenting rain that had fallen all day, or apparently, all weekend. She was nearly soaked.

Kate was quite excited to arrive back after the working weekend. On Friday evening as she was packing Elizabeth had arrived home with a new head cold. She had some misty and very cute sneezes, and blew her nose a few times. Her voice was just a touch stuffy. It made their last evening together an experience.

"Did you catch that just so I wouldn't want to leave you?" asked Kate as Elizabeth covered her third, very sexy and feminine sneeze with a white satin handkerchief.

Elizabeth giggled behind her hanky as she wiped her nose and blew the runniness. "I'm glad you like my cold. But I couldn't help but catch this," she tapped her nose delicately with a finger. "Every girl in my office is sniffling or sneezing, and a few have coughs. I'm really surprised I didn't catch it sooner."

Kate gently kissed Elizabeth's nose and drew her close, whispering to her, "you've caught the loveliest cold in the loveliest nose. I wish I could bless every sneeze."

Elizabeth giggled again and Kate could hear slight congestion in her nose which she promptly sniffled up. "If you blessed all my sneezes you'd end up a very sick girl. It's an exhausting job because I'm sneezing all the time and you'd likely catch my cold in the process. So you'd be sick and trying to complete an impossible task," Elizabeth gave Kate a playful smirk and sniffled her nose again.

"Do you promise I'll catch your cold if I try?" Kate said, now a touch longing in her question. She wrapped her arms around Elizabeth again and kissed her nose. This time the kiss provoked a tickle in Elizabeth's nose and the turned away to sneeze into her satin hanky.

"Bless you," Kate said, her voice low and longing now. Elizabeth looked up from her hanky, smiled, and blew her nose.

How she wanted to stay with Elizabeth and try and bless every sneeze, catch a miserable cold for her efforts, and end up sick in bed. But alas, she had to fly away for work this evening and she wouldn't be back until Sunday night. And Elizabeth had volunteered this weekend to help set up the Valentine's Day display in the park, anyway, so she was busy all day on Saturday and Sunday.

Yes, that was correct. The temperature was near zero and Elizabeth was going to be working outside in the park all weekend. With a cold.

The thought almost made Kate swoon. And Elizabeth seemed completely oblivious to the implications.

"You'd get bored in the park all weekend. Besides, it's supposed to rain. You wouldn't want to get soaking wet just to bless my sneezes, would you?"

Kate let out a long, lusty sigh and smiled longingly at Elizabeth. She was just nearly perfect. But it was time to leave for work.

"Take care of your cold," she'd said as she walked out the door.

"It's just a little head cold, I'll be fine," Elizabeth had replied with a sniffle. She held her hanky clasped to her nose as she waved goodbye.

But now it was late Sunday and Kate was back home. She'd gotten sparse updates from Elizabeth. Both women were very busy and scarcely had a second to herself, even late Saturday. Elizabeth had sent her a text Saturday morning that read

I just woke up and spent the last ten minutes sneezing and blowing my nose. hbu?

Around midmorning she sent

I had to take a little break. I fell asleep for a few minutes. I am exhausted and my head is throbbing. It doesn't help that I'm soaking wet and freezing

At lunch it was:

I'm pretty sure I'm running a fever and I am running out of tissues. My nose is almost completely stopped up

After lunch it was:

Miranda has been helping me out. She's a little bit sick, too. We've been sharing tissues and cough drops. My throat is so sore right now

Neither woman texted for several hours. Kate tried to call her that evening but the call went unanswered. Not less than a minute later Elizabeth texted:

hey sorry, it's super loud in here and my throat is really sore so I didn't want to talk. What's up?

Their text exchange led to Kate learning several things. First, Elizabeth had volunteered to serve wine at a function for the park tonight. She was inside now, thankfully, but she had a really bad cold. She was treating her sore throat with red wine, which seemed to be helping. But all the talking was not helping.

Kate wanted to talk to Elizabeth but she fell asleep before they could connect that night. She was awoken by her alarm. There was still no word from Elizabeth since Saturday. But while she showered that morning Elizabeth texted her.

dear lord, I just woke up and I sound like utter shit

your girl is very sick today!

And so she called her and on the end of the line she didn't hear the voice of her girlfriend pick up but instead that of a very deep-voiced woman.

"Good morning, girl," was the bassy, but female greeting. It was followed by a very wet, hacking cough.

This was not some random woman on Elizabeth's phone with a deep voice. This was Elizabeth on Elizabeth's phone with a deep voice.

"Liz..." Kate began, very tentatively. She could not believe that her love sounded like this. She had a bad cough and her voice was so different she didn't even recognize her.

"I've got a really sore throat and it's making my voice sound like this," and her voice was so deep and husky but squeaked wildly when she tried to say 'voice.'

Suddenly, a huge sneezing fit seized Liz's clogged sinuses. From Kate's perspective it sounded squeaky and hoarse. It ended with protracted coughing followed by a very productive nose blew.

"Scuse me," she rasped when she was able to speak again.

It was time for Kate to leave for work but she wanted to chat more with Liz. Her voice was so deep and luscious, and her cough so well developed. Liz was really sick this morning. She had bad colds in her head and chest.

Liz was feeling too miserable to go back to the park, and had resigned herself to a sick day before work on Monday. She was running a 102 fever and was dozing in bed between sneezing and coughing fits.

Unfortunately for Liz, she was not going to get a lot of rest this Sunday. Not long after she'd fallen back asleep she got a spam call. She silenced her phone but as she fell asleep again she was awoken this time by a brief blast of music from the neighbors. It was silenced quickly but not before Liz was fully awake and coughing again.

There were interruptions all morning. The park ground crew had to drop by and pick up some nametags she had. "Oh my gosh Liz, you sound awful!" A pizza delivery girl got the wrong building and knocked on her door. She practically ran away just at the sound of Liz's cough as it was starting to turn barking by now. Some random strange sound woke her in the afternoon and her head was pounding. She didn't get much sleep after that.

But Liz dozed before Kate got home and only the door opening woke her. Kate stood in the doorway, rain dripping from her clothes. She'd been busy all day and was ready to relax, hopefully with Liz.

The first thing Kate heard when she was home was the ragged, congested barking cough that Elizabeth boomed from her bedroom.

"Holy shit," thought Kate, her head turning immediately to Elizabeth's bedroom at the sound. "Elizabeth has a terrible cough," she thought as she listened to a fit of barks. Her cough sounded much louder and barky than it had this morning. Whatever she'd caught had gotten worse today.

The barking coughs continued, a haggard nose blow thrown between. Elizabeth's light clicked on. Kate could hear the coughing grow closer. It finally stopped and Elizabeth's bedroom door opened. She walked out bundled in her puffiest bathrobe. Her eyes were bloodshot and barely open. Her nose was a crusty, red mess, down even to her upper lip. Her lips were cracked and chapped as well. Elizabeth inhaled through her mouth, breath wheezing and warbling and it went. She put a hand gently to her chest and barely managed to scrape out a "Hey girl, welcome home," her voice was a mixture of husky wheezing whispers interspersed with hoarse honks at odd intervals. A barking cough fit followed her attempt to talk.

Kate stood, water dripping off her shivered body, barely able to stand. The sight and sound of Elizabeth was making her weak in the knees. She was atrociously sick and could barely even talk now. Her cough was downright scary. She reached a tentative hand towards Elizabeth as her fit subsided. "Liz," she began, quiet and concerned, "my gosh girl, you sound just awful."

Elizabeth nodded, her head turned slightly away. She pulled a tissue from her robe pocket and put and end lazily under her battered nose. She blew but only a congested, clogged sound came from her nose. She winced in pain, holding her head. Then she looked directly at Kate and said, as best as she could, "I'm so glad you're home," and then broke into another hard barking cough fit.

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bergarachan · 5 years ago

Text

just let me adore you (oh honey)

rating: T

summary: Ryan, a couple weeks after experiencing a shitty breakup, goes to a bar to take his mind off of things. He quickly realizes the bar is a gay bar. He also realizes that Shane has been hiding some things from him.

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Ryan Bergara had had a long fucking day.

A long fucking month, to be fair. He hadn’t really told anyone except for his roommates (because it’s hard to hide things from the people you live with), but he and his girlfriend had broken up after a year of being together. They realized together that the affection they were giving each other was just an imitation of romantic love. They wanted to love each other, but honestly, they only thought of each other as friends. It was a relieving and devastating realization for both of them. Ryan cried, he was miserable for a week or two, but after that, friends they had become. It was almost like nothing had changed, that he and Mari were almost meant to be friends. And that revelation had sent Ryan into a spiral of a questioning panic. Ryan had never experimented with guys before… but honestly? Feeling a man’s stubble scratch him while they kissed…shit. Ryan shuddered. Maybe he should go out, get his head out of the gutter for a bit.

Ryan texted Shane, his best friend, asking if he wanted to come. But the latter just texted back with a “busy, sorry lil guy!!!!!!!!!!!!” (yes, with that many exclamation points), so clearly he was going alone for the night.

He threw on a long brown coat over the current black turtleneck he had on, and he looked at himself in the mirror. Holy shit, he looked good. He usually just shoved on a tee-shirt and skinny jeans but recently since the break-up he had been experimenting with style and he realized just how much he liked to dress up. It was quite fun, actually. Running his hands in his hair one last time while looking in the mirror, he decided he looked good enough to go out.

He decided to go to a bar that somehow he hadn’t really gone to before, nor had he heard of. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too crowded; however, it was a Friday night so maybe he was pushing his luck. He booked an uber and was swiftly picked up and driven to the bar.

Walking in, he noticed something was a little different. The people seemed louder, more confident, more lively, which made him frown in confusion to himself as he sat down. He ordered a beer; the bartender gave him a wink as he handed it to Ryan, and Ryan tried very hard to hide the blush that appeared on his face at the action. Jesus, what was happening to him? He had just started questioning his sexuality and he was already blushing like a newborn flower.

“Hey, is that Ryan Bergara?!” A familiar voice shouted from behind him.

Ryan whipped around and, seeing the person in question, he smiled. Finally, some good fucking company. “Hey, Curly!”

Curly, who was wearing a very Curly-typical outfit, slid into the seat next to Ryan. “Hey, Ryry! Didn’t expect to see you here. What brings you to a gay bar on a Friday night?”

Ryan was taking a sip of his beer and he nearly spat it out. “What?”

Curly frowned. “What?”

“This… this is a gay bar?” Ryan exclaimed. Curly chuckled a little in response, almost in disbelief.

“Was that not obvious, chico?” Curly asked, and watching Ryan shyly shake his head no, he smiled. “Oh, Ryan. Sweet, innocent Ryan. What would Mari say?” Ryan knows this was a complete joke, that Curly didn’t know, that he was just playing around and expected Ryan to laugh. But it kinda stung. Ryan immediately looked down to his lap.

“Oh. Uhm… actually,” Ryan stammered, “Her and I… we… split. About a month ago.”

Curly’s face immediately turned from playful to sympathetic. “Oh, no, Ryan…” And no, Ryan didn’t want to have this conversation.

“No, no… it was mutual. Besides… I’ve kinda been, uh, wanting to… experiment… lately?” He blushed as he said it out loud.

Curly’s eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

Ryan smiled shyly. “Yeah… I’ve been thinking about it and…”

“You realized boys are actually really pretty and hot and you want to get that D?” Curly finished for him.

Ryan laughed, embarrassed, cheeks flushing. “Yeah, I do, I guess.” He started to take a sip of his beer.

“It’s okay, mi principito,” Curly said, patting Ryan’s head as if he were a silly child. “We all knew you were a bottom, anyways.”

Ryan choked on his beer. “WhAT?” He coughed a couple times while Curly laughed, trying to regain the ability to breathe.

After laughing, Curly ignored him. “Anyways,” he turned towards the stage towards the back wall of the bar. “Usually on Fridays we have a music guest or two. I’ve come a couple times to listen, they’re usually really good.”

“Cool,” said Ryan. “When do they come on?”

“Around, like, eight, so in…” Curly checked his watch. “Ten minutes. You should stay and listen!”

Ryan shrugged. “Sure! It sounds like fun, and I’m planning on having a lot more beers than one tonight.” Curly laughed.

The two men talked for the next ten minutes, Curly asking lots of questions about Ryan discovering his sexuality, and Ryan answered as best as he could. It wasn’t a long story, really. After his breakup, he had just thought “Huh. Men are hot too. I should try dating one. I want a boyfriend. Wait what?” and that’s basically how it went. Curly asked Ryan if there were any guys he was interested in, and Ryan thought for a moment. As much as he didn’t really like to admit it, Shane was the first person that came to Ryan’s mind. Shane was always there for him, was there through his breakup with Helen, there through his recovery, supportive of him and Mari and their breakup respectively. He was there to care for Ryan when he felt down, they sang songs together, ran a show together, ran a goddamned business together, and not to mention, as much as Ryan hated it, Shane was hot. Ryan even caught himself staring at his scruffy beard, his shiny brown eyes, and the muscles he liked to pretend he didn’t have but definitely did have. Shane wasn’t fucking ripped like Ryan was (according to all his friends), but he had muscles. Shane was strong. And Ryan wondered what his strong hands would look like wrapped around Ryan’s ne- nope, nope, Ryan, you’re in public.

Choking kink aside, Ryan really did like Shane. Maybe Ryan even loved Shane. It wasn’t likely Shane had ever, or will ever feel the same back.

“What’re you thinking about, my friend?” Curly asked from beside him.

Ryan shook his head. “Nothing important.” It wasn’t important, really. Ryan would go on pretending he didn’t have feelings for Shane, just like he had probably been pretending for the past five years, and life would go on. Had it really been five years? Yeesh.

Curly looked like he was about to say something, but a loud mic feedback from across the room stopped them both. They turned their heads to a man at the mic. He had dark hair, smoothed back; but he also looked like he came here literally every day. He was wearing a hawaiian t-shirt, as you do, and worn-down jeans.

“Hey, everyone,” said the man as the people went quiet, “I’m Jared, I run this place. I hope you’re all having a great time so far.” He cleared his throat, then continued. “So, uh, today we have a musical guest. I think he should introduce himself actually, so…” He looked to his side, seemingly looking for someone standing at the side of the stage, then turned back. “take it away!” Jared exclaimed, and everybody started to clap. Ryan did, too.

Jared hastily came off the stage, and then another man walked onstage. He was wearing a white button-down, with the first couple of buttons undone, showing off his chest and collarbone. He wore black dresspants and clear framed glasses. He was tall and his hair was a light brown and his beard was neatly trimmed and oh my fucking god, that’s Shane. Ryan realized. His eyes widened like golf balls, and he turned to exchange a look with Curly, who’s eyes were equally as wide.

“Hey,” Shane said (oh my god, it’s fucking Shane) into the mic. “I uh, have a song to sing. I wrote it myself, actually.” The crowd cheered a little, and Shane laughed bashfully. “Yeah.”

As Shane continued talking to the crowd Ryan leaned into Curly and hissed, “Did you know anything about this?!”

Curly whispered back, “No, I would’ve told you. Holy shit, Ryan, he looks good.” And Ryan couldn’t argue with that. Jesus, Shane looked downright incredible in that outfit, and he must’ve gotten another haircut, because he looked like a sophisticated lawyer. For whatever reason, Ryan was into it.

“So, uh, this song is called ‘adore you’,” Shane continued, “It’s about one of my friends. He’s… he’s incredible, really. Inside and out. And, in our friendship we don’t get to, like, express our feelings a lot. It’s mostly jokes and bits. And… I wrote this when I was feeling emotional one day and I just wanted to tell him that- you know what? I’ll just sing it for you.” Shane cut himself off from his story, and in the back of his mind, Ryan wondered who the song was about. Shane had a lot of friendships that were more joking than emotional.

The band behind Shane started to play, and as the intro to the song faded in Shane vocalized with this “Ahh…” that was beautiful and controlled and incredible and how did Ryan not realize that Shane was that good at singing. It made Ryan’s heart do a flip-flop in his chest.

The drums kicked in, and Shane started to sing.

“Walk in your rainbow paradise Strawberry lipstick state of mind”

Holy shit. This song was lovely so far, in Ryan’s opinion. Whoever Shane had written the song about was the luckiest person in the world.

“I get so lost inside your eyes,” Shane continued to sing, “Would you believe it?”

“Never took Shane as a romantic,” Curly nudged Ryan in the shoulder, and Ryan shrugged.

“Me either.” Ryan dazedly wished it was him Shane was singing about. He’d pay good money to get a song as good as that, written just for him.

“You don’t have to say you love me You don’t have to say nothin You don’t have to say you’re mine honey,”

Ryan sighed, smiling. What a sap Shane was. Ryan always knew Shane was a sweetheart. He couldn’t wait to tease him about this.

The chorus kicked in, and Ryan’s breath caught. Shane sang this soft “ahhh” with backing harmonies from the band, and Ryan refused to believe Shane had that much talent. Maybe Ryan was less straight than he originally assumed.

“I’d walk through fire for you, Just let me adore you, oh honey, I’d walk through fire for you, Just let me adore you Like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do,” Shane gripped the mic stand with both his hands, started to tap with his feet, gaining a little bit of confidence as the crowd wooed a little bit. It made Ryan smile even wider to see Shane so happy, so relieved the crowd was enjoying what he’d made.

Shane started to sing the second verse. “Your wonder under summer skies Brown skin and lemon over ice Would you believe it?”

Curly nudged him again. “What?” Ryan asked. Curly just wiggled his eyebrows in response, causing Ryan to flush and shove him playfully. “Curly, you think he’s-? Oh god, dude, no. No. No.” Ryan giggled, embarrassed at the thought.

“I’m just saying,” Curly said, smug, and Ryan decided to give him a shove again.

“You don’t have to say you love me I just wanna tell you something Lately you’ve been on my mind,” The crowd had started to clap along with Shane’s song as the short instrumental in between the bridge and chorus started. Shane laughed bashfully, looking among the crowd of hands clapping. His smile fell ever so slightly as his gaze landed, consequently, on Ryan. Ryan’s breath hitched. Their eye contact was intense, full of an emotion Ryan couldn’t place. He quickly broke the eye contact by shyly looking down at his shoes. Shane’s voice didn’t waver, even if his expression did. He just continued to sing as beautifully as he ever had. The music faded to a simple base as Shane sang the chorus again,

“I’d walk through fire for you Just let me adore you Oh, honey,” The drums and guitar with the lovely melody and the rest of the instruments started to play again. Shane’s gaze flicked to Ryan’s again, and stayed there as he sang the rest of the chorus.

“I’d walk through fire for you Just let me adore you Oh, honey I’d walk through fire for you just let me adore you Like it’s the only thing i’d ever do,” Shane bounced along to the beat as the crowd started to clap again and cheer. Shane was smiling again, and this time the smile didn’t waver as he looked Ryan deep in the eyes and crooned, “Like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do,”

Ryan’s heart skipped a beat. This song couldn’t be about him, it just couldn’t. Shane could never like Ryan. Ryan was… a lot, emotionally. Ryan’s face wasn’t as symmetrical as it could be. Ryan talked too much about sports, his smile was wonky, his-

And with the last kick of the bass drum, the song ended. The crowd, including curly, whooped and cheered and clapped, and Ryan swore he’d never seen Shane smile wider. Ryan clapped too, laughing and smiling. He felt like a proud mother, even though he literally had never seen Shane sing like that.

“Alright, well,” Shane gripped the mic again, and the crowd settled down. “That was a cheese-show, wasn’t it? Gross,” Shane was clearly joking, and the crowd laughed along with him, including Ryan. “Anyways, here’s a song I did not write. Here’s What You Know by Two Door Cinema Club.” The band started to play again, and the crowd cheered as Shane started to sing.

Shane sang a bunch more songs, the rest of them just being covers of other songs that Ryan knew Shane liked. Ryan was genuinely enjoying himself too, and so were the rest of the people in the bar. He even saw some of the bartenders bobbing their heads and tapping their fingers along to the beat of whatever song Shane was singing. Every once in a while, Shane and Ryan would make eye contact, Ryan would flush, and Shane would smile as if he knew something Ryan didn’t; a secret. It was exhilarating to see Shane look at him like that. Ryan didn’t want Shane to stop doing that.

Once Shane finished his last song, he said in the mic to the crowd, “That’s it for tonight, folks. I, uh, I don’t sing often in front of a crowd,” Unless you count creating and singing a song about moonlight and french fries in front of people, Ryan thought to himself, making himself smirk.”So this was really special for me. Thanks to the band back here,” He motioned to the band, and people started to clap, “And thanks for clapping along and stuff. This was fun. Goodnight, enjoy the rest of your night!” And with that, the band started to pack up and Shane walked off of the stage.

Ryan locked eyes with Curly, and they shared a smile. “Should we go up and see him?”

Curly nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, omigod, yes, I am going to tell him to get on the radio, oh my gosh, that was amazing!” He gushed, and grabbed Ryan’s hand and pulled him through the crowd to get to the side of the stage where Shane would be putting away his gear.

When they got to the side of the stage, Shane was standing there, fixing his hair (as if it didn’t look gorgeous already, Ryan thought) and Curly pushed Ryan forward, having him face Shane up close.

“Hey there, Ryan,” Shane said with a soft smile, as suave and as cool as ever, and Ryan couldn’t do anything but gaze up at him amazedly, knowing full-well he looked like a swooning 15 year old girl, and giggle a little bit. God, what was Shane doing to him? He had literally never reacted like this, and yet, after Shane’s whole show, seeing him singing like that, looking like that, dressed like that, Ryan really could do nothing but swoon in his presence.

“Uh, Shane?!” Curly gushed from behind Ryan, taking a step forward and saving Ryan from any more embarrassment. “That was incredible! I didn’t know you could sing like that?!”

“Oh, hey, Curly!” At Curly’s response, Shane blushed a little bit, rubbed the back of his neck bashfully, “Well, uh, yeah. I’ve been writing and singing for a while now, just never got the chance to, like, perform. I struck up a conversation with the guy who owns the place and he brought up the musical guest thing, I told him about my songs, and… yeah. It went from there.” Shane turned back to Ryan, “Now what I want to know, is what you’re doing here.”

Ryan blushed even more. Usually when he blushed it didn’t show too much under slightly dimmed lights like these and under his tanned skin, but he probably looked like an anime girl at this point. “I didn’t know it was a gay bar. Whoops.”

A short silence fell upon the three, and finally Ryan, feeling awkward, softly said, “You were incredible.”

Shane said, “You look incredible.” Ryan looked down, shy. Fuck Shane for making him so bashful.

“Hey, Ryan?” Shane asked. His brown eyes looked so deep, yet so bright and full of emotion.

“Yeah, big guy?” Ryan responded, breath taken away.

“Can we… head outside for a moment?” He looked to Curly for permission, and Curly, the bastard, nodded, a smirk growing on his face. Fuck you, Curly.

“Oh,” Ryan blinked, taken aback by the question, “Yeah. Of course. Sure.”

Shane led the way, and he and Ryan stepped outside the bar. The air was slightly chilly, the sky was dark, devoid of stars, and the wind blew slightly. Ryan shivered, and he felt a large, warm hand on his shoulder.

“Uh,” Shane started, and Ryan glanced at Shane. He seemed… nervous. He was looking at his feet, hands in his pockets. “So… the song… the one I sang in the beginning.” He said, looking unsure/

Ryan nodded, goading him on. “Yeah, that was such a beautiful song, Shane. Whoever you wrote it about is super lucky.” Oh, god, I just said that out loud. Of course. “Uh… it was really good. I liked it. A lot.”

Shane smiled at that, a beautiful smile that Ryan was glad to see on Shane’s face. “Remember when we were filming tourist trapped?”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah?” He remembered it clearly. It was one of the best days of his 2019, hands down.

“I really loved those few days we were filming. It… it was amazing. I loved eating hotdogs and gin with you, going on stupidly scary roller coasters with you, hugging Snoopy with you,” That got a laugh out of both of them, “And it really was some of the greatest days of my life.” That makes two of us. “So… I got home, and… I wrote a song about it.”

Ryans breath caught. He couldn’t mean… “You…” Ryan stammered.

“Adore You is about you, Ry.”

Ryan’s face turned red. “Really?” He practically whispered. Shane nodded. “Shane…”

“Shh,” Shane shushed him, placing a hand on his cheek softly and swooping down to kiss Ryan.

Ryan gasped into the kiss, going still for a few moments before going Oh, yeah, your super hot super cute super sweet best friend is kissing you, you should probably kiss back, and kiss back he did. Shane wouldn’t let the kiss go beyond anything but chaste and sweet, wrapping his arms around Ryan’s waist to pull him closer as Ryan (on his tiptoes) wrapped his arms around Shane’s neck. “Shane,” Ryan sighed dreamily into the kiss, and Shane smiled against his lips in response.

When they finally broke apart for air, Shane smiled, pressing one last kiss to Ryan’s cheek. “Shane.” Ryan said, out of breath.

“Ryan.” Shane replied.

Ryan played with Shane’s collar. “Wanna go back inside?” He shot Shane with his classic puppydog eyes, glancing at him through his lashes. He knew Shane was a sucker for them, kiss or no kiss.

“If you insist,” said Shane, and the two went back inside, blushes on their cheeks and smiles on their faces. Ryan wondered what this meant for them. That kiss was something Ryan didn’t even know that he wanted, until tonight. He shook his head, deciding they’d discuss it later. Right now, he was happy, he was with Shane, and Curly, and this is where we wanted to be.

As they walked back inside, Ryan caught himself humming the ever-so-familiar tune,

just let me adore you, like it’s the only thing i’ll ever do.

#shyan #shyan fanfiction #belle writes #shyan fic

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