#but then the guy decides to grab a shovel and start digging even harder

[nicnevans]

not to talk about bleak shit on main but truly, i wish neil gaiman had just kept his mouth shut at this point. his tumblr went dead fucking silent as soon as the first allegations dropped, and that spoke volumes to me - this was a man who regularly answered asks and engaged with the platform and to this day the last post there was six months ago. he knew he was fucked. but to then go on his web blog, a site where (let's be honest) only his most loyal fans are likely to be tracking activity, and give several paragraphs of wishy-washy handwaving about "misinformation" and claims snowballing into untruths and whatever else. like. neil. stop. my respect for you is already dead in the ground, stop pissing on its grave.

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (365): Fri 17th Mar 2023

Vladimir Putin mocked the UK today by referring to the farming ministers recommendation that we start eating more turnips now that it’s getting harder to get hold of tomatoes, lettuce and cucumbers. Putin had a little dig saying that we would probably need to start getting turnips from him anyway since they’re better than the shit we grow over here. Pretty soon I think it will get so bad that the only way we’ll be able to get tomatoes is if we go to that festival in Spain where they heave them at each other and scrape the resultant tomato pulp from our clothes into Tupperware containers.

A calf that was born with smiley face markings on its side is to be spared the abattoir:

I’m surprised animal rights activists haven’t started spray painting smiley faces on all the other calfs. It's a good thing whoever is in charge of this abattoir isn't in charge of prisoners on death row "I know this serial killer is due for the electric chair but look: the acne on his back sort of looks a bit like a smiling face, let's let him off".

I tried to fix the chain on my bike this evening which was a major mistake. It took me ages to unscrew the nut and even when I did the chain still wouldn’t go over the sprocket. I finally managed to get it on but now the front fucking wheel won’t move! I watched a YouTube video to see what I might have done wrong and the guy in this video says that after you unscrew the nut you need to push the wheel forward which was news to me because I was following the instructions given to me in the manual I got for maintenance of my bike and it doesn't mention this anywhere. After an hour of trying to get the thing to move I became overwrought and grabbed a nearby shovel and prepared to start battering the bike with it but then I noticed that the dirt on the side of the bike had accumulated in such a way that it looked like a smiley face so I decided to let the bike live and I'll reluctantly have to spend yet more money to get the mechanics out to have a look at it.

[cno-inbminor]

immergo

a/n: i recently watched haikyuu and i’m absolutely hooked. to help get it out of my system in time for final papers and assignments, i’m procrastinating by writing this out. hope you enjoy!

featuring: oikawa tooru x fem!reader & some OC’s + iwaizumi

genre: best friends to lovers!au, angst, fluff, slooow burn, some cliches to make people suffer

summary: tooru is as constant as the stars and as real as the earth beneath your feet, yet even for you, he still manages to slip away. and when it’s all too late, only then does he attempt to come back.

word count: 21.9k (this is a monster)

playlist: i wanted to try making one so here's a playlist on spotify: immergo

edit: now crossposted onto AO3 here!

-

You are five years old when you first meet him.

He’s got a terrible bowl cut and sand particles smudged on his cheek. A plastic, ocean blue shovel is dug deep into the sand before being lifted up with a load, then precariously dumped into a matching bucket. A teetering sandcastle threatens to fully collapse, yet somehow still sporting a little plastic yellow umbrella that some other kids might’ve left behind. You’re clutching your mother’s hand, a clenched fist brought up to your mouth to hide the trembling of your lips from the nervousness of approaching new people. The sandbox is a part of the playground, but you want to be there alone. You want to be in your own little world, too terrified to face the unknowns, but after the last two weeks of coming by, this boy is always in the sandbox.

Your mother somehow convinces you that you can make new friends. ‘But don’t boys have cooties?’ you ponder. There’s only a week left until kindergarten starts, and your mother thinks it would be nice to try to meet someone so you’ll at least have some semblance of familiarity. Just when you think you’re brave enough, you almost yelp in renewed fear when another boy comes into the scene and plops down next to the other boy, his own pair of a bucket and shovel dyed a bright, firetruck red, and is ready to start digging up sand. You watch him eye the falling castle, grumbling something to the other boy before attempting to patch it and stand it back up. The other boy stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth before morphing his face into a childish, happy grin. And immediately, you think, ‘Oh wow, I like his smile.’

Not only is it bright and wide, but there’s a certain feeling of gentleness. None of this is eloquently elaborated in your brain, but there’s a comfort that settles into your mind. That smile is what causes you to (though still hesitantly) let go of your mother’s hand and slowly wobble to the sand box, pause, before you step up and over the wooden border. The two boys have ceased their castle-building duties to stare at you, who’s now sitting in the sand and looking towards anything but them. Your head scrambles to remind yourself on how to say hello, and it must’ve done something correctly because before they can ask questions, you quietly ask, “Can I play with you guys?”

Both boys look toward each other, giving a look, before the boy with the red bucket shrugs and says, “Okay. As long as you don’t mess up my castle.”

Bowl-cut tyke flicks sand at him, causing him to splutter and yell in protest. ��Don’t be so mean, Hajime!” Bowl-cut scolds before turning back to you with that earlier grin. “I’m Oikawa Tooru and he’s Iwaizumi Hajime. Wanna help me with my castle?”

And ever since you moved to this new city until now, your mother has never seen your eyes so bright.

-

You are ten years old when Oikawa, with a better hairstyle, receives his first love confession of sorts (because you’re ten).

It takes until fifth grade for you to be finally in a class with both him and Iwaizumi. Other years either had one or neither of them, but you were still able to reconvene during recess. The three of you are attached at the hips during those 30 minutes, either running around in a game of tag, swinging as fast as you could across the monkey bars, or seeing who could swing the highest.

On days when the swings are particularly busy, the three of you would take turns pushing each other, trading off once one of you had your fill. “Higher!” Oikawa would always yell happily, his voice blending in with the rest of the screams and laughs in the playground. With your own laughs leaving your lips as you attempt to push the swing, Iwaizumi would instead yell back at him, “Use your own legs, idiot! That’s what they’re for!” To which Oikawa would whine, but eyes would still crinkle in childish delight as he approached the sky.

But Oikawa notices a lot of things, more than the average fifth grader does. Then again, it isn’t hard to spot the group of giggling girls under a tree’s shade nearby, evidently gazing at him in wonder and affection. He feels his heart soar at the attention and in turn, pumps his legs even harder, almost reaching perpendicular height to the ground. Oikawa admits that he is a bit of a show-off, he wants to be the best, and without warning, releases his hands from the chains and jumps off from the swing.

Both you and Iwaizumi gape at him with a mixture of horror and awe. If you could put this moment in slow motion, you would see Oikawa suspended in mid-air, yet somehow seeming to soar like a bird. His jacket flows behind him as his arms lift up to give a sense of balance, legs stretching out to get ready to meet the ground. You wonder what the expression on his face is like, yet the terror manifests itself into your shriek of his name, pitch and tone overpowering a similar call from Iwaizumi. But Oikawa is Oikawa and he lands on both feet, knees bent and almost touching the ground before straightening back up. You’re about to start running towards him, feet already moving, until you stop because he’s twisting himself towards you and Iwaizumi, V-sign held up and that same, big grin he always has. The sun casts a halo around him and you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your feet stay rooted on the mulch and you watch as Iwaizumi stomps over to punch Oikawa in the arm, yelling about how he could’ve broken his legs and who would he play volleyball with then, leaving you to spot the aforementioned fangirls huddled like they’re coming up with a grand plan.

At first, you think nothing of it. It isn’t until after school as the three of you are walking towards the entrance when you wish you were more perceptive like Oikawa. One of the girls from under the tree has gone up to him, quickly bowing while introducing herself, grabs one of his hands to slap a folded piece of paper into it, and almost sprints away. Oikawa doesn’t have a chance to say anything, but he can only give himself a few seconds to register what just happened and unfold the ripped notebook paper. Inside in pretty cursive is an email address (because none of you have cellphones yet), which causes Oikawa to put on a shit-eating grin. He just basically received a love note, a confession, and his ego has just been fed a meal fit for a king.

He brags and boasts the whole way home, causing a permanent frown to settle on Iwaizumi’s face from pure irritation, and you find yourself only able to stay quiet, pondering and contemplating what this small nasty feeling inside your chest could be.

-

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are fourteen years old, nearly fifteen, when you receive your first love confession, which ends up being a little more refined than a hastily torn piece of notebook paper possessing an email address.

Their afternoons and early evenings are occupied by volleyball. While you had been at Lil Tykes from the ages of 6 to 10, mainly due to a massive fear of missing out and wanting to spend more time with your new best friends then, you didn’t have as much talent as those two and decided to pursue other interests. Iwaizumi and Oikawa had protested vehemently when you broke the news to them one evening over dinner at the setter's house, their mouths full of rice and chicken curry yet somehow still managing to speak over the food. Oikawa’s mother had seen you shrink further and further into your chair before slamming her hand on the table, causing the two boys to startle and cease their yelling.

“Respect (y/n)’s interests! I did not raise you,” she spoke pointedly, directing a finger at her now ashamed son, “to be so rude. If she doesn’t want to play volleyball anymore, then she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t need to keep doing something she doesn’t want to do just because you two said so. Now, both of you apologize to (y/n) and finish your dinner.”

“Yes, mother,” and “Yes, auntie,” both quietly left their lips. You wanted to hug the woman right then and there, tears nearly forming and spilling over at the fact that she was on your side. The two boys had put their spoons down and waited for a few seconds before Iwaizumi finally spoke.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you. We’re just gonna miss you a lot,” he apologized, tone sad and soft. Oikawa was still chewing on his bottom lip when Iwaizumi elbowed him to say something. “Apologize, you idiot,” he hissed.

“Ow! I know, geez. I’m sorry, too. Mom’s right, I should respect what you want to do. We’re gonna miss seeing you, like this meanie said,” Oikawa jabbing a thumb in the direction of his male best friend. Their eyes are still downcast until you let out a small giggle.

“Apologies accepted, you dummies.”

You still found time after your new art classes to go watch them play volleyball with either Iwazumi’s or Oikawa’s mother picking you all up and heading home. The three of you still lived near each other, and the two boys were happy that they could still see you somehow. Lil Tykes after school evolved into official middle school volleyball practice, yet you were still commonly found in the bleachers finishing homework or doodling in a sketchbook, patiently waiting for your two best friends to go home with you.

A teammate by the name of Wakeda had taken notice of you, had seen your interactions with the best players on their team. He had seen how nice you were with your classmates, yet still unafraid to give Oikawa and Iwaizumi shit for the smallest things. Your aura is pleasant and raw in a genuine sense, only fueling his budding, burning crush on you. He decided he wanted to be confident and bold, hoping that you would give him a chance.

The Friday afternoon starts off like any other -- Iwaizumi and Oikawa head off to volleyball practice with a greeting and a wave, receiving one from you in return as you make your way towards the math club. The art classes from late elementary school only served to show that you only possessed some mild talent for drawing and painting, but not enough for you to continue paying money for classes. The passion and drive didn’t exist for you there, not like it does with Iwaizumi and Oikawa in volleyball, and it only became something that you enjoyed in your leisure time. Instead, you eventually find yourself balancing math club and chess club -- math is on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons while chess is on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, but they never run as late as volleyball practice.

As tiring as math club can be sometimes, you usually somehow still find the energy to finish the bulk of your homework before heading home. When you walk through the bleachers and settle into your normal seat, the team spots you and gives you a casual wave. You smile and wave back, setting your stuff down before you clamber towards the edge of the rail and look down to spot the manager. On time, she looks up and greets you with a matching smile, ones that you return. The team is coincidentally taking a quick water break, giving Oikawa and Iwaizumi enough time to quickly chat with you from below (and escape their coach for a hot second).

“How was math club?” Iwaizumi calls out. Oikawa subtly observes you as you shrug. To both him and Hajime, the mental exhaustion is evident on your face and figure, yet they always find themselves asking, waiting, watching.

“It was okay,” you respond, fighting back a yawn. “Practice competition round was a bit brutal. How’s practice?” You quickly digress, noticing Oikawa was about to jump in and ask for some details.

“This crappy guy over here keeps pushing himself too much. You know, the usual,” Iwaizumi speaks before, once again, Oikawa can say anything. The latter turns to him and lets out an indignant “Hey!” before quickly attempting to defend himself.

“Iwa-chan is being mean, I’m not--”

“All right, let’s get back to work! Everybody back on the court!” The coach yells and Oikawa can only drop his shoulders and sigh, slightly trudging back into the bounds of the court outline. You stare after him worriedly -- both he (mainly out of stubbornness) and Iwaizumi (mainly out of friendship and loyalty) had been pulling late extra practice sessions and the dark eye circles were starting to become more and more noticeable. As if he could tell what you were probably thinking, he turns back and gives a thumbs up with a grin, tongue slightly poking out. You can only roll your eyes at his antics, returning to your seat in the bleachers and pulling out your science homework.

The minutes tick by as the sun slowly begins to set, rays streaming through the windows of the gym in a harsh blood orange. The coach takes a look at his watch before blowing his whistle, signalling the end of practice. The sound of volleyballs hitting skin abruptly stops, except for one last jump-serve that Oikawa sneaks in. The coach berates him loudly, only causing Oikawa to sheepishly smile and rub the back of his neck. All the players bow and announce their thanks before moving to complete their respective clean-up duties. By this time, you gather your stuff and make your way towards the ground floor. Even if your best friends were going to do some extra practice, it’s better for you to sit at their level against the wall.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor increases in volume as you approach the court. But before you can make your way towards Iwaizumi and Oikawa on the other side of the net, Wakeda calls out your name. You turn towards the left to see him pick up a volleyball not far from you, and Wakeda is counting his lucky stars that he was provided with an excuse to be near you.

“Aoki-san,” you greet him by his last name. “How was practice?”

“It was good, but Coach really worked us to the bone today,” he nervously replies, hands subtly clenching the volleyball in his hands. “I was wondering if I could speak with you for a second? In private?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’ve never really had much interaction with him outside of volleyball practice, and even then it was very limited to pleasantries. Perhaps it’s about Iwaizumi and Oikawa running themselves to the ground, and nothing to do with you. “Sure,” you agree, looking around before gesturing towards the door of the gym. “We can talk out here, if you’d like.” Wakeda quickly nods and follows you. At this time, the other boys have retreated towards the locker room except for one. One who narrows his eyes at the retreating backs of two people making their way out of the gym.

He puts the last ball in the ball cart, ignoring his friend’s confused look as he jogs towards the entrance of the gym and leans against the wall out of sight. He knows it's wrong to eavesdrop, but he just has to know about what could be unfolding.

The two of you are only a few feet away from the open door and you can only look perplexed as Wakeda begins to look more and more bashful, stumbling over words and anxiously tossing the ball side to side between his hands.

“Is everything okay?” You ask worriedly, trying to maintain eye contact until you can because he’s looking straight down towards the ground. Your heart pounds in your chest as you start to fathom what might be happening.

“I’m sorry, I just -- I like you. I think you’re really nice and cool, and I would like it if I could take you out on a date.”

You’re stunned into silence. Never has anyone expressed any semblance of romantic interest in you, nor has anyone confessed. You’ve never been in this position and the first thing your brain starts to unravel is the puzzle of how to turn someone down. It’s not that going on a date with Wakeda would be terrible -- you just don’t know enough about him. You don’t want to bring his hopes up, but you don’t want to bring him down either.

On the other side of the wood, the boy’s eyebrows are furrowed. His arms are crossed and a foot is perched against the wall, legs making the shape of the number four. His eyes are burning holes into the window across from him and he can’t figure out why a feeling of protectiveness is washing over him. But what he can’t figure out even more is why his mind is instantly screaming, “Please say no please say no please say no don’t say yes don’t leave us don’t leave me--”

“I’m sorry,” he hears, ears straining to catch your voice as you softly apologize. You watch as Wakeda’s shoulders slump and the volleyball is finally kept still between his hands. You gently put a hand on his upper arm. “I can tell you’re a nice guy, but I don’t feel that way about you. I’m sorry.”

Wakeda lets out a long breath before mustering up his best smile for you. “It’s okay, I was kind of expecting it." A hand reaches up to run a hand through his hair in embarrassment and he’s trying to think of what to say next. Be bold, be confident, his inner self reminds him as he stands tall again. Wakeda puts up the cheekiest smile you’ve seen on him so far. “But I’ll be waiting, if you ever change your mind.”

The statement only makes you smile first and then chuckle. Wakeda basks in the sound for as long as he can before he shyly joins you. The laughter isn’t meant to demean him in any way, but it’s the only reaction you can feel yourself make. It’s all so foreign to you, but you’re glad that your first interaction like this is with someone as kind as him. You trust Oikawa’s teammates.

“Thank you though, it must’ve taken a lot of courage to do this. To be honest, this has never happened to me before and I just don’t know what to say,” you ramble a little, now wondering if you’ve said too much. Wakeda begins to look a little more comfortable before making his way back to the gym with you following.

“Would it be cheesy to say I’m glad I was the first?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I know now that I’m never changing my mind.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Wakeda exclaims, only causing you to laugh. “You gotta leave some room for chance so--”

“Oi, Wakeda,” you hear a familiar voice call out. Your eyes spot Oikawa slowly making his way from the other side of the gym, walking towards you two with a hand in a pocket and another hand in the air, waving. But it’s perplexing because his chest is heaving like he just sprinted his fastest around the court. “Is that the last ball?”

“Ah, yes, sorry senpai!” Wakeda apologizes before tossing the ball into Oikawa’s awaiting hand. It quickly gets thrown into the ball cart. When you two are standing right in front of him, your friend pats Wakeda on the shoulder. “Go ahead and clean up, you deserve a break,” he says before smiling. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes or even match his eyes. His chestnut orbs have another emotion burning in them, far from the light they would usually glint when paired with a genuine grin. Wakeda quickly lets out a “see you around” and you wave back at him. Once the boy has disappeared into the locker room, you direct your attention back to Oikawa. That earlier fire in his eyes has dimmed a little, but you want to know what it is and why it’s there.

A word barely leaves your tongue when strong arms hug you to a sturdy chest. They intertwine around your shoulders, the squeeze becoming more and more constricting. Your chest tightens and you’re not sure if it’s your heartbeat or his that you’re feeling beat against your chest. In a movement of instinct, you hesitantly wrap your own arms around Oikawa, hand linking to hold onto your own wrist behind his back. Your face is pressed into his shoulder, your nose catching the lingering scent of his deodorant mixed with his sweat. His chin is perched over your shoulder momentarily before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, causing you to stiffen.

It’s not that Oikawa has never hugged you before. There have been plenty of hugs with the two boys over the last nine years, but something is different about this one. There’s an underlying intention hidden in the muscles of Oikawa’s arms, hidden in the way that he breathes in your scent. Something heavy is unspoken as a sense of intimacy falls over the two of you like a soft blanket. You can only gently grasp the back of his jersey, his grip somehow tightening even more, and finally find your voice to speak.

“Tooru,” you murmur, fighting the sensation of your heart caught in your throat. Very rarely do you ever say his name in that tone, one so gentle and full of friendly affection (but did he want it to be just friendly?), so caring and drowned in empathy. “Is everything okay?” You continue and ask. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to scream it through his mind, hoping it’ll somehow miraculously meet yours. But even he doesn’t understand what’s drawing him to do this. All he knows is that as soon as Wakeda was out of sight, he needed you here in his arms. The non-verbal pleas of worry and want from earlier have substantially settled, now morphing into thoughts of “It’s okay, she’s here, she isn’t leaving us, she isn’t leaving me--”. It must be the stress from wanting to become the best, from the stress of Kageyama Tobio’s looming ascent to the top, from the general stress of classes. It must be those. It couldn’t be anything else.

“Everything’s fine,” he replies into your neck, sound muffled but just as quiet as yours had been. You can only feel your heart sink at how strained those words came out. Everything was clearly not fine. Your hands unlink and move to his waist, putting some force into your palms to try to separate from him so you can see his face. But Oikawa quickly protests a soft “no”, once again pulling you as close to him as possible with an arm around your waist and the other soon joining. He can’t handle distance from you right now, some budding anxiety from your attempts at separation quickly subdued as you’re pressed fully against his chest again. “Just give me this moment,” he thinks and pleads to some unknown force.

“I’m just...stressed,” he says before letting out a long breath and disentangling himself from you. But he doesn’t move far, the tips of both of your sneakers just centimeters apart from touching. He straightens his back and lifts his head to momentarily look into your eyes, your own face slightly tilted upwards to meet his gaze. But before you can decipher the emotions in his eyes, his head tilts down to lean his forehead against yours. Though his eyes are closed, yours are still open in muted astonishment. If the hug wasn’t very new, then this action was definitely new. The tip of his nose barely grazes yours, causing your breath to hitch, once again feeling your heart stuck in your throat. You struggle to breathe, especially when his lips are so close to yours. Somehow your thoughts drift to thinking of what would happen if you elevated your feet just a little bit, what would it feel like if your lips softly met his--

“There’s a lot going on,” he interrupts your (silly, silly) thoughts. “I keep getting reminded of how I’m not good enough, and maybe I never will be. But I want to be the best, you know?” For how tall Oikawa is, you’ve never heard him sound so small before. Your eyes can’t help but flutter closed as you relish in the sound of his voice. You try to understand what he’s feeling, the frustration, the stress, the insecurity.

“I hate knowing there’s someone better out there. I hate that there’s someone out there, right here, who’s got the pure talent and prodigal level that I don’t have because I keep getting reminded of how I’m not the one who has it. It’s just not fair, (y/n), do you understand?”

“But I know you’re here for me. And Iwaizumi. I know you believe in me and in us. You're right here with us. You always are,” he continues before you can affirm and acknowledge him. His fingers ghost over your skin, up from your wrists, to your elbows, then your shoulders, lastly lingering at the sides of your neck. Goosebumps break out in the wake of his tender trail and you fight the urge to shiver. You so badly want to open your eyes and drink in this moment of vulnerability from Oikawa, but you’re afraid that you’ll do something rash, something you’ll regret. You’re then given all the more reason to keep your eyes shut when his hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs on your cheeks, the other fingers softly splayed down your neck. He inhales sharply, then daring to slant his head down just the slightest distance, your noses firmly touching now. Your heart is now thrashing wildly against your ribcage -- you have no grasp on what is happening.

“Promise me you’ll never leave us, (y/n),” he implores, raw desperation laced and building in his voice. You can’t help but recognize the tears uncontrollably forming behind your eyelids. Nothing else around you matters -- it’s only you and Oikawa in this impenetrable bubble that you two have created. You’re too far in now, sinking and drowning into this body of water that is him, entangled and rooted in this web that he’s so quickly and craftily woven. He could ask anything of you and you would do it in the blink of an eye. How he made you feel this way in just a few minutes, from the door of the gym to the embrace of his arms, is completely beyond you, but you can’t seem to find the complaints within you. ‘How cruel of him,’ you despondently think, still unable to find it in yourself to be mad. ‘How wicked of him.’

But then Oikawa deals the final blow with a shaky breath. He lays out his last trap, one that you can’t escape. It’s the final straw, the last pull into a heartbreaking world that you will never be able to escape from for as far into the future as you can see; desperation, yearning, beseeching.

“Promise that you’ll never leave me.”

Nothing, nothing, can stop you from whispering what he so deeply desires to hear, fall delicately off your tongue.

“I promise.”

And his lips crash onto yours.

-

You and Iwaizumi are fifteen years old when Oikawa falls to his lowest.

The kiss was a one-time thing. It had lasted no more than a few seconds when the sound of the locker room door swinging open had you two jumping apart and turning away from each other. Oikawa found it easier than you did to compose himself, though internally he was berating his actions. What was it that made him do such a thing? What was it that pushed him to cross the line he never thought he’d cross? What was it that made him want to spin back around and continue what he had started?

“Iwa-chan!” He had hollered across the building, waving over said male who had smartly refrained from changing his clothes. “Help with some tosses? Serves?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Iwaizumi had muttered under his breath, grunting his affirmation loud enough. But in his peripheral, he had spotted your figure hunched over your things on the bench, had squinted at the way you seemed to be shaking, shivering. He had noticed the look, almost a glare, that Oikawa had directed towards Wakeda before imperceptibly shaking his head to focus on the extra task.

And it wasn’t until weeks later that Oikawa breached the subject during a walk home, sans you because you had late night practice with the math club to prepare for some upcoming Olympiad competition. You were insistent through text that they didn't wait for you and that one of your teammates would help walk you home. Oikawa argued quite relentlessly against it until you threatened to block him from the group chat (though it wasn’t the first time you threatened such a thing) and Iwaizumi decided to take his phone away.

While much wasn’t being said, mainly both preoccupied with their popsicles that they had stopped at a convenience store for, Oikawa broke the silence.

“I kissed (y/n).”

Iwaizumi nearly choked on his popsicle, spluttering and struggling to find the right words to say. Yet the best he could come up with was, “So are you two...dating?”

“No.”

“What the fuck? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we’re best friends, Iwa-chan. I didn’t know when to tell you though, thought you’d get mad at me,” Oikawa said, pouting childishly.

“So...well, you can tell me what happened before it later. But what happened after? And when did this even happen?”

“Everything just went back to normal. We never spoke about it. And it happened a few weeks ago in the gym after practice.”

“But why?”

“Hmm…” Oikawa had pondered for a few seconds and then shrugged. “Not sure. I was just really stressed, and I was scared that she’d leave us.”

“Us? How am I included in this? And where’d you even come up with that thought?”

“Because it’s always been us three, and it’s always gonna be us. We can’t be apart.”

“We’re eventually going to be apart, you know. It’s not likely that we’re all going to end up in the same city.”

“No,” Oikawa spoke obstinately, hands harshly crushing the wrapper around the now empty popsicle stick. “That’s not going to happen. We’re going to stick together wherever we go. We’ll play for the national team and (y/n) will find a job in Tokyo. We’re always going to be near each other. That’s how it’ll be. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Iwaizumi had nothing to say about that, except for, “We’ll see.”

In the month or so to the blossoming age of fifteen, things don’t change very much. Oikawa becomes more physically affectionate with you and Iwaizumi. You try not to notice how often and how casually Oikawa tends to sling an arm over your shoulders. He does the same with Iwaizumi, though the latter is more likely to shrug it off in mock annoyance and causes Oikawa to lament about lost friendships. But even if physical distance has shortened, Oikawa begins to dig a mental wall between you two. His face becomes more hardened during practice, rarely ever putting up an earnest smile with his teammates. The late-night practices run even later, each serve hitting harder, each toss against the wall getting stronger. The nights when you leave him on his own slowly increase in frequency, going back home with only Iwaizumi. The third leg of the triangle missing feels so adulterated, so wrong. Oikawa is digging himself towards a hell that he won’t be able to return from, but how can you lift him back up? How can you dig your heels into the earth and pull him back out?

“I’m trying my best,” Iwaizumi attempts to comfort you one night. He sees how often you turn back to look at Oikawa as the two of you reluctantly move to leave the gym. Practice had been rough on him, getting switched out with Kageyama Tobio. You had watched his defeated body collapse onto the bench, and there was nothing more that you wanted to do than to run down and snap him out of whatever mental spiral he had created. One serve after another slams into the ground, his figure hunched and panting yet pushing itself to the limits.

“He’s going to kill himself at this rate,” you whisper morosely, turning back to peer at the dark sky. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“You know there’s no one more stubborn than that idiot. He’d have to pass out for you to drag him out of here.”

“Please teach me how to serve!” A young male voice calls out. Both of you pivot on your feet to see the source, eyes focusing on the scene of Kageyama Tobio requesting a seemingly simple task from a senpai.

But you can only watch as Oikawa’s eyes lose any semblance of emotion, instead only darkening with what seems like rage entering his body. He begins to tremble, and Iwaizumi must’ve seen something shift because no sooner than that does he bolt at top speed towards the unsuspecting pair. You can only watch in horror, shell-shocked, as Oikawa begins to forcibly swing his right arm, the back of his hand aiming straight for Tobio’s right cheek.

A horrible screech unearths from your throat in the form of a piercing “NO!” and slices through the air, just as Iwaizumi is able to stop Oikawa’s assault on the poor unsuspecting underclassman. You’ve never seen him so uncontrolled, so ready to intentionally commit an act of violence against an innocent person. Your ears pulse with your heartbeat, barely registering Iwaizumi apologizing to Tobio and giving Oikawa the lecture of his life.

The latter is reminded of the purpose of having a team, is scolded for having been so selfish in his pursuit for excellence. You start sprinting over when Iwaizumi headbutts Oikawa in the nose for his insolence, tossing your bag down as it only decreases your speed. You don’t care for the trouble of cleaning out blood stains from towels when you begin to clean his face, his eyes still furious and full of anguish but somewhat softened when he sees your tears. He continues to let Iwaizumi teach him a lesson while you pinch the bridge of his nose and tilt his head back. Like handling a doll, you have to lift his arm so he can keep the towel in place himself. You then scurry off to find the first-aid kit, leaving Oikawa to fend for himself. Only a couple of minutes later, the three of you are sitting on the ground and you’re dabbing ointment on the emerging bruise right in the middle of Iwaizumi’s forehead. Iwaizumi is a little calmer now, though he’s still verbally punishing Oikawa for even thinking of purposefully hurting a teammate.

Oikawa thinks the three of you are all fine and okay. He’d be ridiculously thickheaded if he wasn’t able to catch onto how quiet you are on the walk home, how instead of walking between him and Iwaizumi, you’re now on the opposite end. There’s a tug at his heartstrings when he plays with the idea that you’re attempting to put distance between you and him, but he refuses to believe it. His actions were a momentary lapse in terrible, awful judgment, and you had forgiven him. Why else would you have tried to help with his nosebleed? There’s no way you’d let something like this drive a rift in the trio.

There’s just no way.

-

“You’ve been avoiding him, haven’t you?”

There are times when you forget that Iwaizumi can be just as perceptive as Oikawa. For the last two weeks, you would, more often than not, avoid them during lunch. You attempt to show up at their volleyball practice as late as possible, saying that your club activities went longer than usual to prepare for upcoming competitions. You still walk on the opposite side from Oikawa on the way home and only give the bare minimum answers to any of his questions, leaving very little room to continue conversation. The atmosphere is heavy and awkward, tension so thick that Iwaizumi would need a chainsaw to cut through it.

This time you’re on the roof of the school. It’s cliché, so cliché, but the weather was too hard to ignore. Mostly cloudy with a slight wind, the perfect temperature without feeling too hot or too cold. You loved being outside during these days, and you had weaved as fast as possible through the emerging crowd of third years, up the stairs, and onto your personal sanctuary. Your bento is half-eaten when Iwaizumi makes his presence known. You should’ve seen this coming.

“He’s worried about you, y’know?”

“I know.”

“He misses you.”

“I know.”

“...he wants to know if you’re avoiding him because of that incident.”

“...which one?”

“The kiss.”

You whip your head in his direction, giving Iwaizumi an incredulous and affronted look. Instinctively, Iwaizumi throws his hands up, signaling that you shouldn’t shoot the messenger. God, Oikawa could be such a clueless buffoon sometimes. You scoff and nearly snort. Iwaizumi looks about ready to tear his hair out.

“So the great king thinks that I’m avoiding him over something that we haven’t talked about that happened a few months ago?”

Iwaizumi can’t find the words when you slam your bento box down on the ground, chopsticks thrown haphazardly on top and almost rolling off the edges. Iwaizumi catches them as you stand up in anger and begin to pace in front of him.

“Who does he think he is? He’s got a decent following of fangirls to help stroke his ego, and I’m sure some of them are more than willing to worship the ground he walks on. His teammates practically idolize him -- sans you -- but he thinks I’m losing sleep over some kiss we had months ago? It would make much more sense if this had been a couple of weeks after that, but we’re talking months right now! How is it," you stop in your stride, bottom lip beginning to tremble as you look down at Iwaizumi. "How is it that he’s one of my best friends who’s known me for almost 10 years, a genius in his own way, but still can’t tell that I’m avoiding him because I’m scared of him?”

This time, Iwaizumi is confused.

“You’re scared of Oikawa?” He asks, trying to confirm what he just heard.

You let out a long breath, forcing yourself to simmer down and keep a cool head. Part of you feels guilty, yet another part feels justified for your actions. You were only protecting yourself; it was only natural.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” you begin, gingerly sitting back down next to him. The comfort of your best friend that you’ve been denying yourself of is granted as you rest your head on his shoulder. You link an arm around his as well as you begin to curl into a familiar position. Iwaizumi only naturally rests his head on top of yours, hands folded in his lap and legs stretched out.

“I’ve never seen him look so angry, even when that one kid in second grade tried to make fun of you. Or even when someone took the shit talking too far at an official game last year. But he was ready, Iwa-kun. He was ready to displace Tobio out of sheer anger and spite. I know he knows better now. I’ve seen how much better he meshes with you all on the court and attempts to bring the best out of everyone. But it’s hard to look at him sometimes and forget what he was then. What if he gets mad like that at us one day? What if he tries to hit you?”

What if he tries to hit me? is left unsaid, but they ring loud and clear in both of your heads.

“The idiot knows that I could take him down in a fight if it ever came to it. And since it’s apparently not obvious, I’m just letting you know that Shittykawa would rather throw himself off a cliff before ever laying a finger on you like that.”

“But how can you guarantee that?” You argue back, lifting your head up to look him square in the eyes. You want to see if the same hesitancy is reflected in his orbs, the same uncertainty that had been slowly building up in you as an ugly beast. Instead, his eyes are steady and full of promise, never straying from yours as he ends the debate.

“You can trust me. And if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll do anything to make up for it, though the chances are very, very low. They’re practically non-existent.”

And if Iwaizumi says so, well…then it probably is so.

“...I trust you then,” you comply, your head leaning down to rest on his shoulder again. “You better be right.”

“I know I am.”

Silence.

“If you’re not going to eat the rest of your bento, you should give it to him. He’d be happy to see you.”

A few sighs later, a couple of stretches, some steps down the stairs, you find yourself stuck at the door of their classroom. You can see him with his jacket on, head buried in his arms on his desk and turned towards the windows. Iwaizumi gives you an encouraging pat on the shoulder and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Somehow you find yourself demurely sitting in the empty desk chair in front of him, hands clutching your bento box and chopsticks. Iwaizumi stands by you and watches as you quietly gulp.

“Tooru, wake up.”

Oikawa thinks he’s dreaming. More often than not, you had plagued his visions in sleep, often ending with you attempting to wake him up, but it had been spoken by his mother. He would be disappointed that it wasn’t you by his bedside trying to goad him out from under the sheets.

“Tooru, wake up. I have food.”

This is different. His eyes are bleary and caked with exhaustion, vision catching the light that peaks from under his elbows. Her voice is so close -- he has to give in and just look. Oikawa lifts his head and stares in front of him. He blinks once, then twice, then multiple times, and you’re still there. This is not a dream, he concludes. This is too good to be a dream.

You watch him warily as he attempts to gather his bearings. In the meantime, you open your bento and grab the last onigiri. When Oikawa begins to form the sounds for your name, you quickly stuff the rice ball into his mouth, causing him to give a muffled protest and use one hand to prevent the food from dropping. You watch with muted delight as everything begins to hit him all at once: the food in his mouth, you in front of him with a close-lipped smile, Iwaizumi leaning on the desk next to you two, the sunlight beaming through the windows.

His eyes slightly water, choosing wisely to not say anything for now. Oikawa dutily finishes the rice ball before you place the bento in front of him with chopsticks neatly arranged to the right of it. His hands shoot out to cover yours before they leave the bento, squeezing gently as he looks at you with apologetic puppy eyes. You can’t stop your smile from widening, and only then does Oikawa happily let go, thank the food, and begin to chow down with a gusto that had been missing for the last week.

Things are going to be okay. Unless that group of fangirls seething at you over in the corner is an indication of something otherwise.

-

You turn sixteen when Oikawa gets his first, real girlfriend.

It’s your first year at Aoba Johsai and Oikawa has captured the hearts of many people from around the area, be it still from middle school, or even some of the upperclassmen. Those who are engrossed in school volleyball were surprised to hear that he didn’t matriculate into Shiratorizawa. And because Oikawa keeps most everyone at arm’s length, only very few people know the reason why. It wasn’t that he was good enough to get in, that’s for sure -- it had mainly been him refusing to “serve” Ushijima. The Herculean boy can criticize his choices all he wants, but Oikawa will never step down from his pedestal willingly.

What no one knows besides Oikawa himself is that Ushijima was only 70% of the reason. The other 30%? He was not going to be the one that separates the trio. What a hypocrite he would be if he had left after having so passionately convinced Iwaizumi that the three of you would always be with each other.

Little do the two boys know that you had seriously considered going to Shiratorizawa. They knew how smart you were as you consistently placed in the top 5 of your class throughout middle school. What they didn’t catch onto was also how well you did in math club and chess club -- to be fair, they knew you excelled, they just weren’t sure of the details. Inquiries about your competitions were always answered in team format: we did well or we placed pretty high. The same existed for chess competitions -- you weren’t a national champion by any means, but you were still somewhat recognized. But again, the same answers were given: we all did well. Math club and chess club never had the public presence that other clubs did. Very few cared, and much less was said.

Before Oikawa pointed out how disgusted he was by the idea of going to Shiratorizawa, you had studied for their entrance exams in your spare time. You didn’t play any sports, so those scholarships were out of the question. It’d all have to be based on merit and you were ready to prove yourself. You had gotten past the first two rounds of exams without them knowing, and your nights only became longer and longer as the material increased in difficulty. But then the two boys talked about going to Aoba Johsai together since they were invited anyways, and not long after, you found yourself at the entrance of the testing center with Oikawa and Iwaizumi on either side, putting Shiratorizawa to the back of your mind.

Things are more brutal in high school. Subjects are more difficult, classes take more time, after-school activities often extend past the sunset. There are physically not enough hours in a day to spend nearly the amount of time you used to have with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. The fangirls increase, Iwaizumi’s irritation becomes more exaggerated, and Oikawa becomes too nice on the fan-service.

He’s the triple threat: smart, kind, an amazing volleyball player. You and Iwaizumi can only roll your eyes as he plasters on his fakest grin for the crowd of girls huddling around him, demanding his attention. A part of him is thankful that so many seem to admire him. As much as he won’t return the affection, he welcomes the non-stop stroking of his ego. It does wonders at keeping his insecurities at bay, even if he knows that everything is superficial and surface level. They think they know him, but only a handful of people truly understand his personality.

So when Oikawa announces on the train home that he’s taking a girl out on a date, you and Iwaizumi can only passively nod, thinking that nothing will come of it. Then the second date happens, the third, the fourth, and then the stamp of the label between the two.

“I have a girlfriend now, guys!”

“Like actually? Sounds fake to me,” Iwaizumi scoffs, Oikawa taking offense.

“You wound me, Iwa-chan! What do you take me for, a heartless player?”

“Somewhat,” you jokingly supply, eyes still trained on your notes from your biology class. You don’t need to physically see him to know that he’s pouting and threatening to stick his tongue out at you. “Who’s the poor girl?” You ask, not really expecting much.

“She’s in your class, actually. Tachi Misaki?”

Your eyes stop registering any of the text that you’ve written. How did you miss that? How did you miss the fact that the girl he’d been dating was sitting only two rows away from you?

“Well,” you reply, clearing your throat. “All I can say is that you’re shooting above your level.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad, plus she’s really smart and pretty. She seems kinda low maintenance, pretty chill. Makes pretty good cookies. You think I could get her to learn how to make milk bread? But only if she has time.”

A heavy sigh leaves you as you stick a pencil between the pages and snap the notebook shut. Iwaizumi looks deep in thought before asking, “You think you’ll be able to handle her?”

“I mean, I’ve been going out on dates with her up ‘til now. She seemed fine and said she knew how busy my training schedule was. Like I said, she’s chill. Doubt she’s ever going to be super clingy or anything like that.”

By this time, you’ve all arrived at Oikawa’s house. He waves goodbye as he enters the front door, leaving Iwaizumi to walk you home.

“I give it three months, max,” you tell him. It’s mean, but you know Oikawa. He’ll be the most caring boyfriend in the beginning, but then he’ll get too comfortable, too complacent. He’ll unknowingly rely on the other person to comply with his needs rather than continuing to compromise to meet theirs. It’s only a matter of time before Misaki realizes that.

“I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt...maybe he’ll finally wake up, y’know. He’ll have an excuse to stop putting in extra practice or do something other than watching Shiratorizawa matches ‘til 2AM.”

At that, you cast a disbelieving look at him, his eyes catching yours. It isn’t long until you’re both failing to keep your laughter in. Oikawa Tooru? Ditching the opportunity for extra practice? Over his dead body.

Your estimation comes to fruition when Oikawa lightly dunks his forehead to lay on top of yours during the train ride home. The three of you had been standing near a pole, your own arm linked around it for some balance as you review and scribble some extra things into your notes from class. Oikawa is hanging on by a handle while Iwaizumi is grasping the part of the pole above your head.

“Misaki-chan broke up with me,” he spoke, loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear as well.

“Did she say why?” You ask, unable to move your head as you stare at the flap of his jacket.

“Becauseimtooobsessedwithvolleyball,” he mutters quickly.

“Say that again? And louder?” Iwaizumi teases.

Sigh. Straighten. “Because I’m too obsessed with volleyball,” he repeats a little bit louder, looking slightly ashamed and embarrassed that he, the great king of the court, the sole subject of so many girls’ affection, was ultimately dumped. The other part of the embarrassment masked the guilt he felt inside, having taken advantage of Misaki’s affections for him. Your eyes meet Iwaizumi’s, knowing that the conversation from months ago wasn’t said for naught. The sad, inevitable truth was there, and someone had to say it.

“It’s okay, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi nagged, patting the bachelor’s back. “You gotta make compromises, too.”

“But she knew! And we went on dates. That’s compromises, right?” Oikawa bemoaned, stubborn and petulant as ever. “It’s not like she wasn’t warned…”

“How many times did you guys go on a date?” You ask, attempting to get him to see reason. You know that the truth is there. He’s just fighting against full acceptance.

“Mmm, three times. No, four.”

“Three times in three months? Jesus Christ,” you mutter under your breath. “Okay okay, um, what’d you guys do on the dates?”

“(Y/n)-chan, are you jealous? You wanna go on a date with me?” He teases, a pointer finger poking your cheek. You squint at him before (gently) slapping the back of his head, causing him to rub the area out of mock pain.

“Ya, do you want to die?” You threaten. “I will throw you off this train if I have to.”

“Can I help?”

“Iwa-chan! Why are you on her side?? Shit, I need new friends.”

“Good riddance.”

“Stoooppp!”

From then on, Oikawa swears off girlfriends in high school. Everyone is too busy, and no one is going to understand him and be okay with what he does. Volleyball is his passion and dream, why is that so hard to get through people’s heads?

(But he knows that as much as he protests, he couldn’t give Misaki what she wanted. He wanted to make it work, he really did.)

The horde of fangirls only grows over the years. He’d rather hold a torch for no one than to try again. Nothing mattered more than a victory against Shiratorizawa and moving on to nationals. The fangirls’ affection would make up for any lack of a love life and Iwaizumi can only shake his head as a trail of hopeful hearts are left in the setter’s wake.

There are times when Oikawa is incredibly thankful for you, that at least he has some sort of close female companion that’s not his sister or mother. Even if you’re busier than ever, you still make time for him and Iwaizumi, whether it be attending their late practices or making sure that they finish their homework over the weekends. They can’t play if they’re failing classes.

(Y/n)’s personality is what he wants in a girlfriend, Oikawa realizes one night. Someone chill, someone understanding of his lifestyle, someone who goes out of their way to spend time with him. Someone he feels a connection with no matter the distance, someone he wouldn’t hesitate to go to if they needed him, someone who would always, always be there--

But he can’t possibly date you. Why risk losing you when he already has you within his grasp? There’s no need to worry about making time or planning for dates, no need to worry about coming up with a gift for White Day (as if he already doesn’t). There’s no need to worry about you leaving him now when his ugly, petty side manifests from time to time because you’ve seen it all. You would never leave him, he reaffirms to himself. You will always be by his side no matter where he is. He can always count on you to be in the bleachers during games, front and center, with the rest of the school cheer crowd. He can always count on you to lend him a shoulder, to pick up the phone at 4AM when he’s woken up anxious with thoughts going at a million a mile, to hand him two slices of milk bread on the weekends from their favorite bakery, to keep him in line with Iwaizumi.

Why risk voiding himself of all that, of so many memories, just to pursue the chance for some more intimacy?

And as Oikawa’s fingers hover over his lips, his mind reeling with flashbacks on how that kiss with you felt even two years later, the last thing he registers before succumbing to the nothingness of sleep is the painful tightening of his chest.

-

Oikawa is seventeen when he is reminded of how easy it is for him to lose you.

The three of you are sitting on a checkered blanket on top of a hill that overlooks the nearby area. A plastic bag holds a mix of canned beers and hard ciders, some empty and others waiting to be consumed. You’re taking it a little farther than you usually do, typically sipping one through the night. Yet you’re on your third and the two boys can only look at you with slight concern.

Your finals were particularly difficult -- part of you had still been recovering from the vicarious loss against Shiratorizawa, knowing how hard your two friends had taken it. It had only caused Oikawa and Iwaizumi to spend even more time in the gym after practice, a ferocity and drive in their muscles that you had never observed before. The amount of time and energy it took from you to forcibly change and drag them away from the court was substantial. Sleepless nights were dedicated to thinking of ways on how to lift them back up from whatever mental hell they created for themselves. In a sense, those nights paid off, but not without a price.

The alcohol tingles through your bloodstream and seems to slow everything down. You’re not drunk, but you don’t think you could appreciate the scenery before you as much as you are now if you were completely sober. Oikawa is going on about the constellations in the night sky, Iwaizumi teasing him relentlessly, and you can’t bother to fight the lazy smile that stretches across your face. Would you still have these nights with them if you had gone to Shiratorizawa?

“Did you know,” you softly interrupt them, unable to keep the secret any longer. It’s been two years, surely it couldn’t hurt. “Did you know...that I would’ve gone to Shiratorizawa if it hadn’t been for you two?”

The sound of cicadas has nothing on the sudden pounding of Oikawa’s heartbeat. Iwaizumi has an equally flabbergasted look on his face, searching your own as you pull up your knees and rest your chin on top of them. The lack of a verbal response only makes you chuckle, reaching down to grab your can and take another sip.

“Evidently it didn’t happen,” you drawl and then giggle. “Be-because I’m obviously at Seijou--”

“That’s not funny,” Oikawa interjects, voice hard and stern. “That’s not funny, you don’t get to say that and expect us to laugh it off. Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?”

“Why does it matter so much?” You mumble, suddenly desiring for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. “I clearly didn’t go, okay? Jesus--”

“No!” The setter yells, his face morphed by rage. “You were going to leave us? Why would that ever get into your brain, I mean, did we do something? Did we do something to push you to do something like that?”

“Hey, dude, calm down--”

“Don’t you get it, Iwa-chan? She was going to leave us and go to fucking Shiratorizawa of all places! She--”

“I thought you guys were going to accept their invite, okay?!” You interject, exasperated and frustrated. Evidently, you made a mistake in bringing this up now. “I didn’t realize how much you guys hated Ushijima’s guts and immediately changed plans once Aoba Johsai was on your agenda. So just stop, alright? It was two years ago and nothing’s gonna change.”

Oikawa pauses and attempts to reign in his anger. Why hadn’t you talked about it with them at the time? Why can’t he stop thinking about you donned in their maroon and white uniform, sitting casually in the bleachers of the gym, and instead of waiting for him and Iwaizumi, you’re waiting for Ushijima? Why can’t he stop thinking about how wrong that image looks, how much he’d like to be there and snatch you away because you’re his, you can’t abandon him--

“I’m sorry,” you apologize so mousily. Oikawa glances and sees the glisten of unshed tears, immediately relaxing and feeling guilty for being so hot-headed. It was the alcohol, for sure, he rationalizes before he turns to face you, scooching as close as possible to you. You’re still sitting in a fetal position as he slides one arm behind your waist and another wedges between your stomach and thighs. He buries his head into the crook of your neck. Your body welcomes the familiar heat and continues to relax as Iwaizumi lays his head on your shoulder. Instead of tears of sadness, you can only bask in the realization of how lucky you are two have these two doofuses in your life. The tears spill over as you sniffle, overcome with emotions that could only be so pronounced under the influence of alcohol.

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you guys,” you blubber. Oikawa’s grip tightens for a second as a tacit return of affection. “And I promised, didn’t I? I promised that I’d never leave you two, so you’re stuck with me. I wouldn’t wanna leave, even if you made me try.”

That’s right, Oikawa remembers. You promised -- and you would never go back on your word.

-

Oikawa is eighteen years old when he begins to truly understand the extent of your selflessness and how much of a selfish monster he can be when it comes to you.

It’s the night of their loss against Karasuno High, their last chance at defeating Shiratorizawa now gone and irreversible. Though tears had been shed towards his teammates, an overwhelming amount of gratitude and pride to have gone down fighting their hardest, the regret was eating at the two boys like nothing else.

Oikawa’s mother is working late -- you met them at the doorstep when they returned from the team dinner, saying nothing but holding up a bag of their favorite desserts. Minutes later, the three of you are a tangled and cuddled mess with the television quietly airing some old rerun of a child’s cartoon. It’s only when the boys’ cries have dwindled down into occasional sniffling do you dare to speak.

“I’m so proud of you two,” you begin but already feel yourself choke up again. “You did nothing but your best. I know how much this meant to you guys, but this isn’t the end. Time doesn’t stop here and you’re gonna go on to be even better players in uni. So don’t give up, okay?” You ask, hands squeezing whoever’s arm or arms you might be holding on to.

“Don’t give up when there’s so much left to fight for.”

They know you’re right. You’re always right in times like these.

Iwaizumi leaves about an hour later, eyes brighter and a small shit-eating grin on his face after about 13 brutal rounds of Uno. He won the majority of them, thankful that there was something to distract him for now. Oikawa promises to walk you home soon since it’s so late, earning a glare that could only mean “You fucking better, you shithead” and waving him off. Such a worry-wart. But when the front door clicks closed, the silence takes over once again.

Oikawa stands from the couch and stretches, gives a few twists before turning to look back at you. You’re curled up with your phone in hand, probably scrolling through social media or catching up on the news. “Hey,” he calls for you attention and holds out a hand. Don’t do this, he tells himself. “There’s something in my room that I need to return to you. Come with me?” Only delight fills his veins when you nod and set your phone down on the couch before sliding your hand into his. They stay linked as he leads you to his room, only separating when he lets go and you take refuge on this edge of his neatly-made bed.

As childish as he can be, you forget how tidy Oikawa is with his room. The books on his shelf are meticulously arranged by last name, photo frames strategically and aesthetically placed in empty spaces. His writing utensils are carefully arranged in a row on the side of his desk, and his drawer looks much of the same. Stapler, tape, sticky notes and tabs are all methodically placed, somehow speaking true to his leadership abilities.

Your observations are cut short when Oikawa sits down next to you with a book in hand, one that you had lent him months ago. To be honest, you completely forgot that he had it and you make it known to him.

“But did you like it?”

He nods with a small smile, yet his eyes are staring at the wall with a faraway look. He’s contemplating something, drawing plans in his brain, and after a couple of glances towards you, Oikawa gives in.

Much like that Friday afternoon four years ago, he leans his forehead on yours. A wave of deja-vu crashes over you as you’re once again plummeted into the dark ocean of his eyes. He keeps his gaze steady, searching for any kind of resistance. He needs something that only you can give him.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he whispers. You can feel a shiver crawl up your spine at the heaviness in his voice. “But I don’t know who else to ask. I don’t know why I can’t think of anyone but you.

“So can I please kiss you?”

What?

“But why?” You ask, the confusion so obvious in two words. Oikawa can only sigh to himself before carefully maneuvering you to straddle him, facing no objection from you. It’s just a kiss, he thinks to himself. It’s just a kiss that he wants with no strings attached to help with the emotional turmoil that only you could begin to understand. Your heartbeat feels like you’ve been swimming against the current for hours, your body betraying you as you let him bring one of your hands to his cheek. His eyes flutter closed and he languidly nuzzles into your palm, lips placing the softest, most intimate kiss there.

“I don’t know,” he breathes. Your heart aches and aches. “I swear that all I do know is that it can only be you. Please, please let me have this.”

And you can’t help but nod.

Unlike last time, Oikawa doesn’t surge forward. He instead bides his time, lips only barely ghosting over yours as he holds onto your waist. The contact becomes progressively fuller, more purposeful, as he completely slants his mouth over yours. In response, your fingers tangle themselves in the strands at the base of his neck and he finds himself drawing you closer to him, arms now completely wound around your waist.

This is a sin, he has to remind himself. This is a sin that only benefits him -- he is taking, he is stealing, he is feeding on an elixir at the cost of your soul. But his desires only overpower his guilt because as devilish as he may be, the sin feels like heaven. A paradise made by you created solely for him.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth before gently sucking, eliciting the most delicate moan from your throat. The sound only flips a switch in his head as he applies more pressure, desperate to hear it again. Mine, he thinks as he begins to litter kisses down your neck, teeth catching skin to leave marks on you. Mine, he screams to himself as his hands peek under the edge of your shirt, skin on skin.

“Tooru--” you pant, trying to lean back and gather your thoughts. This is too much to handle. If you’re not careful, you’ll unlock the only thing that you swore you’d take to your grave, the three words that could ruin everything.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps before diving in for another quick kiss. “I’m not asking for sex. I just need you,” he confesses, pecks littered between his words. Oh, how you wish this were under different circumstances. How you wish that you could utter those three words without a care in the world and know that they’ll be reciprocated. Your lips meet his again and it feels like the earth has stopped on its axis.

Both of you are unaware of the amount of time that passes. Fervent kisses slowly diminish to a languid pace until it comes to a complete stop. Oikawa can only lean his forehead against yours, eyes hooded and chest heaving with you in a similar state. Neither of you have enough energy to find the right words. His arms only draw you into his chest and he can’t help but marvel at how perfect of a fit you are for him.

“I should probably head home,” you whisper. Being the man-child that he is, he shakes his head vehemently and momentarily refuses to let you escape his embrace.

“Do you have to?” He tiredly grumbles, reluctantly loosening his grip with a sigh as you slide off his lap. You nod and bend forward to give him one last kiss, the separation causing him to whine. You make your way towards his body-length mirror, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles and fix your hair. Oikawa hugs you from behind, his limbs wrapping around your shoulders.

“We’re okay, right?”

You nod. Don’t we have to be?

-

And that’s when Oikawa Tooru begins to slip through your fingers.

It’s a combined effort, really. Everybody’s trying to wrap things up, all the big competitions are jam packed into the last remaining weekends, and making room for last-minute college entrance exams. If people weren’t already at their wit’s end, then you can barely fathom the amount of anxiety and stress coursing through the halls of the school.

You use this to your advantage, finding yourself unable to go home with the boys, unable to visit them on the weekends, unable to respond to text messages frequently. You begin to learn to look past Oikawa rather than at him, not bothering to spare a second glance when he’s caught in the hallways by a group of infatuated admirers. You fail to see the way his eyes follow your passing figure or how he slows his pace when walking by your classroom, hoping to get a glimpse of you. You fail to see the disappointment on his face when your spot in the bleachers is empty. So he falters, redirects, and lets the distance increase.

The only time you reconvene with the two is after the graduation ceremony. Your mother would kill you if you left without a picture of you and your best friends, and clearly their mothers are thinking the same thing. Outside in the courtyard, the women spot each other, your mother almost dragging you behind her. They’re trying to find their respective sons, though it doesn’t take long because the sudden clambering and screaming of girls can only serve a few purposes. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are craning their heads before they’re able to finally spot the frantic waving from their mothers.

Soon, they’re in front of you, both individually giving a hug. “Congratulations,” you tell them with as much happiness as possible. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see them -- you’re all attending the same university. They thank you and return the festivities. It’s hard to miss how your hug with Oikawa lasts a little bit longer than normal, even more so when his hands trail down your arms before slyly slipping a small object into your hand. As you unfurl your fist, a shiny circular object is gleaning back at you. You spot a stray thread from his jacket and it hits you -- the devilish fox has given you his second button. You’d like to pretend to be unaffected, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“And if I don’t accept?” You challenge. For a second, Oikawa is genuinely taken aback. It’s obvious he didn’t expect you to consider rejecting the button and stumbles over his attempts to come up with a comeback. When he spots you fighting to contain your laughter, his embarrassment only pushes him to lightly shove your shoulder.

“For being my best female friend,” he elaborates. You deserve an award for containing the pain and bearing through it, pretending that his words don’t faze you in any ways. Iwaizumi only shakes his head at his friend’s idiocy -- what is he thinking?

“Oh I’m sorry,” you apologize in a mocking tone, pretending to bow. “Should I be groveling at your feet now like the other girls back there? Oh great king?”

“Why yes, I am indeed the great king--”

Smack. “You’re such an idiot,” Iwaizumi reprimands. The recipient of the hit pretends to bawl, resuming his childish antics once again.

That’s how high school ends, with two aching hearts and three families of laughter, all making way for the start of university.

-

Oikawa somehow makes it possible to balance his love life, volleyball, and his business major. Both he and Iwaizumi blend in nicely with the university team as your words from before ring in their brains. They could and are becoming better players -- high school suddenly seems so casual compared to the stakes at the university level. Teammates are constantly being scouted and the two begin to strive for the national team. Despite the fact that they barely see you anymore, Oikawa still dreams of his ideal future: he and Iwaizumi playing for Japan in Tokyo, with you having a job there and supporting them in the stands.

Sometimes he’s able to spot you on campus -- the building for the pharmacy program that you’re enrolled in is relatively far from the business building. Most times you’re walking with your classmates, giggling at something or engaged in a heated discussion. He thinks about how beautiful you look in your white coat with your hair tied back, your face donned with some makeup for the natural look and a pair of dainty earrings. Part of him boils in jealousy whenever there’s a male acting particularly close with you, but he knows he has no right to think that way. The thoughts only fuel him during volleyball practice, which seems to satisfy his coach.

It’s easy for him to like someone, he figures out two years in. It’s easy for him to get to know someone and pick up on their quirks. As a social butterfly, it’s not difficult for him to get along with his partner, but when it comes to developing deeper feelings...it just doesn’t happen. He wants so badly to reciprocate, especially considering how much effort some of his past partners have put in. But something stops him every time -- unwillingly, he’s become a master at letting people down easy, that he’s truly sorry he can’t reciprocate their love. On the other hand, Iwaizumi is pretty successful in his current relationship, going strong for the last year and a half. Oikawa seeks his advice at the club one night, keeping an eye out to see if there’s anyone he'd be willing to take home (not that he ever does).

At this point, Iwaizumi wonders how he’s still friends with him. Yes, he’s fiercely loyal and has been by Oikawa’s side since the beginning, but if the guy was going to do nothing but continue his descent into idiocy, there was very little he could do for him. (Y/n) had the same problem as Oikawa except you figured it out much, much faster.

“You idiot, you’re in love with another person.”

“...say what now?”

“That’s all it is. You’re in love with someone else. That’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.”

“If I was in love with someone else, wouldn’t I know?”

Yeah. Oikawa Tooru is a big, bumbling, messy pile of denial.

“You know what,” Iwaizumi sighs, setting his drink down before paying the tab. “You’re right. You’re in love with yourself.” Oikawa knows that he’s joking. Nothing could be farther from the truth -- he’s always dedicated himself to the happiness of others. That’s the role of him as a setter and captain: to bring out the best of his teammates’ abilities, but he can only do that if he’s at his best as well. His eyes cast another look into the dancing crowd. He downs his drink as someone catches his attention, also moving to pay his tab.

“Tell your girlfriend I said hi!”

Iwaizumi only gives him a lazy wave as he makes his way to the entrance. Oikawa is sliding his way onto the dance floor and when Iwaizumi spots who he’s wormed next to, he hopes that one day, Oikawa will really open his eyes.

Because he’s always going for girls who look wildly similar to you.

-

It’s hard to have an undefeated season. Some losses are harder than others and during the first two years, you, sweet, sweet (y/n), always managed to find him.

He needed you most on those rare days. Even after weeks of limited texting and quick passings on campus, there was a level of comfort that solely existed by being with you. He would attempt to joke and tease with you to put up a facade, but when you would lead him to his couch and leave your arms open, the veil would drop as he cried into your shoulder. He would then pick up his terrible, terrible habit of giving into sin (as long as he wasn’t dating anyone), selfishly knowing that you would never say no. He’ll ask you if this is okay, and you always say yes. The two of you never cross the line of anything more than making out, yet the kisses become less lust-ridden and more tender over time, laced with something much more meaningful.

(And with each time, it becomes harder and harder to refrain yourself from confessing.)

Oikawa reveled in being able to sigh against your lips, stealing your breaths from your lungs and even convincing you to stay the night. There were mornings when he truly felt that there was nothing better than waking up with his arm around your waist. He could squeeze you to his chest and wish for this all day. Sometimes, you woke up earlier than him and silently admired how peaceful he looked compared to the haggardness just hours before. With his hair so delicately splayed across his forehead, the ends curling up to defy gravity, a tiny scar dusting his right cheek, you would be painfully reminded of just how much you love him.

The last time you woke up next to him, you thought to yourself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

In the beginning of the third year, you fight every cell in your body to not go to him. Instead, you call him up and ask how he’s doing -- he doesn’t question it, doesn’t demand that you come see him. If there’s something preventing you from visiting him, he won’t ask about it. Even only a call brings him the warmth that he usually craved from you, though he knows nothing can satisfy him like your physical presence. The routine continues, volleyball practice becomes longer, and Oikawa thinks he’s finally getting used to this. This is the farthest you’ll distance yourself from him. There’s no way that you’d ever be more than a train ride away.

“are you guys free for coffee this weekend?” The text reads in the group chat. (Y/n) knows they don’t have a game, one of the rare breaks they get. Oikawa and Iwaizumi have the same schedules, so when Iwaizumi texts back “yh, where at?”, it’s for both of them.

“our favorite cafe restaurant by the bookstore okay? 1pm? my treat?”

“sounds good. see you then.”

“see you guys xx”

They think nothing of it -- it’s just a rare moment that everyone is free and able to catch up. Both dress up in their best casual streetwear, Oikawa even donning the glasses that you like so much. He’s nearly buzzing with excitement at finally being able to talk with you and have you within arm’s distance. Everything is normal when they walk into the cafe, spotting you in the corner booth. You’re quick to match their grins and give them both hugs, watching in delight as their eyes take in the milk bread, agedashi tofu, and a few other shareable dishes. They’re starting to think this is a bit of an apology meal for not having seen them in forever. It’s nice that whenever the three of you are together, there’s no awkwardness and everything seems to be back to normal.

Like how it’s supposed to be. But all good things must come to an end, right?

“It’s so nice being here with you two,” you laugh as you lean back against the vinyl leather. “I’m glad we could do this.”

“We need to do this more often,” Iwaizumi agrees. “We don’t have as many classes since we’re juniors now. Practice is still always the same so we should have more time to meet up. What about you?”

“Same here. Actually,” you pause, hesitant and scrambling for words. You’ve even rehearsed what you’re about to tell them, yet everything has been forgotten.

“I’m...I’m applying to doctoral programs in America.”

The boys look like two deer caught in the headlights. Oikawa is immediately filled with a sense of dread and fear -- his worst nightmare is slowly transforming into reality, unearthing its ugly head. A train ride is one thing, but a 13 hour plane ride? Time differences? A whole different country on the other side of the world?

“That’s...wow. That’s um,” Iwaizumi clears his throat. “That’s a big move. Why did you decide on America? I thought you wanted to start working after?”

“I’m enjoying pharmaceutical research more than I ever thought I would. We just actually got back from an international conference a few weeks ago -- there were so many interesting topics and studies being done. And...I thought it’d be nice to travel somewhere, you know. Have a change of pace.”

And you’re not completely lying. You’ve never really been outside of Japan before. Part of you wants to travel and see more of the world, especially after the conference in Berlin. Famous structures and streets that had been mere images on your computer or phone screen were suddenly physically before your eyes. You wanted to gain a better grasp of what it could offer and what you’ve been missing out on.

The other part of you felt stuck here. You needed an excuse to end the never-ending cycle that was Oikawa. It was an infinite loop of running to him, falling into his arms, attempting to put an obstacle on the bridge between you two, but then crossing over it to fall back into his arms again. You were never close to being free of him, not that you wanted to, but you wanted to know who you could be almost nearly without him. You wouldn’t be you if you were completely void of Oikawa Tooru. He would always have a part of your heart and be a part of your soul, no matter what.

“When would you leave?” Oikawa timidly asks, his gaze directed towards the crumbs on his plate.

“I’m actually on track to graduate by the end of this academic year. If I find a research group that wants me and is willing to provide me with adequate funding...I’d probably leave pretty soon after graduation. Y’know, get settled, meet my group, and...yeah.”

Silence ensues as the two boys figure out what to say. Your leg is bouncing restlessly beneath the table, fingers quietly tapping the side of your cup. Iwaizumi seems to be taking it pretty well, but Oikawa...you can’t tell.

All emotion is wiped from his face. He’s choosing to pierce holes in the wall by your head and his arms are crossed in front of his chest. He’s trying so hard to be mature about this and be happy for you, yet all he can register is the fact that you’re leaving. You’re leaving them, you’re leaving him, you’ll be gone forever and you’ll never come back, you’re going to find new friends, a new partner, a new bed that belongs to someone else to fall asleep in, oh how wretched--

“We’re gonna miss you,” Oikawa says, voice barely any louder than the tranquil music playing over the speakers. You feel like you’ve been transported back to when you were ten and breaking the news of quitting volleyball, hearing the same four words spoken in a very similar manner. Your heart settles and softens, you relax and reach over the table to grab one of their hands in each of yours. Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate to give a friendly squeeze while Oikawa’s grip is only limp at best. But after a few seconds, it tightens and tightens until you understand the message: please don’t go.

“We’ve spent our whole lives together. I’ve told you two this before and I’ll say it again -- I’m so lucky that I have you guys. Part of me is able to do this because I know you’ve always got my back and I know that’s not going to change, even when I’m halfway across the world. So keep in touch? Please?”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi reaffirms and Oikawa nods. You express your thanks and retract your hands, trying to ignore the way that Oikawa’s fingers linger for as long as they can without being too obvious. The three of you eventually leave, bidding goodbye to your waitress and cashier, and continue to amble down the streets. Time always flies when you’re with them, conversation never truly ending. Eventually Iwaizumi has to leave to meet his girlfriend for dinner and Oikawa, being the gentleman that he always is, ensures that he’ll bring you home safe and sound. As the two of you wave goodbye and watch him disappear into the crowd, Oikawa offers his arm to you. He sees the pleasant surprise on your face and can’t help the smile on his own as you wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow.

The two of you continue to chat -- you fill him in on all the little details of your life that he had missed. In return, he does the same, eliciting so many different emotions from you. The pain in your heart increases when you realize just exactly how far away you’ve been from him. You choose to ignore that he’s taking the long way to your apartment, relishing in this rare time you have with him. Oikawa is the only person to make you feel like there truly wasn’t enough time in the world to spend with the one you love.

This must be what it’s like to date you, he realizes. Your hand is still wrapped around his arm, even when the limb became tired and settled for tucking his hand into his jacket pockets. He drinks in every laugh, every scoff, every grin, every gasp of surprise. Very few things bring him greater satisfaction than the way your eyes sparkle when he buys one of your favorite snacks off a food cart or when he points out something that reminds him of you. He never wants you to let go -- all he wants now is to collapse into your bed and wake up with his arm around your waist once again.

Before he knows it, they’re in front of your door, fiddling with your keys. He leans against the wall by your door as you locate the right one, but you hesitate.

“This was really fun. Thanks for basically spending your whole day with me.”

“I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” he replies, unable to stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. “It’s been a while since we’ve hung out like this.”

“Yeah, it has been.”

Silence.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” He asks with eyes full of hope. You’d have to be blind to not notice them, yet you would still be able to tell by the tone of his voice.

“Of course,” you reply with a small smile. “Until you get sick of me.”

Oikawa scoffs, but puts on a sincere face as he quips back, “Never.”

In all the years that you’ve been friends with him, nothing has ever sent blood rushing to your cheeks so fast. Your heartbeat quickens at an alarming rate and it doesn’t help as he begins to lean down, getting closer and closer to your face.

At the last second, he dips his head to the right and places a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek. Before you can blink twice, he’s already walking backwards with the cheekiest grin on his face, a cute little wave towards you. He then turns on his heels and makes his way to the elevator with a bit of a skip in his step.

You don’t even remember unlocking your door and toeing off your shoes. Your entire body feels like lead, yet also buzzing with excitement. And as you’re collapsed on your bed, staring at the ceiling, all your brain can comprehend and tell you is that Oikawa Tooru is truly the bane of your existence.

-

Oikawa does his best to stay true to his word.

Even with fewer classes, there’s always something that he needs to finish: that project, this homework assignment, extra practice -- sometimes, he wishes he hadn’t been in uni. Or at least picked a different major. When he can, he tries to visit you on nights, sometimes sheepishly empty-handed, other times holding a bag of your favorite pastries. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” You joke one night before biting into your favorite flavor of macaron. “More to hold and hug,” he teases back, causing you to give him a light whack on his arm.

He’s there when you nervously submit all your applications. He’s there when you receive offers to interview. He’s there when you get your first official acceptance. And of course, he’s there when you make your final decision. There’s no hesitation when you jump into his arms after submitting your confirmation of acceptance to University of California – San Francisco, though he wishes you could be there forever. Weeks begin to roll by, much quicker than he’d like. The usual cheery and joyful chattiness of when he usually visits evolves into comfortable silence, both of you settling for watching some space documentary on Netflix most nights. Oikawa hates how the inevitable is slowly creeping up his spine and more often than not, he’s torn between wanting to either just rip the Bandaid off or try to stop time.

The approaching reality of you physically leaving him starts to take its true form when you ask him to tag along on the hunt for suitcases. You want to get at least one of those large suitcases that have to be checked in to try to bring as much stuff as possible. The whole time, Oikawa is half numb, though he tries his best to give his honest opinions on the suitcases you consider. He knows what a big step this is as he watches you eagerly pay for your final selection. However, nothing hits him harder than when he comes into your apartment a week before your graduation and there’s a wide array of empty, mismatched cardboard boxes in every room.

To drive the stake in even further, the recently purchased suitcase lies wide open in your bedroom with some stray objects already neatly tucked in. Yet the one that catches his eye is a picture frame placed in a bubble wrap sleeve. It holds the physical memory of you, him, and Iwaizumi at your high school graduation, each person with their own bouquet of congratulatory flowers. There’s a reason you have this specific shot framed out of all the ones between the parents combined; reason being the fact that Oikawa isn’t looking at the camera lens, but rather looking at you.

His eyes glinted with pride and care in that picture, a certain softness in his posture. The picture has always sat demurely in a back corner of your desk. However, some friends or recent classmates that have been in your room have taken note of it, excitedly asking you, “Is this your boyfriend??” It’s more painful when you have to tell them he’s not, only just a very close childhood friend. A very close childhood friend that you’ve kissed multiple times and will always give your heart to, but you leave that part unsaid. .  

Oikawa spends the night with you, taking much longer than usual to fall asleep. You’ve already passed out next to him, mouth slightly agape and hands curled up near your face. Quietly, he adjusts his weight onto his elbow, leaning his cheek into his hand. His other hand gently tucks the strands of hair that have fallen over your face behind your ear. To him, you look nothing short of angelic. He hates that he’s only able to spend time like this with you as the clock is ticking -- he wishes that he made more of an effort to meet and see you during your first two years. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so anxious at the thought of you leaving. Perhaps the two of you would’ve established something that would guarantee your return.

At this thought, Iwaizumi’s words ring in his head.

You’re in love with someone else, that’s why you feel like you can’t say it back when a different person tells you they love you.

They continue to ring as he finally falls asleep. They ring as he only wakes up hours later, settling on trying to quickly whip up breakfast for you. They’re loudest when you quietly pad up to him and rest your chin over his shoulder, nearly scaring the shit out of him. Even then, his body can’t help but relax from the feeling of your body pressed against his back.

Even as he prepares for his finals, you’re in love with someone else.

Even in the midst of presenting a final project for class, you’re in love with someone else.

All the way up until he’s parked in a seat, arms cradling a bouquet of your favorite flowers, tucked between Iwaizumi and your mother at your graduation ceremony, you’re in love with someone else.

And when he’s cheering his loudest for you as you cross the stage, pausing to shake the university’s president’s hand and receive your diploma, his heart finally settles on the unshakeable truth that he probably knew all along.

I’m so fucking in love with (y/n).

“I’m so fucked,” he mutters to himself, but not quiet enough because Iwaizumi catches it.

“What’d you do, shithead?” He leans in to ask so your mother doesn’t hear. Oikawa only shakes his head, his leg subconsciously beginning to bounce anxiously. Iwaizumi takes a look at the leg, then a look at his face, and when he catches how Oikawa’s eyes follow you happily ambling off the stage, the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. After years and years of living in pure oblivion, Oikawa has finally understood just how much he loves you.

“God, you have such shit timing, you dickhead,” Iwaizumi groans, fingers pinching and massaging the bridge of his nose.

“What did he do?” His girlfriend on his other side asks. He leans over to briefly kiss her cheek, murmuring a “I’ll tell you later,” in her ear before turning back to his best friend.

Oikawa feels like a nervous schoolboy with the way his face is construed, his hands grasping the flower stems like it’s his lifeline. He begins to think about how he should confess to you – should it be during a candlelit dinner? On the roof of your apartment under the stars? Should he take you to a park or by the beach? A million more scenarios run through his head as the rest of the graduation ceremony proceeds. He stands in a daze as the students begin to file out, the families in the stands soon following suit. His body stiffly stands to follow your family and creaks like a rusty robot, absolutely unprepared to face you with his new revelation. The only thing that brings him out of his head is when Iwaizumi yanks him back by the collar of his shirt, practically choking him in the process. His throat coughs and fights for oxygen as he rubs at his neck, watching your mother disappear into the crows before turning to Iwaizumi with a pitiful and defeated look.

“What the hell was that for, Iwa-chan? Why—”

“You are not telling her right now, you hear me?” Iwaizumi threatens in a hushed voice.

“But—”

“She’s leaving. In a week. To America. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Can’t that be for her to decide? She can turn me down, but I need to tell her!” Oikawa cries out as the three of them do their best to stay out of other people’s way, pressing themselves to their seats as much as possible. People are casting them either curious or nasty looks for being obstacles in an increasingly heated argument, but they could also care less.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at him, then stabs a finger to his chest. “What you want, what you need…it’s always been that way for you when it comes to her. Have you ever stopped to consider what she wants?”

“Of course I have, what do you take me for?!”

“What do I take you for?! I take you for an idiot who spent years taking advantage of her!” Iwaizumi drives his point by jabbing the finger on his chest again. “I take you for an idiot who knew that she could never say no to you and you still used her whenever it was convenient! You think you’ve been such a martyr—”  

“I didn’t do that! I—”

“Then prove it,” Iwaizumi hisses. “Prove to us that you genuinely care about what she needs. You know what she needs right now? She needs us, her friends, to go out there, find her, and congratulate her with flowers. Then, we’re gonna go to our favorite place with her family and celebrate her. Today’s about her and her achievements. We’re gonna be happy for her because that’s what she needs today. That’s what she deserves.”

Most of the crowd have trickled towards the lobby by now, leaving the three of them with a few student workers running around to pick up trash and stray programs in preparation for the next ceremony. Iwaizumi sighs, seeking comfort in the way that his girlfriend slides her hand into his. Everything that he had been holding in is now out in the open.

“You think you can do that, Tooru?” He asks in a calmer voice.

“…yeah.”

Oikawa tries his best to keep his feelings at bay. They threaten to spill when your eyes drink in the bouquet he’s brought for you, a pure smile of delight as you lean in to catch a whiff of your favorite flowers. It’s even harder when you give him a friendly peck on the cheek, quickly moving to give Iwaizumi and his girlfriend hugs. He can’t stop sneaking glances your way during lunch, watching how happy you seem to be as you verbally recall the last three years. His mind does its best to stay involved in the conversation, yet it doesn’t cease to drift towards Iwaizumi’s words. It’s heart-wrenching because everything he said was true – he had knowingly taken advantage of your lack of resistance, had knowingly acknowledged that he was committing a certain sin in life, driven by greed and desire. He knew years ago that he could never get enough of you and would never be able to.

“…your plans after this?” He hears your mother ask you, her voice reminding him to be an active participant in this chat.

“I kind of just want to go home and get out of this dress, probably start up my packing again. I had to put that on hold with finals and everything.”

“We can come help you if you want.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I might even take a nap first.”

“You can take a nap while I help you pack,” Oikawa interjects without a thought. He just wants more time with you. You look skeptical and he puts on an affronted expression. “I’m a really neat and organized packer, thank you very much. You think I’m some poor slob who can’t properly fold a shirt?”

“It’s exactly what I think.”

“Hey, don’t be so mean! I’ll prove it.”

“Fine,” you say with a smirk widening. “But I’m kicking you out if it isn’t up to my standards.”

“Yes ma’am!” He replies like a soldier, comically saluting with two fingers. Iwaizumi shoots him his best warning glare as the table resumes chatting.

About an hour later, the two of you are walking side-by-side in the direction of your apartment. The pace is slow with your heels on, especially as they become more and more painful. Eventually, you let out a big huff and stop in your path to slip off your heels, picking them up by the straps and letting them hang off your fingers. Your gown, stole, and chords are draped over your other arm, the other hand holding onto the cap and flowers. Oikawa watches as you sigh happily and wiggle your toes before you continue the trek barefoot. He’s terrified that you’ll get a staph infection and stops you.

Without saying anything, he takes the graduation gown from your arm and fits it over you, thankful that the bottom of it nearly reaches your ankles. Your arms have a mind of their own as they slip into the sleeves. He crouches for bit and fiddles a little bit before pulling your zipper up, then takes your cap and fits it onto your head. Before you can question his actions, he sweeps around to lift you up in his arms bridal style, causing you to yelp at the sudden motion. One of your arms is already swung around his neck, the other just trying to make sure your heels, chords, and stole don’t drop. Oikawa adjusts his grip a little, then looks down at you.

“You okay?”

You’re incredibly flustered, saying nothing but giving a few nods. He gently smiles before bringing you closer to his chest. Eventually, you place everything into your lap, leaving your other arm free to lie over the flowers on your stomach. You have an internal battle with yourself on whether you should link your free limb around his neck or not – do you want to come off as clingy? Would Oikawa mind? Would it make him uncomfortable? You soon decide, fuck it. You just graduated, you deserve to be pampered a little bit, even if it means treating yourself to indulging in one of your longtime fantasies with the man you secretly love.

Even though your face is already pretty close to his, by wrapping both arms around him, you’re practically nuzzling into the side of his neck. He smells faintly of the cologne that you gifted him last year for his birthday. It brings you fond memories of your life with him so far, how even through all the pain of unrequited love, every second has been absolutely worth it.

“Thank you,” you murmur and tighten your grasp. “For everything. For being my best friend, for always being there for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me, silly,” he replies affectionately. “You know we love you, right?”

“I know. I just wanted to make sure that you knew how much I appreciate it, that’s all.”

“…I’m so proud of you, (y/n). Look at you, finishing in 3 years and going to California for your PhD. Maybe I should’ve tried harder to convince you to stay in Japan, but I know you wouldn’t have been as happy. Is it too late to still try to persuade you?”

You unwind an arm to smack his chest lightly, playfully scolding him as you fully hold onto him again.

“Don’t even think about it. Of course it’s too late.”

“Well, then there’s no harm in still trying, right?”

“Tooru!”

“Okay, okay, fine~.”

-

Once you’re home, you grab random articles of clothing from your closet before heading into the bathroom to change. Oikawa offers to find a vase for the bouquet during this time, your ears hearing the clinking of glass and the snipping of stems. You didn’t realize you had grabbed Oikawa’s spare jersey he had given you the summer before your first year of university, only noticing after you begin to fit it over your head. The flush in your cheeks is subtle as you slip on a pair of pajama shorts, a giddy feeling filling your chest.

When you step out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen, Oikawa’s back is facing you as he continues to arrange the flowers. Something about the scene feels comfortably domestic, as if Oikawa just returned home from work and decided to surprise you with a little gift, insisting that he put it together for you. You’re almost expecting him to give you a kiss on the cheek before saying, “I’m home, dear.”

In the midst of your thoughts, Oikawa is satisfied with his work, grabbing the vase and turning with the intent to let you see his work. He startles when he sees you leaning against the wall and staring at him, yet his heart fails to calm once he realizes you’re in his jersey. Part of you suddenly feels shy with the way he can’t stop admiring you, yet another part is filled with newfound confidence. Your feet softly pad towards him, relishing in the fact that you can render the great Oikawa Tooru speechless. He lets you take the vase from him, still frozen in his spot as you gently place a kiss on the corner of his lips. If he were more composed and more cognizant of his actions, he would have taken you up in his arms and kissed you for real. You take the vase from his fingers and place it on your dining table, appreciating the delicate hue of the petals. It’s a shame that you’ll have to get rid of them soon since you’re leaving in a week.

“Come on, Tooru. Time for you to show me how good your shirt-folding skills are!”

Progress in packing is slow as the two of you talk and laugh, the sound of The Good Place quietly playing on Netflix from the small TV in your room softly filling the room. Eventually, Oikawa refuses any of your help, practically ordering you to stay in your bed and leave it to him. In the familiar warmth of your comforter, you fight to stay awake as exhaustion from the morning events creeps through your body. Before long, you’re taking a last look at Oikawa’s side profile sitting on your floor next to a pile of unfolded clothes and falling asleep soon after. It takes a few minutes for him to realize that you haven’t said anything in a while, only chuckling to himself when he sees you slipped away to the dreamworld.

For the next hour or so, he folds and packs your clothes in silence. The pile dwindles and shrinks until there’s none left, though there’s still some in your closet that you’ll be wearing over the next week. You’re still asleep on your side – he can’t find it in himself to wake you, instead doing his best to climb over you and sit on the empty side of the bed without jostling you. Just as he finds a comfortable half-lying, half-sitting position against a pillow and the headboard, you unconsciously do a full 180-degree turn and snuggle closer to him. One of your legs twists around his, your arm slinging over his waist.

Oikawa’s heart almost wants to fly out of his chest. Had it really been over a little more than a year since you last slept next to him? Was this going to be the last time that he’d experience this?

Was this going to be his last chance?

He must’ve nodded off in the end. Your voice speaks to him in his subconscious, softly calling out his name. His body is curled up on the side where you were sleeping, arms stretched out as he finally wills his eyes to open. His vision is blurry and heavily veiled with sleep, needing a few blinks to register that you’re bent over with your face very close to his. He wants to be wakened like this every day, to the sound of your voice rather than an obnoxious alarm tone from his phone. With all the strength he can muster, his arm reaches out to grab one of your wrists and gingerly pulls you towards him. You giggle as you snuggle into the little space you have, his arms hugging you tightly to ensure you don’t fall over the edge.

“Five more minutes,” he pleads, nuzzling into your hair. “Or we can go back to sleep, I don’t mind…”

“Tooru, we need to eat dinner though.”

“But I have you,” he mumbles without thought, clearly saying whatever first comes to his mind.

“That doesn’t make any sense though.”

“It makes all the sense in the world, silly (y/n)…come on, let’s sleep some more…”

“Even if there’s fresh omurice waiting to be eaten?”

“Mmm…did you make it?”

“Yes, I did.”

Oikawa sighs again before moving his hand from your back to rub his eyes. “Well, we can’t let your hard work go to waste then, right?”

“Not at all.”

You disentangle yourself and ignore how your body aches to lay with him again. Your hands take one of his own in your grasp, pulling him from the bed and towards the dining table where a fresh plate of omurice awaits them. Oikawa doesn’t forget his manners, pulling out a chair and indicating for you to sit in it. Like a true gentleman, he’s cognizant of how he pushes the chair back in to meet your sitting position, ensuring that you’re comfortable before moving to his own seat. The two of you say your thanks quickly before digging in.

Dinner is a quiet ordeal besides the occasional laughter. He tries to play footsies with you underneath the table, having full advantage with his longer legs. You threaten to flick rice at him if he keeps at it, but as time passes by, it’s clear your words hold no weight. Light banter continues when you bring the plates to the sink, refusing any offers of help from him. He settles for having an arm around your shoulders, leaning some of his body weight onto you. His eyes watch you with love and fascination as he berates himself for not figuring it out earlier. Things would have been different, and life would have been much better.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, tone solemn and heavy as you begin to dry off the dishes.

“I know. But I’ll be back in a few years, you know?”

“A few years sounds like forever though.”

“It’ll be over before you know it, Tooru.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

He’s still searching for words when you’ve put the last plate in the drying rack, folding the towel neatly on the counter. You turn to face him directly, causing his arm to slide off your shoulders. He delicately grasps your hands with his and plays with your fingers, eyes focused on them and unable to meet your own. Iwaizumi’s warning voice blares through his head – why, why did he always have to be so selfish when it comes to you? Why did he always give in?

“Tooru, what—”

“I love you, (y/n).”

He’s gone and done it now. His eyes are ablaze with passion as they attempt to convey the depth of his feelings, boring straight into your own shocked gaze. He means it more than anything right now. You have to understand that he’s serious, that he doesn’t mean this in a platonic sense. Without a doubt, he would do anything for you. Could you see that in him?

He begins to panic when you slowly detach your hands, your expression hardening before you turn to occupy yourself with something else. You search for something before heading towards your living room and start packing the decorations into a cardboard box that’s cradled against your hip.

“(Y/n), please—”

“You don’t mean it,” you bite out and somewhat harshly smack a book into the box. “You’re only saying it because—”

“I’m not saying it just because you’re leaving, I swear,” he vows, following you as you pack away more things. “Just look at me—”

“How could you?!” You say accusingly, slamming your box onto the floor and whipping around to look at him. Oikawa isn’t entirely surprised by the tears streaming down your face, yet his heart still breaks at the sight.

“(Y/n), I—”

“What were you expecting?” You ask hoarsely, throat choked with tears. “Did you expect me to just accept it and run into your arms?! We’re going to be on opposite sides of the world for at least four years, and you wanted to start something with me a week before I leave?”

“I can’t lose you!” Oikawa cries out. He watches you collapse into your couch, head buried in your hands to control your sobs. He follows and sits as close as possible in front of you on the floor, reaching up to remove your hands from your face. “I can’t lose you more than I already have,” he whispers dismally, thumbs wiping tears from your cheeks. Out of fatigue, he places his cheek on your knees, eyes closing as you lay your hand on top of his head.

“Tooru, you—”

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he interrupts, striving to get you to see how much this is for him. “I never knew what it was until recently, but you have to know by now that I would do anything for you. You can call me up at 4 in the morning, ask me for my umbrella even when I’m 20 minutes away. You could even ask me to drop volleyball, and I’d do it. Just to make you happy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you depressingly chastise as your fingers give in and demurely run through his hair. “I would never ask you to give up volleyball, and even if I did, you’d resent me til the day we die. Hell, you’d resent me in your grave for all I know.”

“You’d still be my everything.”

At his words, you choke out another sob. This had been everything you were dreaming of, except Oikawa’s timing was just so off. You would have to spend the first four years of your relationship without him, and long distance wouldn’t be easy. Even though he would do everything to make it work, you’d worry about burdening him when he has so much he wants to live for. Wouldn’t it affect his playing? His studies? Would he eventually get tired of waiting for you and leave?

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” You sniffle.

“The chance of a lifetime, that’s what I’m getting into,” he quickly replies. He turns to rest his chin where his cheek originally on, facing you with eyes of zero hesitation. His expression softens when he senses the doubt in your face and reaches up to remove your hands from his hair, grasping them softly and placing them on your thighs. “I’ve already wasted years not being with you, and I don’t intend to lose another second. So please, please give me this chance.”

Your head is dizzy with all this information. You need time, you need clarity. You need to think this out before diving in, no matter how much you want to comply right now.

“Let me think about it, ok?” You weakly propose. “This has happened all so fast and I just need some time to think it over. This is really big for us, and I just wanna make sure we’re doing the right thing.”

“I’ll wait forever if I have to,” he agrees, then ghosting his lips over your knuckles.

“You can’t see me until we’re at the airport though,” you add in, causing him to whine in objection. “I’ll give you my answer then. It’s just a week.”

“Can I still call you?”

“Of course, you big wuss,” you tease.

“Hey, I just confessed my feelings here, cut me some slack!” He cries, pouting afterwards. You somehow still have the energy to giggle at his antics, happy that some things never change.

“You need to leave soon, Tooru.”

“No,” he objects and wraps his arms around your legs. “I don’t wanna.”

“Tooru—”

“Only if you kiss me before I leave.”

You let out a sigh, yet still smiling. “Deal.”

He removes himself and gets out of the way, stretching as he stands when you push yourself off the couch. Even for the short distance from the living room to the door, Oikawa insists on holding your hand. He grabs every second he can with you, still holding on when he’s slipping his shoes on.

“I’m waiting for my kiss,” he says with a lilt in his voice. His eyes are shining and expectant, causing you to roll your own playfully. For the first time in 21 years, you’ll be kissing Oikawa with no feelings hidden, no motives unsaid.

He meets you halfway, softly cradling your cheek with his free hand. His lips against yours bring a wave of nostalgia – god, how you both missed this, the feeling of being able to lose yourself in another person. How you both missed forming that bubble again where nothing mattered but the two of you being there together. You can’t help but think about how much you’re going to miss this in America, how it’ll be months, years, before you can ever fall into Oikawa’s arms again.

Oikawa wants nothing more than to toe his shoes off and have you jump into his arms. He wants nothing more than to carry you to your room and show exactly how much he loves you, but it’s not in your wishes. Don’t be selfish, he reminds himself. You asked for time and space to think about your future with him – if he wants to make this work, thinking of solely his own desires needs to stop here. He must prove to you that it’ll be worth it, that there’s no reason to lose any more time than you’ve already lost.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” he apologizes quietly.

“It’s okay. But consider this week as punishment, if you’d like.”

He pouts. “I really can’t come see you?”

You give a small grin, a pointer finger moving to tap his nose. “Nope.”

With that, he sighs begins to walk out the door, but not before stealing another peck. The action only makes you laugh and playfully push him over the door threshold, waving as he walks backwards with a pout. You don’t close the door until he’s turned the corner, nearly collapsing against it once the deadbolt is locked in place. Everything hits you all at once again, leaving you reeling and almost gasping for air. Your heart won’t cease its rapid pace, though it seems to come to a full halt when your phone chimes with a text message from him.

“Good night, (y/n). I love you.”

Yes, it’s amazing how lucky you are.

-

Without fail, Oikawa texts and calls you every day. He never fails to remind you that he loves you. Twice, he orders delivery to your door because he knows you need to pack your kitchen. A man who buys you food as a surprise and seems to always know what you’re in the mood for? It’s as if the universe is telling you to hurry up and marry this guy.

And Oikawa, trying to be the responsible person that he is, doesn’t see you until they’re sending you off at the airport. Your parents had offered to pick him and Iwaizumi up from his place, especially since it was a little early in the morning. A taxi drops you and your suitcases off at the gate. You hadn’t spotted them when you got in and made a move to go ahead and check your bags in. After you had finished dropping them off, you had turned around to wait outside of the check-in area and spotted the four of them chatting while waiting for you. Even with it being so early in the morning, you can’t help but break out into a smile at seeing them, speeding up your pace as much as you can with the carry-on suitcase lugging behind you.

“Thank you, guys, for coming all this way,” you express your gratitude while embracing Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

“What kind of shitty friends would we be if we didn’t?” Iwaizumi asks as you move to hug your parents. Your mother keeps an arm around you at the end, already fighting her tears.

“Mom…”

“Do you have everything you need?” She interjects, voice choking up. “Phone? Wallet? Passport? Boarding pass? New SIM card? Emergency cash?”

“They’re all here,” you say, pointing to the locations of each item. “I’m gonna be okay, mom.”

“Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything, ok?” Your father reminds you. “We’re only a call or text away.”

“I know. I’ll try to make it home on the holidays or something, but if not, I’ll be back in a few years at least.”

“What if you end up meeting someone and want to stay in America with them?” Your mother sniffles, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.

“Well,” you hesitate, casting a quick look towards Oikawa. When his gaze meets yours, you begin to feel more confident about the answer that you settled on yesterday. You know he’s anxious to find out what you’ve decided. “I’m sure that’s not going to happen. Can I have a minute with Tooru please? Alone?”

Your mother’s eyes widen in realization before she’s quick to shoo off your father and Iwaizumi. Once they’re out of earshot, Oikawa looks at you expectantly.

“Do I get my answer today?” He inquires, removing his hand from his jacket pocket to hold one of yours. You take the initiative to interlace your fingers with his, giving a tight squeeze.

“Mmm,” you hum while fishing out your phone with your free hand. Oikawa watches anxiously as you tap and scroll through something, breath baited as your eyes seem to light up at finding what you need. You turn the screen to him and ask, “Does that answer your question?”

At first, he’s confused. Oikawa sees a contact page open and automatically notices it’s his number. It’s not until his vision drifts back to the top of the page where his name usually was. In the past, it had been “crappykawa” with a smiling emoji, but to his delight, it now reads “the boyfriend­TM”.

His excitement prompts him to lift you from the waist and spin you around in a few circles. You shriek and shake with laughter as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck to hold on, your eyes closed tightly until he puts you down. Even then, he doesn’t detach himself from you and leans down to kiss you sweetly, never wanting to let up. It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving him in the next few minutes – he’d rather have this than nothing at all.

Minutes later and after more teary goodbyes, you walk through the line towards security. The four of them watch as you exchange pleasantries and answer questions by the guard checking your boarding pass and passport. Once you’ve been cleared, you turn around once more to give a final wave, before disappearing behind the gray walls. After you pass security and find somewhere to eat a quick breakfast, you check your phone. There’s a Snapchat from Oikawa that you immediately move to open. It’s a selfie taken at an angle where his phone would’ve been in his lap. He has his characteristic pout on his face and the caption reads, “i already miss you, my love.”

And at that moment, you know, you can feel it with every ounce of your being, that everything is going to be okay.

-

(epilogue)

Months after you moved to California, Oikawa received his invite to play for a professional volleyball team in Argentina. He consulted his closest friend, you, his coaches, and they all agreed on one thing: he’d be stupid to turn it down.

It wasn’t the Japan national team, but it was definitely an opportunity of a lifetime. He greatly admired the national Argentine team as a child, and that admiration never wavered. On the plus side, it would make the long-distance relationship easier with you, as the time difference would be cut significantly.

The relationship experienced its ups and downs. Some main recurring themes of contention involved his tendency to overwork himself and your frequent late nights in the lab, as well as your disregard for your physical and mental health during times of high stress. They were issues born out of love and care, and they were worked on to help each other improve. You’d always livestream his volleyball matches and he would attempt to stay up with you on a video call if you were in the lab or up late studying, reminding you to drink water and eat something nutritious.

Oikawa found time to visit you during rare extended breaks in the off-season. He’d always make sure that you two would video call Iwaizumi together, wearing a shit-eating grin when Iwaizumi would pick up the call and roll his eyes. In return, you saved up and visited him in Argentina, though only able to stay up to a week at most. The new life was a little difficult and strange, but he made it work. He loved his teammates, he loved you, he loved volleyball, and he couldn’t ask for more.

You finished your doctorate in four years, just as you had predicted. You already had a job lined up before graduation at an academic hospital in Tokyo, allowing you to practice pharmacy and continue research. Not only that, Iwaizumi also earned a position in the top volleyball team in Japan, leaving Oikawa to be ecstatic. His personal dream from so many years ago was finally coming together – the three of you together in the same city, and him and Iwaizumi on the same superior team, even if it meant playing with Kageyama Tobio and Ushijima Wakatoshi. But he’d get used to it eventually.  

When you first returned to Tokyo, you were happy to see that not much had changed. Oikawa had another couple of years in Argentina before he would return to Japan and join Iwaizumi on the team. A few weeks in, you were already enjoying your job immensely – the only thing missing was your boyfriend.

A year has passed, and you are currently sitting at home in front of the TV with a mug in your hands. You’re dressed down in your comfiest sweatpants and Tooru’s jersey from university days. A white gold chain holding a simple silver ring hangs daintily around your neck as a token and symbol of a promise. You check your phone and frown a little – Tooru hadn’t texted or called you all day, though he did mention he would be busy with preparing for an upcoming practice match. You’re now worried that Tooru’s overworking himself again, holding the device now to send a quick text reminder to take breaks and stretch afterwards.

You toss your phone to the side and try to focus on the humorous game show, picking up on how ridiculous some of the antics were. American game shows had nothing on the ones here in Japan.

Someone rings your doorbell. At first, you think it’s the postman dropping off a package you had been expecting and make no move towards the door. But the doorbell is rung once again, leaving you to hesitantly approach the entrance. You peek through the spyhole and spot a young man outside, hat slipped on backwards, glasses perched on his nose, and hands stuffed into his pants pockets. He’s looking away from you and has suitcases around him, but you can recognize that side profile from anywhere. Could it be?

You fumble with the lock and throw open the door as your heart threatens to beat out of its chest. The young man finally looks up at you and you gasp as tears spring forward to your eyes.

Oikawa Tooru is standing right in front of you with the most beautiful smile on his face that you have ever seen.

He’s ready to catch you when you squeal and run into his arms, dissolving into laughter as you blubber into his neck and attempt to make sense of what’s happening. Tooru spins you around a few times for good measure, relishing in the comfort of your body against his. It had been too long since he last held you, and luckily, he’d never have to wait that long ever again.

His invite came as a phone call not too long ago, personally from the coach of the team that Iwaizumi had joined. They were willing to wait for him if he wanted another year in Argentina as he had originally planned, but Tooru decided that it was time to come back. He had buzzed with excitement as he planned out his great return, wanting so badly to surprise you. It’d go down in the book as one of the best reveals of a major life change for the two of you, and he wanted it to be perfect.

“How—what—when—I have so many questions!” You stammer, hands reaching for his face to make sure that this is real. Tooru leans into your palm, eyes catching the glisten of the promise ring that he had gifted you two years ago. He was a little worried that it wouldn’t be noticeable enough (“I need people out there to understand that you’re spoken for!” “What are you, a prince of the medieval days?”), but he did appreciate how beautiful it looked when you wore it as such. The happiness he feels right now is more than he could have ever imagined, especially now when he can finally look into your eyes and say the words that he’s been yearning to speak for years to you —

”I’m home, (y/n).”

-

fin.

[oldguardhc]

Old Guard hc #56

Prompt number: 17 - “Give me a minute or an hour”

Fandom: The Old Guard

Rating: PG-13

Warnings/Tags: joe x nicky, fluff

AN: @flamingbluepanda encouraged me to write a Psych AU for this prompt

Joe cranes his neck to get a better look at the body. The puncture wounds are interesting, each one spaced at least four inches apart, all at differing angles, both in entrance and position meaning whatever killed this man wasn’t just a random attack. If they were closer, Joe would have thought they were bite marks and maybe they are, but the last time he checked, there were no animals in the ocean or on land with a bite-radius that large and teeth spaced that far apart. At least, there’s nothing alive today that has a 34-inch bite-radius.

“You getting something, Mr. Kaysani?” Chief Freeman asks.

Can it be? The bite marks are looking to be more of a match the longer he stares at them. “I’m…getting something,” Joe says, snatching the yellow pad and a pen from Andy and ignoring the small huff of irritation she lets out.

He starts with a brief outline, it’s been a while since he’s drawn one of these and he has to use small strokes to get the head right.

“Wait, I think this is a boating accident,” Andy says, and Joe briefly looks up to see her point at the body. “Head trauma from…from falling off the boat. Hit a motor maybe?”

The eyes are tricky. Should they be looking straight or at the viewer? Joe decides the viewer for a more startling effect.

“The wounds on his back, they were caused by a…by an industrial crab trap. Yes, a crab trap. Or a whale. A lonely whale that got lost from its pod and traveled East, West. Saw our floating guy from below, thought it was a seal and…you know, had a little chomp.”

The teeth are definitely not his best work. The teeth to mouth ratio are way off and they’re definitely not as uniform in real life like he drew them. It’ll have to do for now. He adds a little shading to the drawing, giving it a more realistic appearance.  

“A whale?” Booker slowly asks, when it seems like Andy is finally done with her explanation.

“What’s your guy got?” Nicky immediately shoots back, coming to his partner’s defense.

Joe can practically hear Booker’s smug look, “Watch and learn, Genova. Watch and learn.”

“Alright Kaysani, show me what you got,” Chief Freeman says.

Joe blows on paper and holds the pad to his chest, hiding his drawing from a peaking Andy. “First of all, I would like to say that this is not my best work. It’s a very rough sketch, the shading isn’t finished, the torso is a little plump and the teeth are…they’re not completely accurate. If I had more time, I would’ve definitely given them more shape, more individual characteristics. If I had my druthers, I'd have done this in charcoal.” Booker gives him an understanding nod and Joe would high-five him if he was standing right next to him, “You know what I’m talking about! Almost nothing beats a good charcoal drawing-“

“Mr. Kaysani!” Chief Freeman interrupts, crossing her arms and tapping her feet. “The verdict?”

Joe dips his head in apology, “Yes! Look, the key was in the puncture wounds,” Joe says, using his pen to point at said wounds. “They’re very unique puncture wounds. So unique in fact, that I was able to draw a semi-accurate profile of our attacker.” Chief Freeman gives him the look that says ‘Well? Get on with it’ and Joe turns the pad around and smirks at Andy.

Both Andy and Chief Freeman do a double-take and lean forward to get a better look. He resists the urge to flinch. It’s really not his best work and it shows. After a second of intense scrutiny, Chief Freeman shakes her head with a slight scoff and stalks off.

“Chief? Where are you going?” Joe calls out, still holding his drawing up. The culprit is right here! Well, not here here but here on paper. She’s halfway up the beach already and doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge he spoke. Great.

“Nice work, Kaysani,” Andy says, snatching her pen and pad back, a pleased look on her face, and runs to catch up to the Chief.

“A dinosaur?” Booker asks, mouth downturned, fingers working the buttons in his sleeves to roll them back down to a more professional length. No, we were supposed to get fish tacos after this. “Jesus, Joe. You couldn’t have shot for something in the last million years?”

Joe places his hands on his friend’s chest and steps in his way, “Give me a minute, or an hour to prove it was a Tyrannosaurus rex.” Booker shakes his head, the disappointed look doing funny things to Joe’s stomach, pats Joe on the shoulder, and steps around him to leave.

Great, just great. Even his best friend didn’t believe him. Joe rubs his temples, he can feel a faint throb and he hopes that it’s just a regular throb and not a foreshadow for a migraine.  

“I thought the drawing was pretty good.”

Joe drops his hand and turns around. Nicky has that faint smile on his lips that Joe’s still trying to figure out if it means he likes Joe or likes likes Joe. He’s already made it obvious on multiple occasions how he feels about Nicky.

With Nicky’s looking at him like that, it’s so easy to smile. “Thanks!” And because no one else is here to witness his humiliation, he makes his smile a little more flirty. “You know, I can always use a live model.”

Nicky cocks an eyebrow at him, the faint smile still there, maybe even a little wider if Joe’s not delusional. “I’m going to go calm Andy.”

“Don’t die, I’d hate to miss your pretty face.” A light blush creeps up Nicky’s neck as he nods and jogs back up the beach.

Joe doesn’t stare at Nicky’s ass. He doesn’t, because that would be rude and Nicky is more than a beautiful body.

It’s a good thing the only witness is a dead body.

Joe turns back to the dead body. “Definitely not a boating accident.”

—

Joe slumps against the growing mound of dirt. He’s exhausted. He feels like he completed an Iron Man and climbed Mount Everest twenty times. Who knew being shot at could be so draining? To make matters worse, the throb from this morning was a foreshadow. His eyeballs are going to explode any second now with how strong his head is pounding. He digs his knuckle into the valley between his eyes until it hurts, it’s a different hurt than the one going on behind his eyes though, that it feels strangely good.

Joe sighs, at least one good thing happened today; he was right about the body. It’s a real shame he doesn’t have ‘Use a 20-year-old Tyrannosaurus rex model built by a 9-year-old Booker to solve a murder case’ on his bingo card. He would’ve been the only one to mark it down.

A bottle of water is placed on his lap and Joe opens his eyes, a ‘thanks, Booker’ on his tongue. Except, it’s not Booker standing above him, it’s Nicky.

Joe musters up the best smile he can despite feeling like death has crawled its way inside him through his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Your head’s been hurting all day,” Nicky says, crouching down, a small frown on his face. He pulls two packets out of his pocket and holds them out to Joe. One’s red and the other’s green. “I didn’t know if it was a regular headache or a migraine, so, I got both.”

Joe stares at the two packets. Nicky bought him medicine. Nicky saw that he was hurting and brought him something to feel better. Joe swallows the lump in his throat, reaches out for the red packet. “Thank you,” Joe says, brushing his fingers with Nicky’s.

The corners of Nicky’s lips tick upwards, “No problem.”

Joe tears the packet open and dumps both pills in his hands before tossing them into his mouth. Nicky has the bottle of water open and held out for him and Joe takes it with a grateful nod. Even though he swallows the pills on the first gulp, he finishes the whole bottle. Only when he’s done, does he remember that Booker might want some too.

“I gave him a bottle too,” Nicky says and that’s a sign, right? That has to be a sign of how amazing they would be together. “The pharmacist said those pills should work in 15 minutes.” Joe nods, he’s intimately familiar with the wonders of Excedrin. He would’ve taken one around lunch if they hadn’t been following another lead at the time.

“Thank you,” Joe repeats, closing his eyes again even though he wants nothing more than to stare into Nicky’s gorgeous blue eyes. He hears and then feels Nicky settle beside him, no doubt getting his suit all dirty, and he’s doing that for Joe.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

Joe shakes his head, “You’ve helped a lot already. We just have to wait now.” Joe resumes his earlier ministrations, digging into that spot that hurt but was a better hurt than the one inside.

Cold fingers slide over his own, “Don’t press too hard, you’ll hurt yourself,” Nicky chides.  

Joe grabs Nicky’s wrist and guides those cold fingers until they’re covering his eyes. Relief instantly hits and Joe presses those cold fingers harder against his eyes.

“Should’ve gotten an ice pack,” Nicky mutters to himself.

“S’fine, your hands are working.”

They sit in silence as they wait for the pills to kick in. Every few minutes, Nicky switches hands and Joe doesn’t even have to hold his wrist anymore. He knows how hard to press and it’s nice. It’s really nice. He can almost ignore Booker digging in the background and the occasional splash of dirt that rains down on both of them.

“Never thought my poor circulation would come in handy,” Nicky jokes when the migraine finally subsides.

Joe grins and reaches out to press a kiss to both palms. “They were lovely.”

“Please tell me I’m not going to have to listen to you two flirt the entire night,” Booker calls out from the hole. “I don’t want you two ruining my discovery.”

Excuse me?  

“Your discovery?” Joe asks, crawling over the mound to look down at Booker. He’s made an impressive amount of progress. Probably only six more feet before they hit the skull.

Booker stabs the shovel into the dirt, both of his hands coming up to rest on his waist. “I’m digging, so yes, my discovery.”

Joe makes an outraged sound, “I found the right hole!”

“It wasn’t a hole! I’m making it a hole!” To prove his point, Booker picks up the shovel and tosses the next scoop at Joe.

Joe should’ve seen that one coming.

“Alright, I’m going to go home. Have fun digging, boys,” Nicky says and when Joe turns around, he’s brushing dirt off himself. “I’ll see you later?”

Joe nods his head probably a little too enthusiastically, “Definitely. Thank you again for the pills. I’d still be dying if you hadn’t have come back.”

Nicky smiles, the small one, and one day Joe’s going to see if he can get him to grin ear-to-ear, lips stretched so wide his cheeks will hurt. But not today. Today, he’s going to make history by being the first Psychic Paleontologist.

Nicky dips his head again and yeah, Joe hates to see him go but he sure as hell loves to watch him leave.

That ass is definitely better than a charcoal drawing.

A new spray of dirt rains down on him and that’s it.

It’s a shame no one is there to hear Booker’s loud yelp as Joe tackles him to the floor. Oh well, it’ll live rent-free in Joe’s mind forever.

[maatryoshkaa]

baby, it’s cold outside | b.c.

summary: you’ve never really given your cute next-door neighbour a second thought—that is, until you’re shovelling your driveway alone in a snowstorm during the holidays, and a certain someone decides to lend a helping hand. 

pairing: next door neighbour!chan x reader

word count: 1.5k

ryu says: this was!! supposed to be!! a harmless drabble but guess who got carried away again TT—anyhow this is an ambiguous holiday drabble and a teensy gift for you guys in case you need a little breather!

[☃️6:48 P.M.]

“This is the worst holiday ever.” You plunge your shovel into the snow with a frustrated groan, the heap next to your driveway growing precariously high. As far as you’re concerned, all your friends are on the other side of the world — soaking up the sun on a warm, white-sand beach or tropical cruise — and here you are, shovelling your driveway in the middle of what might as well be the worst snowstorm you’ve ever seen, just so you can back your car out and find a decent place to eat dinner. You’ve been snowed in (and feeling sorry for yourself) for the first couple of days of the holidays, sufficiently depleted your fridge, and now you’re starving. 

You scoop up another shovelful of snow, snivelling—you’re not quite sure if your nose is runny because you’re bitter over not thinking ahead and booking your own vacation while you had the chance, or if it’s simply because you’re so damn cold.

You’d pulled on a windbreaker before heading out, convincing yourself that the shovelling wouldn’t take that long—and now it’s soaked through, your bare hands (why hadn’t you thought to put on mittens?) stinging every time you grip the shovel. You can barely feel your face, your expression frozen into a scowl that’d make the Grinch whimper. After an hour of fruitless labour, you’ve barely managed to make a dent in your driveway: every time you finish a section, the falling snow is already forming a new layer. In fact, you’re pretty sure that it’s snowing even harder than when you first started—fat, fluffy clumps of the stuff, coating everything within your line of sight with a thick blanket of white. 

It really would be beautiful, you think numbly, if you weren’t so miserable. Starving, wet, cold, sore, and absolutely miserable.

“C’mon, y/n, you can do this,” you mutter to yourself, flexing your frostbitten fingers as best you can and mustering what little motivation you have left. “Just one clear lane, and then you can—”

A strong gust of wind sends you flying backwards, Christmas-cartoon-style, and you land hard on a patch of ice. Feeling the unpleasant, stinging cold seep into your pants, you watch in horror as the wind sweeps the entire snow pile you had been working on back onto your driveway. With an exasperated cry, you throw your shovel down and it sinks into the snow pile before disappearing, tears beginning to prick at your eyes. 

Just as you begin to contemplate cooping yourself up in your house and starving for the evening, you feel a sudden, warm weight on your shoulders and your hands reach up instinctively to feel a puffy winter parka draped over your shivering frame. You look up, bewildered, and your cheeks begin to burn from something other than the cold.

Next door neighbour!Chan is standing over you, eyebrows raised over drooping eyes—the kind of eyes that always makes him look soft and sleepy—and he smiles, shaking stray locks of curly blond hair from his face. There’s concern in his expression, but you swear you catch a note of amusement as he holds out a hand to help pull you to your feet. He’s holding a steaming mug of hot cocoa in his other hand, and he holds it out to you with a lopsided smile that makes you knees want to give way again. 

“You were shivering pretty bad out there—it’s the least I could do.” Words fail you, your tongue having tied itself into knots, and Chan chuckles, pushing the cup into your hands and patting them lightly. “Warm up for a bit, yeah?”

You manage to stammer out a thank you, and Chan disappears back into his house for several moments before coming back out with a shovel. As he begins scooping the snow back into the pile, you blurt out, “Were you—were you watching me this whole time?” Your mouth goes dry as you flash back to yourself muttering like an angry old man, your hair plastered to your face from the wind and sleet.

Chan stops and looks back, and you’re not sure if he’s winking or just smiling. “My living room window faces your driveway,” he replies simply, eyes sparkling as if they contain a secret joke, “and...you’re pretty hard to miss.”

He turns back and you sputter, the parka—his parka—slipping from your shoulders. Wrapping it tightly around yourself, you take a sip of the hot cocoa, sighing at the warmth that spreads across your chest and fingertips. Your eyes stray to Chan’s silhouette, outlined in the light of the streetlamps. Under his black parka, he’s wearing fuzzy reindeer-print pajama bottoms, and you can’t help but smile.

The few interactions you’ve had with your next-door neighbour were not your proudest moments. Sure, you’ll admit, you’re not the smoothest when it comes to social skills—you have to rehearse your order ten times before the waiter comes, et cetera—but for some reason you can’t quite explain, it gets particularly bad around Bang Chan. 

For instance, one time you were taking out the trash when Chan happened to step out of his house. When you raised your hand to wave at him, you knocked over the lid of the bin and spilled its entire contents onto your entire driveway.

Another time, you were mowing your lawn when he pulled into his driveway. This time, Chan waved first before pulling into his garage, and you stared after him, effectively forgetting about the lawn mower in your hands. 

There’s a permanent patch of dirt on your lawn now, serving as a painful reminder of your own social shortcomings.

It’s not your fault he’s so damn cute! Snapping out of your reverie, you bury your head in your hands. That’s it. You’re cursed with a cute next-door-neighbor, and now you’ve probably wrecked his cozy night in. You glance at his reindeer pajama bottoms again—snowflakes are beginning to stick at the hem—and feel like slapping yourself. After all, who in their right mind would leave their warm home in the middle of a snowstorm to help their crazy neighbour shovel their driveway? You are the worst next-door-neighbour in the history of next-door-neighbours.

Cheeks burning in embarrassment, you carefully set down the mug of hot cocoa before digging your shovel out from underneath the snow pile. Chan’s shovelled a good amount of snow already, and with the two of you working together, your driveway is clear in no time. Chucking the last shovelful of snow onto the pile, Chan raises his shovel in triumph, turning back to face you with a smile you swear is warm enough to melt away all the snow in the world.

Another blast of wind makes you shiver involuntarily, and Chan's expression turns worried. “Are you still cold?” He reaches into his pockets as if fishing for something and pulls out two packets, ripping off the plastic and handing them to you. “Here—these are hot packs. You know how to use ‘em?”

You nod, thanking him, but your fingers are so stiff from the cold you fumble and nearly drop them. After several moments of trying to rub the sachets to activate them, Chan’s warm hands envelopes yours, gingerly helping your wrap your fingers around the hot packs. Your gaze flickers up and you’re startled when your eyes meet his, your breath catching momentarily in your throat.

The sun’s gone down while you were shovelling, the sky darkening behind a veil of grey winter clouds. The snow has stopped, too, leaving your street sparkling and white beneath the pleasantly warm glow of the streetlamps. You’ve never been this close to Chan—you can see snowflakes melting on his lashes, and a cute flush of red (getting darker by the second) on the tip of his nose. He smells like peppermint and coffee, an odd combination that, for some reason, makes you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

It takes you a second to realise that Chan’s been holding your hands for a good couple of minutes now, and you clear your throat, voice coming out surprisingly steady for the first time tonight. “Thanks so much for—for helping me.” You gnaw at your bottom lip, tearing your gaze away. “You should probably head back in before your food gets cold.”

Chan chuckles, removing his hands from yours. “I didn’t make dinner—my fridge is empty.” He glances at your driveway. “Were you going somewhere? Holiday party?”

You laugh. “Not even close. No plans at all—I was going to find a place to eat dinner.” The hot packs are burning in your palms now, and the next words that roll from your tongue surprise even you. “Want to grab a bite together?”

Chan tilts his head, slipping his hands into his pockets with the same lopsided smile that’s always given you butterflies. “I’d like that.”

Maybe this isn’t such a bad holiday, after all.

[lone-survivor-six-tales]

Ain't That A Shot in The Head Ch.1

"Good morning Capital Wasteland! Three Dog here. It's another beautiful day in the-" the radio on Alice's pipboy was shut off with a groan as she slowly woke up. It was the same as every other day: wake up, patrol around Megaton, scavenge some scrap for Moira, eat dinner, go to bed. She shouldn't have minded, her father would probably be happy she had a semblance of normality in this wasteland but sitting around hadn't been her style in the vault and after almost a year of fighting and struggling to bring Project Purity to life, these last two years of no action other than the occasional attack by raiders had left her feeling hollow and listless.

Climbing out of bed, she quickly dressed in her favorite combat armor and grabbed her trusty sniper rifle as she headed downstairs to see Charon was back from another caravan run. In the time they've travelled together Alice liked to think Charon had started to see her more like a friend than the one that held her contact. He had taken a job as a caravan guard and Alice wouldn't see him for weeks or months at a time but she reassured him that he'd always have a place at her house.

"You're finally back. Where did you go this time?" Alice asked as she grabbed a beer from the fridge and tossed it to Charon. It had become a routine in itself that whenever Charon came back from a caravan run Alice would pass him a beer and he'd tell her about anything interesting that happened during his travels.

"Went farther than usual. Ended up in Colorado and overheard some traders talking about a place called New Vegas. If I had to guess, it's probably Las Vegas over in Nevada. From what they said, the place is almost untouched by the bombs and the casinos are still open." He explained, sitting down to check his shotgun for repairs. He knew Alice loved when he talked about pre-war places and before she even asked he started explaining about Las Vegas.

"Vegas was like an oasis in the middle of a desert. It was mostly a place people went to thinking they could get rich quick by gambling at the casinos and winning more money. More often than not you left Vegas empty handed but that didn't stop people from trying." He explained while Alice hung onto every word. Her mind was already reeling as she imagined a place not destroyed by the bombs. She heard Charon huff and looked over to see him shaking his head.

"I know that look. You want to see New Vegas yourself don't you?" He asked, already knowing the answer. Since the day Alice had scrounged up enough caps to buy his contact he had quickly learned to read Alice to not only help her in whatever crazy job she got dragged into but to help her grow from the stumbling vaultie that somehow made it to the Underworld with a vault jumpsuit and a pistol to the young woman that was being called the savior of the wasteland.

"Can you blame me? The last time I had any real action was when we were dealing with Enclave remnants. You know me better than I know myself Charon, I love Megaton and everyone here but…" Alice sighed, looking away. It was probably selfish of her to even think of leaving the Capital Wasteland but thinking about New Vegas reminded her of when she'd daydream about leaving vault 101. She heard the clink of an empty beer bottle land in her trash can as Charon stood up and slung his shotgun back onto his back.

"The next caravan I'm guardian is heading to Kansas, from there it should be only a few weeks before we reach New Vegas."

It took Alice a moment to process his words before she could properly thank him as she ran upstairs to pack up her traveling pack.

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

Her head pounded as she slowly regained consciousness. A fan slowly spun above her head and she could hear an older man's voice talking to her.

"You're awake, I was starting to think you'd never wake up."

She groaned softly as she sat up and saw an old man sitting in a chair across from her. The man stood up to gently help her move into a sitting position before grabbing a doctor's bag and began a quick check up.

"You're really lucky missy. Not many people come back from being shot in the head and being buried alive." He said as he checked her eye dilation and reflexes.

"Where...am I?" Her throat felt parched and she couldn't hold back a cough that tickled her throat. The old man, finally introducing himself as Doc Mitchell, passed her a canteen full of water and she quickly swallowed a few mouthfuls.

"Easy there, you're in a little town called Goodsprings. Do you know where that is?"

She thought for a moment but the name didn't sound familiar to her and she shook her head.

"Do you remember your name?"

She was about to answer and paused. No name came to her. The harder she thought to remember her name the more her head started to pound and she groaned in pain.

"Ah, you probably lost your memory due to the shot to your head." Doc Mitchell walked away while she tried to calm her pounding head and returned with a bag and passed it to her.

"The securitron that dug you up, Victor, found this not too far away from where you were. Maybe there's something that'll jog your memory."

She dug through the bag and found a canteen, a pair of casual clothes, some food and two slips of paper. One was a delivery delivery order that talked about a platinum poker chip. The other was a worn piece of paper with most of the writing faded out. The clearest writing was at the top where she could make out a single name.

"Charon"

A sharp pain in her head made her drop the paper and clutch her head in pain. The last thing she heard was Doc Mitchell ask if she was alright before she fell unconscious and slipped into what she assumed was a memory.

She sat across from the large ghoul whose contract she just bought from the now deceased Ahzrukhal. She wasn't scared of Charon per se but anyone would be wary after watching your new partner blow the head off his previous owner.

"So let me see if I got this straight: I can't give you your contract back and I can't just tell you you're free. Is there really no way to free you from this contract?" She asked, taking a bite out of a stale snack cake. She had bought Charon's contract in an attempt to free him but now she found herself actually stuck as his new owner (she refused to say master and immediately told him not to call her anything like it).

"The only way I could be free from this contract is if I die. As long as I live I'll protect you until I die or you pass the contract on to someone else." Charon explained, not looking up from his shotgun as he replaced a few parts from a scavenged shotgun she found.

"Great" she grumbled, losing her appetite at the thought of him putting himself in harm's way just because he was forced to protect her.

"Charon, I don't want to be your master, I want to be your friend. But, I'm only going to give you one order: no matter what, don't die for me."

"My orders are-"

"I know but these are mine. Please, just promise you'll try to follow it."

"I'll... I'll try."

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

It had been a week since Six woke up. After waking up and explaining what happened to Doc Mitchell she had given herself the name Six after looking at her courier number on the delivery order. While Doc Mitchell was happy that she had remembered something from her past, Six just felt more confused. From what she saw in her memory, she had bought a ghoul who was under a contract to protect her and yet from what Doc Mitchell told her there was no ghoul around matching the description she gave him.

She had spent most of the week recovering and relearning how to shoot with the help of Sunny Smiles. When Sunny deemed her acceptable enough to defend herself Six dressed in some armor Doc Mitchell gave her along with a pipboy that previously belonged to his wife and decided to look for the man in the checked suit that shot her and search for Charon along the way.

Her first stop was the town of Primm to hopefully get some information about the package she accepted and to see if Charon was with her when she accepted it. When she arrived she wasn't expecting to get dragged into a shootout with a group of escaped convicts, backtrack to the NCR Correctional Facility to find a sheriff then trek all the way to the Mojave Outpost to convince some guy at a desk to parole the potential sheriff. By the time she returned to Primm to tell Meyers Six was exhausted. Luckily the manager of the Mojave Express was kind enough to invite her to dinner with his wife to thank her for her help.

"Really I can't thank you enough for this." Six thanked Johnson Nash's wife Ruby as she placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of her. Six held herself back from just shoveling the stew into her mouth and slowly ate while Johnson explained about the package she took. A pile of metal on the counter nearby caught her eye and she quickly realized it was a powered down eyebot.

"What's with the robot?" She asked, pointing to eyebot after finishing her meal.

"Oh that? Another courier brought it in. I tried looking at it but I can't seem to get the thing working. I was planning on taking it to the scrapyard in Novac but if you'd like to take a look at it be my guest." Johnson said and Six walked over to the eyebot and checked for damage. From what she could see, a few pieces needed to be replaced and after digging through her bag she quickly found the needed parts and got to work repairing the little bot.

It took Six about an hour but after replacing the last sensor module she heard the eyebot start up and let it go to let it hover just above her head. The eyebot let out a series of beeps that Six could have sworn sounded like it was confused.

"Hey there, glad to see you're still functioning." Six said, watching the eyebot hover around her in a circle. She noticed a license plate stuck to the side of the bot and while most of the numbers were faded she could make out a few words.

"ED-E? Is that your name? ED-E?"

ED-E played what sounded like a victory song and stopped circling to face her. Maybe it was the head trauma or maybe something else but Six couldn't help but find the robot...cute.

"Well the ED-E, I'm looking for some people and I wouldn't mind some company. How do you feel about coming with me?"

Six gladly took ED-E playing a little jingle as a confirmation.

[evolsinner]

⊱┊27

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEXUAL ASSAULT. READER DISCRETION ADVISED.

-ˋˏ ༻🍷༺ ˎˊ-

theo pushes me against the door and smashes his lips onto mine. at the same time, he slides my denim spaghetti strap dress down my chest, exposing my bare chest to his full view.

“damn,” he admires them hungrily, “look at ‘em built~in stress balls.”

“take a picture, lasts longer,” i tilt his head back up to eye level with me.

“oh, don’t worry, i’m intending to,” and he crushes his lips back onto mine.

he grabs one of my boobs in his palms and squeezes before pinching my swollen nipple. soft moans flow out from my mouth and my wetness down there increases.

🎶my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard and they’re like, it’s better than yours damn right it’s better than yours

“nice ringtone,” theo smirks.

“shut up.”

he chuckles. “aye, let’s see if your milkshake really does bring all the boys to the yard,” he smugly raises his eyebrows and lowers his mouth to the bud he had been torturing seconds before. he begins to suck on it whilst kneading the other one.

“ohhh,” i moan. “yesss.”

his tongue circles my areola, nibbling, slurping and lapping up his drools. after pretty much mutilating my nipple, he lands a cute peck on top of it like that’s somehow gonna heal every nasty thing he did to it. “tell me how you like it done, babygirl.”

“touch me.”

he pulls the rest of my dress below my waist and skims his hand down my stomach to my core. if i keep my eyes shut for long enough, i could pretend it’s not him. i’m torn between wanting to remember and forget. i want to remember how it felt when isaac touched me, but i want to forget how it felt when he broke me...

“damn, you’re so wet.”

my phone goes off again but this time it reminds me of reality. it reminds me of how my life was once a dream these past few months and now it has gone to literal shit. getting irritated, i lift theo’s shirt up and drag him into myself, desperately tugging at his zipper.

“alrighty then,” he grins. “my babygirl is one greedy little bitch, ‘cept imma spoil her like her daddy couldn’t.”

the dress slides off my body entirely and pools around my ankles. i wriggle out of my underwear. he gets rid of his pants and boxers. then he picks me up by the thighs and walks backward to his bed. he falls onto the bouncy mattress. i get on top and dry grind on him. he grips my waist like he’s got claws for nails.

“fuck, you’re good!” he groans.

i push myself further down onto his erection, the wetness of my core spreading to other parts. “ooh, theo.. “

“that’s it, baby, just like that,” he lifts his head up to watch me rub my kitty on him. “keep it go..ing..mm..oo..yeah..” he exhales deeply, dropping his head back down on the pillow.

i lower my hand, further massaging his bulge with my palm and pressing it into myself. more grunts escape from his mouth and it looks like he’s in a paradise of his own. my phone, yet again, goes off. i glance over my shoulder to where it’s placed on the far back cupboard.

theo yanks me down. “eyes on me, slut!”

his lips are so sour. i try to find the sweetness within them, but it’s difficult. it’s unlike the first time we kissed and unquestionably unlike mr killian’s, nowhere near.

isaac’s was a whole nother valhalla.

theo changes position, getting on top of me. he reaches over and pulls back the top drawer from his nightstand. everything is happening so fast. i am getting dazed and confused even faster. i lean up on my elbows, watching him rip up the silver packet with his teeth and rolling the rubber on.

he returns, caging me.

my respiration becomes dense and i kinda become uncomfortable, a bit claustrophobic. my ringtone continues on and off in the background and it really does bring me back to reality. the hell am i doing with the school’s pitcher??

“theo,” i calmly lay my hand on his abdomen, “i..i don’t think we should do this anymore.”

“c’mon, rosé,” he jeers. “what happened to that girl who was all over me in the boys’ locker room? surely, she’s in there somewhere. maybe i can help bring her out?”

“no, really, theo,” i reach my hand down, ceasing him from entering, “i want you to stop.”

i’ve made a mistake. this whole thing is a mistake. it was like a bandaid on the crack of my healing heart. only now that it’s beating again, all i wanna see is lime green eyes greeting me, not the blue that i’m drowning in.

“no, you don’t,” he decides for me and plants a rough kiss on my lips.

i press my head back, getting his tongue out of my mouth. “yes, i, fucking, do.”

“rosé, you can’t just fucking do that,” he snaps. “you can’t just get me hyped up like this and then not go through with it.”

i sigh, “i’m sorry. i just..i just thought i was ready, but i’m not.”

“it’s too late, you said yes already so quit being a pussy with that ‘i’m not ready’ shit girls do, and let me do my thing. i ain’t stopping.”

“but i’ve changed my mind, i don’t want to anymore. i’m sorry.”

“try to relax for me, okay?” he gets rid of the interference on behalf of my hand by gently placing it beside me. “i won’t hurt you.”

i stubbornly place that same hand at my entrance.

theo heaves, “well, what the hell do you suppose i do with my hard as fuck dick then?”

“fuck if i know. jerk off or something?”

“you’re shitting me, right?” he raises his eyebrows.

why is he being so demanding?! i’ve never seen this side of him.

a forced homely smile appears on his face. “...just relax.” he pretty much snatches my hand up and away. “and breathe, okay?”

before i can stop him again, he’s already inserting himself inside of me. i make an effort in relaxing, i really do, but my body just won’t have it.

“see, ain’t that bad,” his voice toys with me. “i’d ask if this is your first time, but i know it’s not.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“whatever you make of it,” he avoids answering the question. “you good? i’m gonna start moving now.”

“please, baby, let’s just do this another day,” i push my hands up on his chest like i’m bench pressing him, but of course it does nothing. “promise i’ll make it worth your while?”

“for fuck’s sake, stop fucking resisting!” he lashes out. “it won’t do you any good but make it hurt more!”

i flinch at his sudden outburst and fear creeps up on me like slow molten lava. patience is wearing thin from both sides. i need it to stop, but i’m petrified of the monster this will unleash, this monster right in front of me. all the way in he goes and all the way out i feel utter disgust.

“you are tight as fuck, rosé,” he grunts. “almost like you’re milking me.”

“..theo.. maybe..i..we..”

“shhh, baby,” he whispers. “it’s okay.”

sickening aftertaste merges in with my saliva, my lips quiver.

he extracts, “you taste nice.”

i look to the side so that his gaze meets my cheek. he exists out of me slowly, then back in he goes. i try to move underneath his body, but he has me cemented in such a form where comfort is not an option, let alone the chance of escaping.

“don’t cry, rosé, please.”

at this, a dozen silent tears escape from my watery eyes. hostility is the only word that comes to my head. hostility in his eyes, hostility in his tone, hostility in his biceps. it’s like the smell of cigarettes, intoxicating, and that’s what scares me the most.

“i’m only giving you what you want, rosé.”

i can’t answer him.

“this is what you want, right?” he looks me dead in the eye.

i nod...

“good girl.”

the droplets trickle off the side of my temples and land on the plush pillow. i just want isaac. i need him. i miss him...his dimple, his half~smiles, his tired blinks...i miss him a lot.

“you’re doing great. just a little while longer, i promise.”

i dry my tears with his neck because i’m too scared to move my hands.

“hey, hey?” theo brushes the hair off my face. “shh, shhh,” he coos. “why you crying for, baby? you’re doing amazing, okay?”

there’s a sudden shift from soft to rough. it’s like he wants a taste of both worlds. his thrusting has intensified and his audible satisfaction has grown louder. the fear in me, well, that disappears. i don’t like being used in this way. taken advantage of.

“hones..honestly! you’re hurting me so please just get the fuck off me!”

he pins me down fully, almost like dead weight on top of me. he digs sharply into me like a shovel, tearing away at my insides a gluttonous thrust at a time. my tears crystallise, my body aches. it’s as if my heart is in the place of my brain; the pulses banging on my skull. i throw a series of blows to his chest, but even that works against me.

“don’t fight it. the only thing that’ll do is make me fuck you harder!”

my heart is thundering, there’s an apocalypse going on in each of the chambers and it’s taking everything in me to focus through the rumble. my hand despairingly searches for something on the nightstand, anything.

amongst the lamp, the tissue box, an opened marlboro pack, a lighter, a vape pen and some empty red bull cans, i finally hit jackpot. insanely tight, my fingers encircle themselves around the glass body of a corona extra.

1, 2, 3.

“fucking bitch!” he roars, clasping his head.

this gives me enough time to escape from underneath him. i fall out of the bed, slide back into my dress and leave everything else behind.

“rosé!!” theo growls after me, grabbing his boxers.

barefoot, i run to the stairs. only a meter away from the staircase when a hand latches onto my ankle, tripping me over. theo cusses and tries to claw his way atop of me, but i flip over and kick him in the nose. he groans loudly and releases me, cupping his nose.

i run down the stairs, feeling him only a step or two behind me. i slam into the door and begin desperately unhinging each lock in a row. fuck, how many goddamn locks does this guy have?! when the last one gets undone, i pull down on the handle only to be ruthlessly pulled right back with my fucking hair.

“where the fuck do you think you’re going, huh?!” theo snarls. “i ain’t done with you yet, babygirl.”

i scream, holding onto his hands holding my hair. he sickly inhales the scent of my neck and places his palm over my mouth. i bite down immensely hard. he rips his hand free and stumbles back.

silence.

i’m just so scared.

so, so scared.

i don’t see blue eyes anymore. i see grey. pure grey. they stare right through my soul, irises of like hurricanes trapped in tiny snow globes. the globes begin to crack, bit by bit... there will be an avalanche in just milliseconds.

i open the door, stumbling out onto the lawn before regaining my balance and breaking into a sprint. i look over my shoulder when suddenly i bump into a wall right in front of me, forcing me to arrive at a standstill.

glancing up, it’s not…a wall but..

isaac killian.

[reiven2017]

Monopoly with me.

Chapter 2.

The raven stretched, dispersing blood in the joints. Her neck moaned plaintively and made a sound similar to a wound spring when the girl looked too sharply to the side. In the distance, half the sun was shining, and there was an azure sky above her head and Raven realized that it was morning. She cringed when the cold air seemed to pass through her. The weather in the mountains was ... unstable. And what did she have a day for today? I’d better not say anything. The girl frowned when she heard a short scream, and then the rough male voices. Reason clearly echoed in her head. “This is something that definitely doesn't concern you. Go on your joyful dear Raven. ” But Raven ignored the voice and came closer to the edge of the roof. Two black men's backs caught her eye and something light, sandwiched and hunched over peeped out from behind them. Climbing closer, Raven realized that it was a girl. Tears flowed down her cheek, and her mouth opened and closed in a silent cry. Her half-tattered dress hung miserably in shreds from her shoulder. Raven frowned even more, and her eyes darkened. She quickly felt the handle of the dagger, on her belt, and ready to rush at them, she froze. One of the men moved away from the victim and the Royal Guard badge flashed on his chest. Damn it. Rachel hesitated, considering how likely the chances were that she would be next to the poor thing. Going to men was not a good idea anyway. They excelled in strength. And go to the soldiers of al-Ghul ... you know, imagine a huge herd of bulls that scoot at you. Presented? Great, now imagine that these bulls have sharp swords on their horns. Well, how great are the chances of dying. The girl cried out again and this was a signal for Raven. She shoved the entire internal dialogue away, focusing on not catching the Lyuli. Raven jumping, knocked down one of them, landing on him, when the other already pulled out a sword. The girl jumped from the man and threw up the blade. She took a fighting stance, I do not know what next. “Shine, Rachel. Congratulations, you’ll be buried with a sign {Dumb idiot deciding to act as hero} "The guy maliciously grinned and growled some curse in ancient Arabic in her direction. It is so good that she did not know this language. Second, his colleague pulled out his sword and threw away his It’s much more interesting, of course. The victim slid down the wall, reveling in sobs. It was the Raven who needed to sob now, and her. The man whom she knocked down jumped to his feet and did not even try to get his weapon. He grinned caustically and shook his head.

“To save another and expose yourself to a blow, how stupid it is.” Can't you find a puppy? - Yes! The raven barely suppressed the answer before he managed to slip from her lips. She knew perfectly well that this was stupid. Raven, you didn’t even let this blade into action when you didn’t! What will they be from this bullshit? You do not know how to fight. You do not know how to fight. You don't know how to fight, you fool! Sweat ran down her back, and adrenaline rose in her blood. Her skin burned under a mask and Raven was grateful that at least he had put on a hood. The two began to slowly approach, and the girl was moving away, and only now Raven realized that they were in the fucking dumb street. There was one solid wall behind and the girl who was attacked fell apart across. Fainted from fright. This is definitely not what she needs. Rachel began to randomly run her gaze through the space, which was rapidly decreasing as the two approached like hunters following a small mouse. And here, as a salvation, Raven saw from the side, a shovel. Old, rusty. She could swear that she literally glowed with snow-white lights. She rushed in that direction, at that moment when one of the soldiers had already managed to attack her. He stumbled. Geese saved Rome, why not a spade to save her? Raven hit him on the head in a huge sweep. The man went limp and staggered. He crashed to the ground, clutching his head. The other, without wasting time, threw a shurekin, just like a girl in her forearm. The raven grimaced, her face contorted in pain as the steel cut through her skin, digging sharp spikes into her hand. She wanted to cry, but the instincts of self-preservation did not let her lose her mind. In front of her stood another soldier, much more than the one whom she hranulo a shovel. He rushed to her, throwing the spatula to the side and grabbed Raven by the throat. The girl cluttered, trying with all her might to tear this rotten hand away from herself. The man grinned and began to compress his fingers harder. E

- Well, you son of a bitch, let me even look in your face before death. - No. Just not that. Raven still had a little hope for life, and if they see her face, the hunt will begin. These soldiers will definitely want revenge. She had already imagined how she would be allowed to go around, a chill went all over her body, and Raven clung even harder, trying to kick the attacker. At least somewhere. So the girl woke up and, seeing what was happening, picked up with trembling hands lifted the cobblestone from the ground and began to slowly approach, swaying. Yes, you are faster! The soldiers turned out to be quicker and in one sharp jerk, tore off her hood and ... froze. He was stared at by beautiful amethyst eyes framed by a layer of fluffy eyelashes. He blinked with wide eyes, not believing that a girl had attacked them. But they did not give him time to think. Due to shock, his grip loosened and Raven forcefully pushed him with both legs away. He fell, falling on his back, when he did not have time to move away, he received a stone. The raven fell to her knees, exhausted, hoarsely swallowing the air. Her hands darted to her throat, and then to her forearm and gently felt the flesh. The wound seemed to throb and burn. Streams of blood were already streaming down his arm and Raven winced. She sucked in air through clenched teeth and jerked out a shureken. Fucking fucking shit. More blood spattered. She tore a piece from her sleeve and bandaged the wound. Raven cast a short glance at the two carcasses, burning with the urge to stick this shurekin to them in one dry, hard-to-reach revenge. Raven stared at the girl. She did not blink at the soldier whom she had hit with a stone. Light blonde. The raven moaned and rose to its feet, brushing off dust. Only now a girl looked at her.

- Thank. She whispered softly, with her lips. Ha. Rachel grinned. It was she who just saved her.

- What is your name? - asked the Raven, again pulling his hood and looking around in search of eyes that could become random witnesses.

- Adila.

- So, Adila, let's agree that you will erase my face from memory and forget this hour. Do you get it? - Raven looked at her. The tone of her voice sounded calm, but there was clearly a threat in him. The girl nodded obediently. - Good.

Raven again carefully looked into her face and made sure that she had truncated the whole scale of the problems that she could provide, she turned around and took a step from this street. She pulled on her hood harder. These fuckers won't forgive this. This place does not tolerate this and literally all the bones in her body insisted that this was not the end. Hmm, she imagined her start to the day clearly wrong.

- - Mother is my woman! - exclaimed the old man, stepping out from behind the bar and threw up his hands to the sky. His wide-open eyes ran excitedly over the familiar figure into the hood, and his lips extended into a smile. The raven grimaced at the disgusting smell of alcohol floating in the air. And how does Gassan endure it?

“Raven, isn't that you?” Oh my god! The thin old man cried noisily, hastily wiping his hands on the apron. Bright paint poured on his face, leaving no trace of that tired person and it seemed that even the ancient wrinkles on his forehead were smoothed out. He cast a short look at the crowd of onlookers gathered at the tables, which were now carefully studying what was happening, drinking directly from the bottles of arak. The man nodded toward the stairs leading to the second floor and the girl followed him without asking questions. Only when her bony shadow darted into the room, securely hidden from prying eyes, did the girl pull off her hood. Before he could recover, the man was captured by her hands, covered with the skin of an animal, when she hugged him tightly. The girl made a sound reminiscent of a contented cat and laid her head on the old man's shoulder. The man hugged her back.

- Hi Gassan. Raven whispered softly, not unclenching her arms. Her heart was beating happily in her chest, content with the moment.

- Hello, my angel. - in her manner answered the man. He took the girl by the shoulders, gently moving away and looked around. “How prettier and grown you are, Raven.” Straight beauty indescribable. And your pallor remained with you. Amazing - He thoughtfully stared at her face, and then, as if it dawned on him, he reached out and uttered dumbfounded. - - My angel, how did you end up here? - the girl giggled, relishing the expression of complete misunderstanding of the situation. She smiled conspiratorially and deliberately slowly explained:

- How, how, arrived three days ago. From caravan to caravan and to Ghula. Her voice sparkled merrily and shimmered with carelessness, as if that was what the whole world had been dedicated to.

- Three days?! But how so! Holy Manat, - the man looked up, turning to the gods and squinting at the girl. “Why did you order that this masterful girl come to me just now?” Oh, I will die of a broken heart. - He theatrically put his hand on his chest and exhaled sadly. Raven burst into fervent laughter as a child who had just seen the best performance in life.

“No, well, look at her.” I am seriously unhappy that you decided to visit your old friend so late, my angel.

- There were things. What can you do? - She spread her arms and grunted easily.

- Oh, how busy everyone is. Gassan clicked in displeasure and shook his head.

- Come on. How are you?

- Good, my angel, good.

- I heard Zakir also in the city. Do not know where to find it? - the man froze for a moment, his face did not express anything and Raven held her breath. For several minutes there was a deadly silence, and the air cooled. His eyebrows stiffly converged on the nose, forming a deep wrinkle on his forehead. Gassan's voice became extremely serious when, after a pause, he answered:

“You should take hold of the mind, my angel.” The raven looked at him embarrassedly and arched a questioning eyebrow in an arc. AND? He says that she is that. Fool?

- What?

- - You would throw this business, ignoble, Raven. The old man muttered grimly, looking off to the side, clenching his teeth and exhaling heavily. He seemed upset. The girl cheerfully waved him off.

- What are you doing? Yes, everything will be fine with me. - She tried to make her voice more relaxed when Gassan again clicked disapprovingly. He exhaled heavily, as if resigned to something.

- Good. I am before him, my angel. And now, I need to go to work.

“I'll come again tomorrow.”

He woke up on the street when the moon had already risen in the sky. His head hurt and throbbed. The man lifted himself up on his elbows, moaning softly. Next to him was his partner. Vidocq was no better.

- Woke up? - he asked. But the man did not hear him. A thousand and one ideas were carried in his head, rampant revenge. Pictures of that drunken face surfaced. Such a city will not be difficult to find. And when he got to her, God forbid her, heaven had not seen such a thing.

[leonawriter]

Place A Flower Crown Around Your Neck

Also on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters: Chuuya, Dazai, the Sheep, the Port Mafia, Kouyou.

Pairings: Dazai/Chuuya

Summary: Soulmates AU. As long as Chuuya can remember - which is far shorter than most people by several years - flowers have appeared on every area of his body. Supposedly, or so they say, it's because there's someone out there who has the same happen to them when he gets hurt.

The flowers only appear because he cares. The realisation that the one on the other end is Dazai makes him wish that he didn't.

...

Chuuya looks in the mirror, which isn't much of one, and sees shapes blossoming over his chest, his legs, his his arms.

Nakahara Chuuya, the plastic bracelet he'd had on during his first memories, had said. Age. Gender. Birthdate. Blood type. 

None of it explained why there were flowers currently all over his body, that he hadn't put there.

Just one more thing I can't explain, he decided. Something else he could only figure set him apart from the rest of the kids who were a part of the group that'd taken him in when they'd seen him wandering the streets with no clue who he was, where he was, or even what he was, given that his last real memory was of some great hand reaching for him, and that felt more like some sort of weird dream, or nightmare, than something real.

Even if nothing else, it wasn't human.

Maybe this wasn't either, he wonders, and picks his clothes up from the floor, putting them on one by one, readying himself to go back out and pretend to be normal again, for another day.

...

"Oh, ouch," Yuzu says at the dinner table one day, wincing as she looks at him. He doesn't get it - he's not been injured, hasn't been since he burned his hand on the stove by accident, trying to grab at a pan with his ability before it could topple and send the food flying, and that was long enough ago that it'd healed over.

"Ouch what?"

Shirase and a few others start to lean in, to get a closer look, and the moment they look at him, they all wince in their own ways.

Honestly, if people keep doing this and not telling him what was going on, he's just plain gonna get pissed off real soon-

"What, is this new? C'mon, Chuuya, if you had someone, you should've told us!"

"Pfft, look at him! I don't think he even knows what we're talking about!"

"What, seriously? But everyone and their mom and big sister knows about that one- ohhh! Right."

The rice he'd been shovelling into his mouth suddenly becomes a lot harder to swallow as he's reminded of how there were such basic things that even the smallest of the kids who'd come to the Sheep had just by the fact that they'd been born, had parents, had homes... 

"Look, it's fairly simple." The calm voice that had started to explain belonged to a girl several years younger than him. Younger than he was supposed to be and how people saw him, at least. "The idea is, that there are some people who have someone else in the world, and when that person is hurt, flowers show up where the hurt is. I heard someone say that it's because when the world was being made, there were two people who always wanted to know if the person they loved was okay, so the gods gave them a way to find out, because they didn't have phones yet."

"So," someone else said, taking off where she'd left off, "that means you've got someone like that, Chuuya!" 

"Yeah," and this time it's Yuzu again, "which would be great, if it weren't for how there's like, a ring of flowers right now all around his neck. I'd say it's pretty, but honestly, it's kind of morbid."

It was tempting to roll up his sleeves, just to see if some of the flowers he'd seen before were still there, but he stops himself before he can do more than tug on a cuff.

Whoever they are, they're either being kicked around like some weak kid who likes to pick way too many fights, or they don't take nearly enough care of themself, he thinks to himself.

Conversation drifts on, and people talk about soulmates, even though the subject of Chuuya's pretty much gets dropped aside from a number of curious glances, often accompanied by a sympathetic wince. 

Someone brings up that they knew someone from the other side of the slums, and her soulmate was her twin sister, and someone else argues back that twins didn't count, and someone else argued the point with what little they'd learned of history from the books they'd been able to scavenge from the deserted shops and houses.

Chuuya just carried on eating his food, and hoped that whoever it was on the other end would be a bit more considerate and not make this thing so obvious in the future, if they couldn't just stop getting hurt.

At least, he thinks to himself as he forces another mouthful down, hand going to his throat without thinking, it's something human I can claim as my own.

The flowers fade by the time they've finished eating and clearing up, until eventually there's nothing left of them at all. Even so, part of him worries, because those are just the flowers, he knows, and if that means there's an actual injury on some poor person he's supposed to care about, then...

It's easier not to think about it, than to consider the idea that he might have lost them before he's even found them.

...

He kicks the Port Mafia brat into a wall, digs the heel of his foot into the guy's chest, and kicks him again not long later just to get rid of that nullifying ability of his, and doesn't even think anything of it until he gets a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirrors later, and wonders who the hell his soulmate could be, that he's now got something or other trailing all the way down one of his arms, and something pale just over one of his eyebrows.

It's a good thing he's taken to wearing clothes that cover him up, ever since he found out about this.

(He'd seen Dazai walk in with a cast over his arm, but figured that the two couldn't be related, it had to just be coincidence, because that explosion had covered a wide enough area it could've been anyone, and maybe it was weird, but people busted up their arms every day. 

Besides, the world was big, and it didn't have to be the one Port Mafia kid he'd already declared he couldn't stand.)

...

The first sign he really should've paid attention to, that he shouldn't have just filed off as weird and ignored, was when he'd seen himself with something small and dainty flowering on his cheek while going through the house that was where the explosion had been.

A small flower, in the same place he could see Dazai now had a small cut, probably from one of the bullets the GSS soldiers had been aiming at him.

Dazai ignores it. Or he seems to. 

But then, Dazai, with his bandages all over and his boredom and the way he acts like he's already an adult when he's younger than Chuuya, is weird enough that maybe he sees, and he just doesn't care.

...

Maybe it says something, that he doesn't even figure it out while they're fighting Randou - Rimbaud, he should say, now - and maybe that's all down to adrenaline and the fact that neither of them were injured in places that they'd be able to just look at during the fight, or maybe it was something else entirely, but-

At some point he gets a glimpse of flowers fading from his chest, and his mouth goes dry, remembering all too clearly the small blossoms that had grown around his neck hardly even just once, or twice, in his life.

And the bandages that still covered Dazai's.

...

(He takes to wearing a collar-type choker. Dazai might make fun of it, but Chuuya doesn't want to see flowers in the mirror the next time Dazai tries hanging himself, because he knows what's underneath those bandages better than anyone. He's seen most of those scars come into existence, after all, even if he's never seen them in person.

So he never makes fun of the bandages, even though he could. He isn't going to sink to Dazai's level, and unlike some, he doesn't take pleasure in someone else's pain like that.)

...

"...Ane-san," he says, halfway through a private session focusing on manners and how they relate to tactical warfare, "the whole... soulmates, thing. D'you know of any where they just, don't even like each other?"

The look she gives him says that she understands why he's asking, and that would be bad enough, but she looks like she pities him, and that's ten times worse.

"None that I know of," she says. "After all, the story goes that the gods granted the ability to see the harms of others because both people involved cared, Chuuya-kun."

He scoffs at that, almost laughs at the very idea, because this is Dazai they're talking about, but she gives him a level look, reminding him that they had been in a lesson about manners.

...

The worst times are when he doesn't see any sign of flowers at all, and he learns to dread not seeng anything at all because when the injuries are all internal, the flowers don't appear.

He can't know to run to the last person to see Dazai and ask where he's gone to cut him down when he sees flowers beginning to bloom out from behind his choker, he can't know to run home if he sees something trailing across his wrists, can't know to go anywhere, if he can't see anything at all.

He's scared shitless the first time he sees Dazai floating face down in a river, and screams profanities at him for what feels like an hour, maybe more, until Dazai puts his fingers in his ears and complains of hearing loss.

Chuuya doesn't care, and nor does he care about the fact that he's going to be seeing the marks on his skin from the way he'd beaten at Dazai's chest a little too hard, and hit him knowing that the flowers would fade in a few hours, but at least Dazai would be alive to make them bloom.

He hates Dazai for doing this, hates him for doing this to him, hates him for making him care.

...

("You're late," Dazai says, "because of that, they were able to hit me three more times."

He knows, he wants to say, because he still has the flowers fading on his wrists, where the cuffs are chafing, his sides, where Dazai's been kicked, and Dazai can probably even see the ones on his face that match the bruises still forming there.

"Poor baby," is what he says instead, "want me to pick up where they left off?")

...

The aftermath of Corruption is probably the only time he feels like it's all worth it - the use of that much power and the loss of control, and the entire flowers thing in general.

He'll come back to lucidity to see Dazai's face, invariably covered in flowers, almost always blue and white.

It's a small reminder of what everyone kept on telling him, and even if it only remains for a short time, he'll burn the sight into his memories best he can.

They're only there because he cares, they only can be there because he cares, he tells himself. 

...

He isn't there, when Dazai vanishes, and Mori tells him on the phone about how Dazai has betrayed the mafia, and will from here on in be treated as a traitor.

My condolences, Chuuya-kun. Perhaps if he chooses to come back of his own accord, some argument for leniency might be made, Mori had said, but such leniency can only exist if Dazai-kun allows it to. As I'm sure you understand.

The worst thing is, he does. He understands, he gets it - it makes complete sense in his head, that they can only help Dazai as far as he'll let himself be helped. Which has never been much, if at all, what with the way he's always just done everything on his own and in his own way.

But that's his head, and his heart - that he'd once denied existed, because a heart like this was something more human than he could lay claim to, as some force of destruction in a mortal body - told him that it hurt.

At the very least, Mori's words mean that he doesn't feel like he has to constantly be hyperaware of his own reflection, that he won't wake up one day with flowers having blossomed red on his chest, and trailing down from his jawline.

At least, he thinks, he might be given enough warning before that happens that he won't have to worry about being in public and having all of his enemies and subordinates alike know that his very own soulmate had been executed as a traitor to his very own organisation.

Idly, he wishes that whoever the hell had come up with this stupid idea in the first place, whichever god or goddess it was, had thought to make internal injuries visible as well - maybe then, Dazai might see the way Chuuya had been hurt because of him.

If he even cares, that is, and this isn't just one sided now somehow.

They'd seen each other's pain on their bodies since well before they'd even met, but it wasn't impossible. He'd heard stories, everyone had, and he wasn't so oblivious that he didn't hear people talking about him, wondering if that was what had happened to him.

The marks are only there because you care, he reminded himself, but they don't say anything for a shitty mackerel that's never cared more about you than his love of suicide. 

Just forget about him, he tells himself, tired of this already, when a few days later the flowers appear again, around his neck, as if his choker had gained lace and frills, and he calls in sick so that he's just going to do paperwork and won't have to go out in public like this.

Kouyou doesn't question him. But then, that's helped by the fact that he'd wound up throwing up when the flowers still hadn't faded after several hours, and he's driven to nausea by the images his mind throws at him of Dazai hanging from some beam, some low-hanging tree branch, the life draining out of him and the flowers around Chuuya's neck never fading, because the wounds are never going to heal.

He gets dressed and goes out and manages to look and act normal, but marks on his skin are still fading, days later.

...

He starts to get used to Dazai not being there, and starts to grow accustomed to the flowers showing up and not being able to do shit about it, though it helps that he doesn't see anything near as bad for a long while, and when it does, they fade more quickly.

People learn to stop bringing it up, and each new subordinate he gets learns quickly not to ask, enough that he wonders if it's something people just pick up on, or if people think he'll somehow blow up if they mention how the 'tattoos' on his arms have changed since yesterday.

...

Just forget about him, he'd told himself, just stop caring so much, and it'll all go away and life will be that much easier. You know that. Yo do. 

His heart still stops for a moment when he sees the fresh splashes of colour on his skin, and he grinds his teeth at his inability to do anything about it.

He's not coming back, he's not worth the damn effort of caring, he keeps thinking. If you stop caring now, you won't have to be left with being unable to get rid of the evidence once the bastard actually gets what he wants and finally kills himself.

It doesn't work.

It never does.

...

Four years on, and he's not even thinking about Dazai at all until he looks down at his wrists and sees soft white covering his skin. He doesn't even feel worried at this point, just angry, angry that he knows that if anyone looks at him, they'll wonder what kind of partner he has that would do such a thing.

He's still on the train and looking out of the window when he sees his face burst into flower.

He sighs, closes his eyes, and briefly wonders what sort of mess the bastard had got himself into this time, and by the time he opens them again, he forgets to breathe, for just one moment.

The flowers had covered almost his entire face, colours deep enough to mean it'd be a while before they went down, and he could only imagine what could possibly be going on to cause that.

But he can't think about that, and doesn't want to think about that, so he just pushes his hat down over his head, and pointedly doesn't think at all about Dazai for the rest of the journey, so that when he gets the call telling him that Dazai was in mafia custody, his hand doesn't shake when he puts his phone away again.

...

Dazai is spotless aside from the bruises all over his face and the numerous cuts and scrapes he'd doubtless gathered from just being hung up to dry in their interrogation cell.

Even though Chuuya knows it's because he hasn't had any injuries to make anything show up, it still pisses him off enough that he acts without thinking to try and goad Dazai into a fight.

All he winds up doing is adding to the number of flowers on his own body, and the irony is that anything that Dazai might have done to him, would have been covered up by those damn bandages anyway.

...

He doesn't care, he told himself, later, and even if he did, he doesn't care enough about you to let you know there's anything left.

He gets drunk anyway, and pretends it doesn't hurt that most people seem to take his word for it, that the bastard has it coming, that Akutagawa had looked him in the eye, knowing what he'd done, and maybe if he's drunk enough, it won't hurt as much that Mori wants Dazai back, and both of them know he won't.

He's happier there, come the drunken realisations, that's the first time in ages I've seen flowers that big.

He tries to tell himself he's angry, and maybe when he's sober then he'll be able to be again, but while he's drunk all he can think of is the fact that the flowers are fading, and the way Dazai had laughed at him.

...

He really should have known that Dazai's arm hadn't been damaged - or at least, not here - when his own skin was left clean of any colour that hadn't already been there.

And again, Dazai doesn't seem to notice, doesn't seem to care, about the flowers that spring into existence on Chuuya each time he gets hurt, because why would he? He always has been careless like that.

He might be happier where he is now, but he had left Chuuya behind along with the mafia, and sooner he learned to deal with that, the better.

...

The first lucid sight he has after being pulled out of Corruption and a haze of destruction and despair and the increasing call of the familiar void, calling him to something he had once been, something he could never be again, something where he wouldn't care about anything because he wouldn't be anything-

Other than the cracked ground underneath his feet, the blood dripping down his arms-

Is Dazai.

It's already hard to breath evenly, and the sight of Dazai's face in his hands, unmistakably Dazai but covered in flowers like he hasn't seen in years, is enough to make him almost pass out there and then.

"I wanted to," Dazai said, a smile on his face, "but it was fun." 

Liar, Chuuya wanted to say, liar.

Maybe he would have believed, even, if it hadn't been for the evidence that was literally staring him in the face.

He cares, the flowers told him. He cares.

"Red spider lilies and camellia, Chuuya? I'm flattered."

He blinks, never having bothered to learn any of the meanings behind any of it, figuring there wasn't much point.

He still pushes his fist into Dazai's chest, wishing he could punch him for holding out on him all these years, but not having the energy to do more than say he could at least take him back to the extraction point, after making him go so far, before passing out.

...

He asks Kouyou what red spider lilies and camellia mean, and she looks at him in surprise for a moment, before answering.

Something lost, or abandoned, she says, and then, after a pause, one who is in love. Perishing with grace. Chuuya-kun, is there something you want to tell me?

His explanation is to ask, without words because he worries that if he tried to speak, his words would fail to come out, by holding out the arm with the still-fading white flowers.

Kouyou looks up at his face, sharply, and he worries that something is wrong, if he had misjudged-

Gardenia, she says, pointing at a small bouquet of the delicate-looking things. White roses. Even just these two speak of a secret love... and devotion. If these are from Dazai-kun, then he must have grown a great deal, in these past years. And perhaps your feelings are not so unrequited as you fear, lad.

What he doesn't say, is that he's seen those same white flowers, among others, for far longer than just the past few years.

...

"You know," Dazai says some months later, his head leaning onto Chuuya's shoulder, "for a good long time, I thought it'd have to be someone a lot younger than me. I didn't even think it could be you when I saw we matched."

"Hah? Really?" He thinks about it for a moment, and still can't understand how someone that smart can be that dumb. "How would that even work?"

"You looked my age." Some hint of nostalgic whimsy entered into Dazai's voice, a fair bit colder than most people would be comfortable with. "I've never told anyone else, who wasn't there, but... the first time I ever saw these, I was seven years old."

"What's that- but... it doesn't..." 

"Of course it makes sense, Chuuya. It's made sense to me ever since I heard you say it yourself, that you only really remember starting to exist as yourself, at that very age. The person I was linked to wasn't just Arahabaki, and it wasn't just whoever "Nakahara Chuuya" was before, but you."

His throat constricts, his heart beats too fast, his eyes sting.

He shifts out of Dazai's grip, only to see Dazai looking uncertain and floundering. The closest thing to actually scared that Chuuya thinks he's ever seen on him.

"The hell are you doing, saying sappy things like that?" He groans, covering his eyes with his arm, knowing damn well that it's going to come away wet.

"...Chuuya?"

"You absolute dumbass. You could've told me years ago."

Beautiful, Chuuya remembered him saying as they looked through the restricted files, when they were sixteen and Chuuya was still coming to terms with his own humanity. 

He understood now, even if Dazai looked as though he was so close to shutting himself off again.

His touch, when he reaches over to hold Dazai's face, to tell him in actions what his words weren't good enough to begin to explain at the best of times, not about this, is gentle, running ungloved fingers over the red roses and morning glory on Dazai's face from when Chuuya had been earlier in the day.

The kiss, which isn't their first, is soft. For once he isn't searching for something, isn't hoping for something he half expects won't be there. He's showing, making sure Dazai can't mistake what this means.

I love you, it says. I care. 

I don't want to let go, it says, as he puts his other hand on the other side of Dazai's face. 

I love that you love all of me.

[winchesters-favorite-girl]

She is a Badass

A/N: This is @not-jk-rowling ‘s one shot for my 5,000 followers international giveaway.

Request: hiii!! for my one shot can you write one where the teen!reader is a hunter who sam & dean had saw/heard about and they finally end up on a hunt together but they find out she’s actually super timid/shy so they kinda look out for her like she’s their sister n there’s just some fluff (sorry if this is too vague lol i’m super stressed i just need some fluff in my life ya feel) thank u!!

Word Count: 1,502

Warnings: None

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“So why are we headed to Akron again?” Dean questioned, glancing at Sam from the driver's seat.

Sam let out a sigh, “Because Jody asked us to.”

“Well, I get that, I was just wondering why she asked us to.” Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

“Because there’s a hunter on a vampire case and she’s worried that they might have taken on more than they can handle.” Sam replied.

“So we gotta play babysitter?” Dean asked in an annoyed tone.

Sam shook his head, “I don’t think so, it’s the hunter that Claire told us about; the one she worked that weird salt and burn with.”

Dean gave him a surprised look, “The one she said was a complete badass that made us look like outdated hunters?”

“Yup, that’s the one. Turns out she’s also the one who helped Mackey with that wraith case a few months ago when we were stuck on the ghoul hunt and she gave Jody the info we used on that weird gremlin thing last week.” Sam informed his brother.

“Really?” Dean replied surprised, “She does sound like a badass.” He mumbled to himself but Sam heard anyway.

“I know, she’s only seventeen too.” Sam responded as he went back to flipping through the folder of information he had gathered for the hunt.

Dean glanced at Sam, “She’s only seventeen and she’s hunting alone?” He asked incredulously, “Where are her parents?” A solemn look took over Sam’s face which told Dean all he needed to know, “Her parents are gone.” He meant to ask but it came out more like a statement.

“Yeah.” Sam sadly replied, “She told Claire it was a kitsune that killed her mom and her dad went crazy trying to figure out what happened; got dragged into the life. He died a few months ago on a vamp case; I kinda think that’s why Jody wants us there, it’s her first vamp case since he died.”

Dean chewed on the inside of his lip as he thought about what you’ve gone through. He was silent for a few moments, “She was also the one that gave Garth the heads up about those douchebags that were coming after him and Beth right?”

Sam nodded his head, “Yeah, she ran into them and gave them the heads up. Her dad was pissed as hell but she told Jody she knew it was the right thing to do. Her dad died a few weeks later.”

“She sounds like a good kid.” Dean replied.

“Hmm.” Sam mumbled, agreeing with Dean.

“Maybe we could start looking out for her like we do with Claire; doing all of this alone at seventeen can’t be easy.” Dean stated.

A small smile grew on Sam’s face as he listened to Dean talk, “We can try.” He told him, glancing down at his phone as it lit up. “Uh, so apparently she figured out the location of the vamps and went after them already.” Sam told Dean.

Dean looked over at Sam with wide eyes, “Is she crazy?”

“I guess so.” Sam responded, just as bewildered as his brother.

“We’re almost to the town; can you track her phone?” Dean asked.

Nodding his head, Sam got to work on his phone in an attempt to find your location.

“She’s about fifteen minutes away.” Sam said, looking at his brother.

“I can make it in seven.” Dean replied, pushing his foot down harder on the gas.

The impala had just come to a stop as your figure was walking out of the barn where the vampires had been holding up. The brothers both exited the vehicle and watched with impressed looks on their faces.

“Hey kid.” Dean said, grabbing your attention.

You looked up with a suspicious look on your face, not trusting the strangers that were waiting for you outside of a vampire hideout.

“Who’re you?” You asked in a quiet tone, moving your bloody machete in front of you in a protective manner.

“I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean.” Sam told you.

“Oh.” You replied, lowering your weapon, “The Winchester Brothers.”

“That’s us.” Sam responded with a slight smile.

“See you didn’t wait for backup.” Dean added, an impressed look on his face, “Kinda dangerous don’t ya think?”

You simply shrugged your shoulders and looked at the ground; you hated attention from other hunters, it’s why you always hunted alone. They always made it sound like you were accomplishing huge tasks when in reality you were doing what your father showed you to do. He had also taught you that too much praise can be a bad thing; it can make your head too big which could lead to arrogance which can get you killed.

“Jody wanted us to be here just in case but it looks like you definitely had things handled.” Sam tried to compliment you but you didn’t say anything, just blushed slightly and looked at the ground.

The brothers shared a confused look for a moment before Dean decided to speak, “Well you did all the heavy lifting, you want some help with the clean up?” He questioned.

You quickly nodded your head, “That’d be great.” You quietly replied.

“Sammy, you get the shovels while the kid shows me the damage.” Dean said, motioning for you to lead the way.

Walking at a fast pace you led the oldest Winchester into the barn. Dean looked around with wide eyes as he took in the room, “Dang kid, you really don’t mess around.” He stated as he counted at least seven bodies on the ground. Again, you shrugged your shoulders, not entirely sure how to react. “You don’t know how to take a compliment, do you?” Dean honestly asked.

“Dad always told me to keep myself level headed and to not let a win get to your head; said it could make you overconfident on the next hunt which could get you killed.” You told him.

A sad smile overtook Dean’s face as he connected the dots, “Your dad sounded a lot like mine.”

“Was he a good hunter?” You questioned.

Dean glanced over at you, “The best, but, from what I hear you’re pretty good.”

“Thanks.” You mumbled, looking over at the door as Sam appeared with shovels.

“Ready to start digging?” Sam asked.

You made a displeased face and let out a quiet groan which Dean couldn’t help but laugh at. “Come on kid, sooner we do this the sooner we can buy you some celebratory burgers and pie at the diner in town.” Dean told you with a grin.

“You don’t have to bring me to get food.” You said, “I can get something on my own.” Both brothers shook their heads with your words.

“When was the last time you had a meal that didn’t come off of a dollar menu?” Sam gently questioned.

You shrugged nonchalantly but both brothers knew the game you were playing, they played the same ones when they were younger. “It’s not a big deal.” You tried to convince them.

The brothers gave you a look which made you roll your eyes, “What? You guys don’t have to worry about me, you don’t even really know me.” You stated quietly.

“We might not know you, but you’re Claire’s friend, Jody says you’re good people, and you’ve helped our friends out on multiple occasions.” Sam told you.

“Just cause we don’t know you doesn’t mean that we don’t care about you.” Dean added, “Besides, we know some stuff about you. I mean we just burned and buried a bunch of vampire bodies together kid, don’t tell me that wasn’t a least a bit of a bonding experience.”

You cracked a smile at Dean’s joke, “You’re ridiculous.” You told him, causing Sam to laugh.

A huge grin appeared on Dean’s face, “Maybe, but you’re getting pie with us, no excuses.”

Both brothers kept their poker faces on while they watched you have a small internal battle on if you should take them up on their offer or go off on your own like you normally do. They both knew the type of life you were used to and knew that getting you to open up and be accepting of any help they were offering would be difficult; but they also knew that if you allowed them to help you you’d be safer.

Sam couldn’t help but look at you and see a kid who had been pushed into the life much like he had.

Dean saw you as another hunter’s kid who was trying to fill the shoes her dad had set for them.

Both looked at you as exactly what it would have been like had they had a little sister on the road with them.

“I could go for some pie.” You said quietly, breaking both the brothers from their thoughts.

“Yeah?” Dean asked with a growing smile on his face; one that you couldn’t help but return.

“Yeah.”

[evilqueens]

snow queen; glory and gore (go hand in hand)

embarrassingly late, but life got in the way i’m so sorry. for @laura-p-g -- happy belated birthday cutie, i love you! here’s some zombie!snow queen a la santa clarita diet (with hints of outlaw queen).

The lack of sun does nothing to quell the late August heat, and Regina sighs as she wipes the back of her hand across her forehead. She looks around warily, the sound of Mary Margaret’s shovel scraping over the ground testing her already frazzled nerves.

“You know,” Mary Margaret breaks the silence, “you’re a shoe-in for the Wicked project. There’s absolutely no reason for Ingrid not to give the opening to you.” She smiles up at Regina from her spot in the hole she’s dug.

“Right.” Regina smiles back tightly. “Well, not to sound unappreciative, but when I said something needed to be done about my competition, eating him alive in my backyard wasn’t exactly where I was going.” She scrunches her nose at Mary Margaret. “A little extreme I think, actually.”

Mary Margaret huffs, wiping a bit of sweat from the side of her face. “I already told you it was an accident,” she defends. “I was starving, and he insisted on getting too close even after I told him not to.”

“Are you done with that hole?” Regina asks, nervously rubbing her hand over the swell of her belly. “The sooner we get out of here the better.” She looks around again, her anxiety spiking when she sees a flash of headlights in the distance. She holds her breath until they disappear.

“This should be deep enough,” Mary Margaret decides, climbing clumsily out of the hole. She moves for the container full of Regina’s coworker, and Regina follows. “What are you doing?” she asks when she sees Regina grasp the opposite end of the container.

“Helping,” Regina says. “We need to move faster.”

“You can’t help, you could hurt yourself!” Mary Margaret snaps, shooting a pointed look at Regina’s protruding belly.

“It’s fine,” Regina insists. She tugs her end of the container towards the hole. “You take the brunt, I’ll just… assist.”

Mary Margaret reluctantly does so, pulling her end of the container with as much as she can give. Regina complies with what she said, tries not to exert herself as much as her nervous instincts are telling her to. But the pace they set soon proves to be not good enough, and Regina’s nerves win. She starts tugging harder on her end.

“Move faster!” she gripes. They’re almost to the edge of the hole, and that only feeds her impatience.

“Regina wait, stop—”

The container tips forward before they can do anything to prevent it, and the hard landing has the lid popping off and bloody body parts falling out and towards the hole. Blood spills out of the container, soaking into the dirt and slowly flowing from the edge into the side of the hole.

The moment of silent horror is broken by Regina. “What a shit container.”

“It’s okay,” Mary Margaret tries assure, “most of him landed in the hole.” She rushes forward and grabs the container. Awkwardly, she starts scooping it into the bloody dirt and dumping it into the hole.

Regina watches helplessly as Mary Margaret works to dump the remains into the hole, the fluttery movement in her belly reminding her that she’s not allowed to start shoveling dirt to fill in a messy grave. But that resolve is starting to waver.

“Okay, I think that’s good.” Mary Margaret looks at her for confirmation. “Is that good?”

“Great,” Regina answers shortly. She grabs Mary Margaret’s shovel and moves toward the hill of dirt Mary Margaret made when digging the grave. The weight of the shovel is more than she expected, and she lets out a breath of frustration at having to pick up less dirt with each scoop than she’d like.

“Wait,” Mary Margaret stops her. Her face twists into a grimace. “Should we… say some words?”

Regina stares blankly at her.

“Yes, Whale was gross, but I ate half of him, so we’re kind of even?”

Regina sighs, looking back down at the hole. “You were an obnoxious pig who maybe didn’t deserve to be eaten alive, but I know had you gotten a chance to process the idea of being eaten by a ‘pretty lady,’ you probably would’ve liked it. So… you’re welcome.”

Mary Margaret beams at the compliment. “Thank you.”

Regina rolls her eyes, scooping more dirt onto the shovel. “Now scoop.”

.::.

“We just have to pack up his things and move it out of his apartment. According to Jefferson he’s a dick with no immediate family, and no close friends. And nobody at the office is gonna go looking for him. Ingrid’s probably going to have him terminated when he doesn’t show up to work, no further thought about it…”

“Regina, you’re rambling,” Mary Margaret interrupts gently.

“No, I’m making sure we don’t miss anything.” Regina’s hands tighten around the steering wheel.

“You’re stressing,” Mary Margaret insists. “And that’s not good for the baby. Or when you’re driving.”

“Yes, a lot about tonight isn’t good for the baby,” Regina grumbles. “Becoming an accomplice to murder and cannibalism being among them.”

“Regina, I—”

“I understand you have new impulsive cravings for human flesh,” Regina cuts her off. “I understand Whale was a pig who didn’t understand the word no. But we can’t kill people, Mary Margaret.”

Mary Margaret slumps in her seat in defeat. “I know,” she says softly.

“Tomorrow I’ll stock up on our chicken and beef,” Regina continues. “And I’m gonna look up virologists in the area that can possibly help.”

Mary Margaret grimaces at that. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? I mean, we’ve established that I’m dead—”

“No, you were sick. This came out of that. So we need a doctor to look at you. We should’ve gone to one in the first place.”

“Okay,” Mary Margaret gives in. “Just one little problem.”

Regina bites back a groan. “What?”

“The mere thought of chicken or beef makes me want to puke.”

“What?”

“Whale was just too good!” Mary Margaret explains, her voice going higher in defense. “Just thinking about the taste of animal meat is disgusting now. I think he ruined it.”

Regina stares silently at the road for a moment before reiterating, “We can’t kill people, Mary Margaret!”

“Right…,” Mary Margaret answers, but her noncommittal tone has Regina’s knuckles turning white around the steering wheel.

.::.

It’s past two in the morning when they finally arrive home, so the kitchen and living room lights being on throws Regina. Still on edge from the night’s excursions, her anxiety spikes up again as they both cautiously venture into the living room. She lets out a breath of slight relief when she sees Henry lying on the couch watching TV.

“Henry,” Regina scolds, “why are you awake this late?”

Henry turns his head to his head to look at them. He takes in their dirt-smeared appearances and asks, “Where were you guys?”

“Grocery shopping,” Regina answers awkwardly, Mary Margaret nodding behind her as she takes off her shoes.

“Where are the groceries?” Henry asks.

“In the car,” Regina answers tightly. “We’re tired. It’s time we all went to bed.” She grabs the remote and turns off the TV before urging Henry to get up.

“I saw the blood in the yard, y’know,” Henry blurts.

Both women’s eyes widen, and Mary Margaret swallows loudly while Regina manages a weak, “Oh…”

“I also found a finger in the grass,” Henry continues. He looks at Mary Margaret in wonder. “You ate someone didn’t you?”

Mary Margaret’s cheeks flush, and she rushes forward to explain, “He was a bad man, Henry. To both me, and your mom. He wasn’t innocent—”

“It was an accident,” Regina interrupts. “But we’re going to figure this out, first thing tomorrow, we’re going to start looking for a solution to all this.”

Henry nods slowly. “You should probably try to make less of a mess next time, too.”

“There will not be a next time. This is never happening again. Right?” Regina shoots Mary Margaret a glare.

“Right.” And the resolve in Mary Margaret’s voice gives Regina small bit of peace.

“Let’s talk about this tomorrow, alright?” She forces a smile for Henry as she urges him towards the stairs.

Henry looks back at her reluctantly, as if he has more to say on the matter. Instead, he asks, “So is it a boy or girl?”

“What?” Regina asks dumbly.

“Your ultrasound?” Henry elaborates.

Mary Margaret gasps. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask you about your ultrasound!” And Regina bites back a retort that if she had asked her at any point in the night Regina would’ve swung at her with the shovel.

“Right… right!” Regina’s smile comes a little bit easier this time. “It’s a boy.”

Henry smiles back, reaching out to give her belly a rub. “It’s not usually this crazy around here,” he stage whispers at her belly.

Regina’s smile wavers as she lets out a sigh. She watches Henry go up the stairs, his words ringing in her ear for a moment as she rubs a hand over her belly. Things aren’t usually so crazy around here. And she hopes that by the time her new son enters the world, things will be back to normal — or, as close to normal as they can possibly be.

She feels Mary Margaret’s arms wrap around her shoulders.

“It’s a boy!” Mary Margaret squeals softly.

Regina lets out another shaky sigh.

.::.

The next morning is only slightly easier than Regina had thought it would be. Getting up early after a night of practically no sleep, she takes a wary peek at the backyard and finds it surprisingly clean.

She realizes with a grimace that Henry must’ve cleaned up most of the horror scene from yesterday, and she kicks herself for not only letting Henry come home to that, but also for risking any neighbors catching sight of the bloodbath they’d left in their haste to get rid of Whale’s remains.

Regina moves on to more immediate matters after that, and the slight weight that had been taken off her shoulders at her newly cleaned backyard is immediately replaced by Mary Margaret’s words later that morning as Regina attempts to serve her a late breakfast.

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

Mary Margaret shakes her head, then turns away from the counter. “I can’t, Regina this is disgusting.”

Regina scoffs. “I clearly remember you thinking it was disgustingly delicious yesterday morning.” She pushes the opened packet of raw chicken breasts closer to Mary Margaret, who takes a step back in response.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. It’s just too gross.” She starts shaking her head again.

Regina sighs, pulling the styrofoam packet back. “I could… I don’t know, season it or something?” She waves her hands nervously over the chicken. “Or… maybe—”

“I won’t eat it.”

Regina lets her hands fall onto the counter with a slap. She glares at Mary Margaret. “Well what else are you supposed to eat? You can’t stomach actual food either!”

Mary Margaret grimaces, then lets out a sigh. “We shouldn’t have thrown all of Whale in the ground. I should’ve saved some—”

“While we’re talking about things being disgusting,” Regina interrupts. “You’ve had more than enough of Whale — or any other person!”

“Regina—”

Regina slams a hand on the counter again. “No. We can’t kill people Mary Margaret!”

“About that,” Mary Margaret says gently, raising a hand to stop Regina before she can say anything more, “I was thinking last night, what if… I only ate bad people?”

At Regina’s blank stare, Mary Margaret continues, “Whale tried to assault me. Who knows how many other women he’s done this to, or how many others he would’ve done this to in the future had I not eaten him. If you think about it—”

“You murdered—”

“—a bad guy,” Mary Margaret cuts in, undeterred by Regina pursing her lips in frustration. “I got rid of a harmful, bad person. Isn’t that technically a good thing?”

Regina shakes her head disbelievingly, but she bites back a reply as she hears the sound of Henry’s footsteps in the distance. Tensing, she turns around in time to see him enter the kitchen.

He scrunches his nose when he sees the raw meat sitting between his mom and Mary Margaret. “I think I’ll skip breakfast,” he quips.

Rolling her eyes, Regina grabs the plate of chicken and takes it to the fridge. “Grab some granola bars, you’re late for soccer practice,” she tells Henry, closing the door to the refrigerator a little too much force. “I’ll give you some money so Robin can take you out for lunch afterwards.”

She feels a twinge of guilt at deciding that without asking him first, but the prior conversation with Mary Margaret has left her in a decidedly bad mood. And as she runs her hand over the curve of her belly, she pettily decides that he owes her one. Or two.

“You’re not staying?” Henry asks as he shoves some granola bars in his bag.

“No, I have some things I need to take care of here in the house.” Regina gives Mary Margaret a pointed look to let her know their discussion is far from over. “And try to find research some doctors we can talk to about your aunt.”

Mary Margaret looks down at her feet, but Regina can see the defiance radiating off her, and she knows this isn’t the last she’ll be hearing about cannibalistic crime fighting.

Henry raises his eyebrows at his mother. “You’re not gonna tell Robin that you’re having a boy?”

Mary Margaret looks up at that, latching on to the idea as she insists, “You have to! I can stay here and search up doctors while you go give Robin the news—”

Regina shakes her head before Mary Margaret can even finish. “I think that given recent events,” she says tightly, “it’s best that I don’t leave you alone. We’re dropping Henry off, and then we’ll look up doctors together.” She leaves no room for arguments as she moves towards the living room to grab her purse and keys.

She’s grateful for the quiet sounds of Henry and Mary Margaret trailing after her without protest, and after slipping into her shoes she opens the door for them. Glancing at the floor absentmindedly, she tenses as she spots a tiny, circular spot of dried blood on the tile.

Taking a deep breath, Regina makes a note to deep clean the living room as soon as they get back.

.::.

Regina’s phone chimes with a new text message on the coffee table, which Regina ignores as she focuses on the list of virologists on her laptop screen. But the phone is synced to the laptop unfortunately, and so the text catches her attention anyway as it pops up in the right-hand corner of her screen.

How was your ultrasound?

Mary Margaret shifts next to her. “Tell him it’s a boy!” she nudges.

“I’m not telling him over text,” Regina gripes.

“Well you won’t tell him in person either, so how do you plan on giving him the news?”

Regina bristles. “I’m going to tell him,” she defends. “Just not now. There are more important things on my plate. Like the fact that my best friend ate a man alive in my backyard.”

Mary Margaret lets out a tired sigh, which only works on Regina’s nerves more. “A bad man,” she stresses. “He got what he deserved.”

“See, this isn’t like you,” Regina says harshly.

Mary Margaret scoffs. “Yeah, just like no longer sleeping and craving human flesh isn’t like me, but here we are.” She waves a hand to emphasize her point before letting it drop. “I don’t know what’s going on Regina, but I do know that a doctor isn’t going to help. At best they’ll have me committed, if not imprisoned.”

Unable to find a good argument, Regina stays silent.

Mary Margaret continues, “I also know I’m hungry. And it won’t be long before I’m verging on starving. And if I end up hurting anyone again, I’d rather it be a bad person, on my terms, than have it be you, or Henry, or anyone else I love.”

They’re interrupted by a knock on the door. Mary Margaret jumps up to go answer it, but tenses when she peers through the peep hole to see who it is. Turning back to Regina, who had trailed after her, she whispers, “It’s Detective Humbert.”

[minamiaurora]

How blind I was

This is for @lifelovelaughangell123  ‘s “high school musical spn challenge”

I had the line  39 “he’s gonna figure out the right thing to do”

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Words count: nearly 3600

Warnings: I don’t know... swearing and injuries, mention of dead people, nightmares, e.c.t. All the nice things found in the supernatural world. 

And if it needs a warning: it's my first time writing and I had no beta reader so all the little faults are mine and if you find any, please just ignore them.

Disclaimer: nothing of Supernatural is mine and I don’t make any money with it. Just having fun with it

Since two and a half hours I drove now trough that big creepy forest that surrounds the small one-horse-town in which I had to be since yesterday evening, after getting a very low-quality phone call from my good old friend Sam Winchester asking me for "a little" favor. He and his brother Dean needed help on a hunt. I rarely understood the town's name where they currently stayed and after a few "What? what di.. ..ou s..y?" s when he tried to explain their case, I decided to just go and help out. I was only a few hours drive away and had no case myself at the time. Besides, it wasn't the first time I helped them. Honestly, sometimes it helps to have tits. The road through the forest was narrow but not in a too bad condition, but that didn't help at all to ease my trip. The mist in the early mornings made it nearly impossible to see anything further than the windscreen of the car. So I was more guessing than seeing where the street is. And the fact that I know what creatures can hide in the dark foggy forest didn't let me feel any safer. Yes, I am a hunter and guess what I still do not like to be in dark forests. especially at night. and when they're covered in fog. So when, with the rising sun, the town finally appears between the trees, I breathed in relief and speed up a little bit thanks to the now lifting fog. I check the name of the Motel Sam texted me and see to my surprise that I have a perfectly fine signal. As I pull in the parking lot I wonder for my self if all these run down motels did only survive because of all the hunters operating in the shadows of the community trying to save the world, risking and losing their life without the majority even knowing about them. Kinda like the M.I.B. I swing the door of the room open, who was like the exterior of the building built and decorated in the late 70s and never changed or renovated since because grand- grand mom liked it that way. A smell like old wet socks and towels which took a nice hot long soaking bath together in a pool filled with used condoms and cigarettes waved directly into my nose. "NOPE!" I harshly close the door again. //I definitely NOT gonna spend one second in that room// "you shouldn't. Not even Dean and Sam were taking that room. and they're not exactly picky when it comes to the choosing of a sleeping place." I turn around when I hear the low voice of the angel who stole my heart many moons ago.h Of course, no one on the team knows about that. I even managed to keep my thoughts away from him if he's around. And acted like a more or less grown-up person. It's after all only a little crush. And it's not like it grows for almost 2 and a half year. It happened slowly. I blamed it on the circumstances of our first meeting. He made his appearance into my life by actually save it from a nasty vamp. After a few nice night talks we had, (because like most in that business my time in dreamland is normally not pleasant. So I try to avoid it or knock me out.) I got scared by how deep in I was already. How much I could relax and open myself to someone. Even if I consider all of them family, not once have I ever spoken to Sam or Dean about the exact way my blood family died. Only with Castiel, I did. Ok, I was drunk as a lord after the last hunt with the infamous trio, but I told him under tears and hiccups how it happened. But for the first time in my life, I spoke about it and of what I can remember it felt really good. Next, I tried to blame his vessel. Why must it be such a good looking one? Special that /your favorite body of Castiel/ of it. His casual nearly submissive, kind being that changes in a split second into the warrior of the lord he is. The way he's sometimes just staring at one with that hypnotic blue eyes (the bluest blue on earth, heaven and hell I am sure of that). I get lost so deep in them happily every time I look at them. And his lips. when they move like they do now, how...// shiiit. He speaks to me. Fokus y/n Fokus!// ".. and she didn't hear a word you just said, Cas. Hy Kiddo" Dean walked around Castiel to greet me with a bearhug. "where were you now?" "..furniture? I.. I.." I tried to get my self together without getting the guilty as hell look. " I just wondered if all the Motels are getting their furniture from the same place. it seems to be all over the same. and it's always ugly." Now the sweet innocent eyes aaaand he smiles, ruffle my hair like he always does and walks past me direction his and Sams room. I turn back to Castiel to ask what he told me before Dean came by. His bewildered face lets me realize that I was not only rude towards him with not listening but I forgot for that second that he is able... "...to read your mind. Yes." My mouth open and close like a fish and my skin color is changing to 'i wanna die right here, right now' red. where are all these monsters who wanna always kill us now? Cas looks at me with his innocent tilted head and I guess his waiting for me to say or do something. "Igonnagetmeanotherroom" I rip the key out of the door, grab my bag and flee to the reception. //I better gonna get me another room in another motel. or even better on another continent. Yep. Or I go ask the guys for a shovel so I can go and dig my grave. If it starts like that I gonna end up shooting myself just to escape from an awkward situation // After I got me a new, and more or less clean, room I go to the guys to finally find out what we gonna hunt. Sam opens the door and pulls me in the room with the same kind of bearhug his brother did he then hold me on arm length. "What took you so long shorty? I nearly called the cops to search you" "I had a flat tire." while he and the reason why my eyes are glued to the floor are just raising an eyebrow, Dean shouts for the bathroom  "and it took you 6 hours to fix it?" He walks in the room with his F.B.I. suite, take one Look at my turn to Sam with a devilish grin and hold his hand out." you owe me 20 bugs. She took at least two wrong turns." I stand between them finally looking up to protest. I really had a flat. but it took me like 20 min to change it.  and I went only once right instead of left. but even with the wrong turn I took, I still could have made it bevor midnight. Why was I only here in the mornings? Forest. At Night. I sat in my fucking car and tried to get myself to press the petrol instead of the breaks I was pressing like I wanted to push my foot through the car at the beginning of my nemesis. If someone would have passed me there they would be for sure concerned seeing me in my car screaming at myself to stop my shit and get it the fuck together. I was turning my car and drove several miles back and tried it again. long story short, it was first after like two hours I was able to drive trough. I maybe need a new steering wheel but I made it. no need for them to know. after all, till now we only hunted urban together. I realize I spaced out again and were now staring at Cas. I really need to work on that. "How you keep yourself alive with what we do; I think not even God knows. But I see we have you back now. so how much experience do you have with wendigos?" Dean asks while he was putting on his blazer ready to go and play agent I think. Sam goes to sit at the table and opens his Laptop to show me what they had till now. "I had till now one. And avoid them since." My voice is trembling and my hands start to sweat. I showed the pictures that want to show up in my mind far to the back of it.   "you think you can handle one, y/n?" the older Winchester brother asks with worrying in his tone seeing me getting paler and paler. "Yes... Yes of course. I mean what could probably go wrong when I`m together with you guys?" Apparently... A lot. Not only are Sam, Dean and I hanging around (literally) in a Wendigos cave since midnight; now I had to give them the whole story of my family getting wiped out by a wendigo when I was a teenager. Because even if I grow up in a hunter family, the fear paralyzed me the moment I heard the screaming of the creature. And since I should have been the boys back up and failed completely at it it is my fault we are gonna end up as the savings for harder days of a Wendigo and I owe them more than an explanation why I couldn't do my fucking job. " and that's why avoid forests. and wendigos. And that's as well the reason why I was only yesterday morning at you guys." I hang my head in shame. It's quiet. Except for the dripping of water from the walls and the blood of the other two victims of which the wendigo already had taken a bite or two. why are they not saying anything? Are they unconscious? "You know y/n, that was a real dick move. If we would have known that before we would never have ask you for help in that case. Everyone is afraid of something. that is only human, man. But to keep such important pieces of information to yourself is a fucking stupid way to end your life and the ones of the people around you. And if we hadn't Cas to get our asses out I would really kick yours. Ok, I still gonna kick it. To teach you a lesson. " Dean finally answers weakly. "And the drinks after we're out are gonna be on you."Sam goes on. "Sounds fair to me." And like he was waiting for his signal Castiel make his appearance in the cave. He is, all of a sudden,  standing in front of me. Looking concerned over Dean and Sam to check their condition. While the Guys had some severe injuries (nothing he couldn't fix luckily) from fighting back the Wendigo, I only had a small head wound on my left temple from getting knock out, head first, against a tree. When he "scanned" the Winchester the look in his eyes turned quickly relaxed. Like he is used to seeing them in such a condition. What he probably is. Then his attention turns to me. As soon as he sees the thin blood trail that emerges from my temple all the way down till my knee, remember that whole warrior of the lord thing I was speaking before? Well, that was his gentle look, compared to the expression that I see now. It is there only for a fraction of a split-second but boy oh boy I am sure as hell glad he's on my side. His pupils are nearly non- existing. the normally warm summer day sky blue iris turns in an ice blue that is able to freeze alcohol. then there is guilt. But before somebody can do or say anything he spins around and cut the Wendigo that had sneaked on us in four parts. Like that wasn't enough he kicked the one part of it through the cave. When he's aiming for another body piece Dean brings him back. "Cas! Buddy, he's done! So what about you get us three down here and we fuck off?" and like a light switch the usual Castiel was back. Momentary at least. He cuts our ropes that hang us from the cave top and heals us. Then with a last, for me, not readable look at me, his gone again. The drive back to the motel is filled with, at least for me, uncomfortable silence in the morning sun until Sam turns in his seat. "Ok. whats going on between Cas and you?" "Nothing! Really. I mean I have no idea what you talking about." Shit. It is easier to fool Dean than Sam. "You guys know him longer than me. You tell me whats going on with Castiel." and even if I try my best I can't stop my voice from completely betraying me by getting higher with every damn word.  Deans loud laugh let both, Sam and me, turn our heads towards him to raise an eyebrow when he states that everything finally makes sense. Luckily we're just back at our accommodation. I rush out of the Impala and with a quick "see ya in an hour" I storm to my room and loke the door. "So you say that both of them have a crush on each other but y/n don't know how Cas is feeling?" Sam smiles from his seat back in their Motel room, because for him all your strange behavior when the angel was around now made total sense. Then he frowns "And what are we gonna do about that? I mean obviously, none of them will make a move because shorty is as oblivious as can be, and with Cas being an angel is not gonna make it any easier for them." "yeah 'know what you mean man. But I gonna speak with Cas and I think he's gonna figure out the right thing to do for them and their position. And if not we gonna kick them in the right direction. so easy." Sam raises an eyebrow at Deans "easy" idea. he gets up from the uncomfortable seat to take a shower before they all go for breakfast. He hears Dean "pray" for the angel before he opens the shower. when he comes out Cas is nowhere, but Deans grin tells him all he needs to know. this is gonna be very interesting. "WORST hunt ever!" I scream in my pillow after I let myself fall on the bed. I turn to lay on my back and just stare at that ugly ceiling. My had is empty. But not for long. Soon pictures of how the Winchesters were dragged into the cave flicker in mind. They could have been dead. Because of me. Because of my stupid pride. because of my stupid lies. //, Of course, can I handle a Wendigo Dean. It's not like I still wake up every night screaming and trying to run from the dead empty eyes of my little sister and brother I was supposed to guard that night.// I sit up and wipe the tears away that had made their way over my dirty face. I get up again from the bed to take a nice long hot shower. It is always relaxing for me and it helps to clear the dark clouds in my mind. I mean Den said, when we were at the car, that we're fine and in the end, the goal to kill the wendigo was achieved. Even if it was trough Cas Angelblade and not with the explosion they had in plan. " so actually you even saved us a whole lot of TNT" he joked while loading the boxes with TNT in the boot of his Baby. And just like that for him and his younger brother that conversation was done and over. So let me wash myself and think of something nice. Guess what is the first nice thing my brain presents me, yes Castiel. But not the normal happy Castiel, no, I see his face just before he disappeared into the cave. Was he sad or angry? Or confused? No, I know these expressions of him. And it didn't really feel as if he had negative feelings towards me. More as if he'd like to say something important. and couldn't bring himself to do it. Since the water is starting to get cold, I step out of the shower a little bit relaxed but at the same time quite confused. I open the shower door and nearly slip on the wet bathroom floor. I grab the handle of the door and save my had from another injury, but twist my arm behind my back. "ooww fuck!" I quickly leave the handle and fall on the shoulder I just forced into an unnatural position and that fast.  Forgotten are the Wendigo, Castiel, and the world. Pain is all I know right now. I hear my shoulder who glides back in position as I turn my body to lay on the other shoulder in a fetus position. Stars in front of my eyes. I silently scream out. I swear. and the tears are falling again. Slowly the Pain fades a little bit. I sit slowly up straight against the bathroom door realizing that my towel is still in place. more or less. I know I could simply pray to my crush and puff everything is right again. A knock on the door stops my thoughts. "y/n/n. are you ready for breakfast? I'm starving!" Dean tries to open the door while he speaks. "Y/n? Are you fine?" he's asking now worried because I didn't answer right away. "All fine Dean. Nearly at lest. I just twisted my shoulder a bit. give me a minute." "Are you sure? should I not maybe call..." "NO! No Dean I'm sure." "hehe. Whatever. we're waiting at the car. Hurry or we may let you behind!" Do I really have to tell you that 10 minutes I am still struggling with putting a shirt on? "You are such a stubborn Human y/n" with only my head through the shirt I spin around to grab my gun on the bedstand at the sound of somebody in my room, but stop when I realize it's "only" the last person I wanted to see right now. "Castiel! How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that! Owowow"  His with amused sparkling eyes turn worried when he hears my painful hisses. he is at my side in a blink of an eye. "please let me heal you y/n/n." I am surprised by him using my nickname. I mean by him using any Nickname. But the throbbing pain of my shoulder let me quickly forget about that. I nod and close my eyes. I wait to feel his finger on my head but instead both his big warm hands carefully cup my face, tilting it a little upwards and is forehead is leaning against mine. When the pain faints, I shyly open my eyes. I can not only feel the warmth of his hands and his forehead, it's like I get hugged by his whole being. The warm sensation flows through my body. The glowing blue of his eyes the only thing I see. I feel love. the love he is feeling for me. The unconditional pure love that promises never to betray.  It's nearly overwhelming, but for the first time in a long lonely life, I feel completely safe. It's only the two of us. No sounds. no surroundings. I slowly take his hand in mine to free my face and bring a little tiny bit of space between our faces to take in all his features. From his full plumb lips that now curl into a smile to the ocean of love that needs me when I look in his eyes. and I love everything I see exactly like it is now in front of me.  Before I knew what happens he unwinds our hands and pulls me with his one arm around my waist closer to him again. The other is in my hair on my backhead and I give in to the kiss the moment his lips are on mine. there are no words needed. we both but all the love, the desire for each other and the need of closeness in that first kiss // I was so blind// we separate after all the air is out of our lungs. "Yes. I already thought that I was misunderstanding your behavior." //you reading my mind again// he gives me a not so innocent smile " yes and so by the way I can hear your thoughts about me even if I am not around"

[crimson25]

Secrets

A peter and Kraglin story

by Pamcake21

Summary: After weeks of being caught in the middle of a prank war, Yondu is sick and tired of Kraglin and peter being at each other’s throats. And when one of them breaks one of Yondu’s favorite figurines, it pushes him over the edge. So he decides to send them on a mission to find something (or just to get them off the ship for a while).  While on the planet they come face to face with an alien who isn’t as mean as they think but still as deadly.

Note: I noticed that there’s like no peter and Kraglin story so I thought it was about time that I made one. I hope you all enjoy it.

The past few weeks have been a nightmare for Yondu. He hasn’t been able to find any jobs to bust and the crew is getting restless. They haven’t been able to steel much of anything for weeks. The ships running low on supplies and everyone wants to voice their opinion on it, but all that was fine. Yondu’s been through worse. The one thing that’s really testing his patience is Kraglin and peter. They’ve been fighting and bickering for the past month and a half, and what’s worse is that they’ve started pranking each other.

It all started when Peter put florics in kraglin’s bed.

(florics: A small alien that laches on to a person and suck out their insides, like a leech.)

Kraglin spent the next two days in the med lab while the doc cut the florics off his body. That caused Kraglin to throw all of peters clothes in the slop pit. The slop pit is where everyone throws out their garbage and leftover food. Peters clothes smelled like shit for a whole week. Nobody wanted to be around him.

This caused peter to duct tape Kraglin to his bed while he slept. Luckily Kragglin was a heavy sleeper. He was stuck there for the day. When he was finally freed he went looking for Peter. He had had enough.

Long story short, they got into a fight and accidently broke one of Yondu’s figurines. It was a very important one. A woman who Yondu was very much in love with gave it to him before they parted ways. It was a blue glass turtle with two heads. It was the only thing he had left to remember her by (that’s another story   for a later time.)  

“Alright, who broke it?” Yondu said in a low angry voice. Peter and kraglin just kept their heads down, not meeting his gaze.

“Look I’m going to ask one more time, who broke it?” his voice increased in volume.

Kraglin looked up and took a deep breath.

“Cap, I can’t lie to you and I know you want the truth and I’m the most truthful guy on this ship. So I’m just going to say it. Quill broke your figurine.” Kraglin said pointing at quill.

“WHAT!” Peter yelled “I did not.” Peter said standing up. Yondu looked at peter.

“Is this true.” Yondu asked peter in an angry voice.

“No It was Kraglin” And that was true, it was Kraglin who threw something at Peter and missed, hitting the turtle.

“Don’t listen to him cap. I saw him dancing around, listening to his stupid music, when he bumped into your stuff.” Kraglin said feeling satisfied with his lie.

“No I didn’t.” Peter shouted

“Yes you did” Kraglin snapped back.

“NO I DIDN’T”

“YES YOU DID”

“NO I DIDN’T”

“YES YOU DID”

“ALRIGHT THAT’S ENOUGH.” Yondu shouted. “I have had with your constant fighting. Quill, I’m really disappointed in you.”

“But I didn’t- “

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT! Now both of you report to the mess hall. I’ve got a mission for you two.” Yondu said irritated.

They both groaned and walked out the door, both feeling like crap.

……..

Peter and Kraglin sat in the mess hall. Hating each other. Yondu walked in carrying a holo-picture. Half-nut followed behind carrying two blasters, two shovels, and two radios’. Yondu set the holo-picture on the table and turned it on. Its projected a hologram of a weird looking tree.

“What’s that?” Kraglin asked.

“Doc says that this tree’s roots have healing powers. The sap inside of them can cure any sickness or injury. He said that if we even get a root that’s about 3 inches, we won’t have to get medical supplies for three months. Three months. That’s worth fifteen hundred units. Now I don’t want to be that guy, but we need to be saving units. Now you two are going to go on this planet to look for and you’re not coming back till you get it. Here, Half-nut will give you your supplies.”

Half-nut handed the stuff to them. Kraglin looked at it and then back at Yondu.

“This is it? This is all we’re getting” Kraglin asked

“That’s all you need” Yondu said irritated. “two shovels to dig it up, two blasters if you run into trouble, and two radios’ for when you find it or if you get into some trouble you can’t handle. I’ll even give you the holo-picture. Now get going.”

They both grabbed their things and headed to the bay. When they were out of the room Half-nut spoke.

“Cap, I don’t remember doc talkin about that tree.”

“That’s cause it don’t exist.”

“What?”

“It don’t exist. I put them on this mission so I could get some peace and quiet from those idiots. Maybe if there smart they’ll relies that that tree isn’t real. I drew that while they were waiting.” Yondu said walking away.

“Ha that’s funny cap” Half-nut said as he followed him out of the mess hall.

………

Kraglin and Peter walked through the wooded area, not saying a word. Peter was still really pissed at kraglin for blaming peter on what happened. They had been walking for about three hours. Kraglin looked around, then turned on the holo-picture, then back at the forest.

“I don’t see this tree anywhere. Do you?”

“No, they all look the same.” Peter said looking around. “Let me see the picture again.”

“No, we have to keep going.”

“No? Why?”

“You’ll just break it.”

“No I won’t let me see it” Peter tried to take it from him.

“Quill stop no.” They started to wrestle for the small device. They were both pulling on it when suddenly Kraglin tripped and the small device landed on a rock and broke. Small shards of glass were scattered all around it.

“Damn it Quill look what you did.” Kraglin said as he got up.

“what I did, you’re the one who through it.”

They continued to argue. While they argued, neither of them saw the light green vine slowly creeping towards them. It inched its way to Kraglin’s left leg and slowly wrapped its self around his ankle. Kraglin didn’t notice because his boots were mid café length.

“You know what Quill. I’m tired of your bullshi- AHHH” In one quick motion the vine pulled Kraglin to the ground and started dragging him. For such a small vine, it was strong and fast.

“KRAGLIN!” Peter shouted as he ran after him.

“QUILL HELP ME!” Kraglin shouted. Fear in his eyes. Not knowing what was going to happen, trying to grab anything he could get his hands on to try and get away. He finally caught a root that had grown up from the ground. “QUILL!”

“I’M COMING KRAGLIN!” Peter grabbed Kraglin’s wrists and started to pull. Kraglin tried to scrape the vine off with his other boot but it wasn’t working. As Peter was pulling with all his might he remembered something. He had a blaster. He let go of one of his hands. This made so much harder to hold the other one. But he had just enough strength to do it.

“KRAGLIN DON’T MOVE” Peter whipped out his blaster and shot at the vine. It was a direct hit. Both of them went tumbling backwards, panting as if they just ran ten miles. The vine retreated back to where it came from.

They both looked at each other, letting out relived laughter.

“Woohoo, we did it. Yay. Are you ok?” Peter asked still panting.

“Yeah I’m fine. What the hell was that?” Kraglin asked looking at the remaining piece of vine still on his leg.

“I don’t know but I don’t- “

CRACK SNAP CRACK.

They both looked around. The sound of breaking tree limbs filled the air. They quickly started to panic. Then out of nowhere a vine, much larger than the one before, swooped in, wrapped its self around Kraglin’s waist, and pulled him through the air towards the direction it came from.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHH QUILL HELP” He shouted trying to break free but with no success.

“I’M COMING KRAGLIN DON’T WORRY AAHH!” Peter screamed. He had tripped over another root. This time falling and hitting his head on a rock. He was knocked out cold.

“NOOOOOO” Kraglin shouted, unable to help him. Being pulled to his doom.

……….

Peter woke up, he felt dazed and confused. His head was pounding. He slowly got up and looked around. He suddenly remembered why he was there.

“Oh shit, Kraglin.” He said out loud, he looked around for his radio. It was time to call for help. He looked down. “Damn it.” It was on the ground, smashed.

“I must have landed on it when I fell.” Peter said to himself He started running in the direction the vine had pulled Kraglin.

“KRAGLIN!” Peter shouted. No sound. This wasn’t looking good. “KRAGLIN!” He shouted again. Still no answer. This wasn’t looking good. He kept running. He was freaking out. If he couldn’t find Kraglin, one of two things would happen, and both of them were horrible. One, Peter would be stuck on that planet, or two. Yondu would find him and he would have to tell him what happened. Both very bad outcomes. Peter’s mind raced with all the horrible possibility’s when he just shouted

“DAMN IT KRAGLIN WHERE ARE YOU!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAH”

Peter heard a small scream, almost in audible but you could just make it out.

“KRAGLIN?!” Peter yelled again.

“AAAAAAAAAAH” This time it was a little louder and Peter was for sure that it was him and he ran towards his screams.

Peter was a little bit relieved. Kraglin was still alive, but for how long? As he ran he could hear Kraglin’s screams the more he ran. Getting louder and louder.

“Come on kraglin where are you?” Peter asked himself.

“AAAAAHAAAAAAA.” Another scream. Peter ran as fast as he could, trying to get to Kraglin before he was killed. “MERCY!” Kraglin screamed. His voice sounding desperate. “AAHAAHAAHAA!” Peter stopped.

“Wait, is Kraglin……… crying?” Peter thought. Peter started running again finally making it to a small clearing in the woods. He could hear Kraglin clear as day, but something was wrong. Kraglin wasn’t screaming or crying. He was laughing, and when peter finally got into view of what was happening his jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

There in the middle of the clearing was Kraglin, hoisted up in the air by the very vine that had taken him. Kraglin wasn’t being hurt, he was being……… tickled.

The vines were all inter woven on his body. A few vines had wrapped around his upper arms to pull them away for his sides so the other ones could attack his armpits. Poking and swirling in the hollows. Other vines had slipped down his shirt. Tickling his sides, ribs, and belly button. The vines attacking his belly button were ruthless. Poking the sensitive skin. Making his laughter go up an octave. Two light green vines massaged his hips, making him buck forward. The las few vines were going after his feet. The vines had taken his boots off and thrown them on the ground to get better access to his soft, sweaty, and very sensitive feet. It didn’t help that most of the ravagers clothes were old, so most of their socks had holes in them. Kraglin’s socks held no protection for him. The vines were tickling the center and balls of his feet. Other vines had woven through his toes. The vines had fuss on them, so even moving back and forth made it unbearable.

Kraglin wiggled all around trying to get out, tear of mirth streaming down his face. He couldn’t take it. As peter watched, his wide open jaw started turn into a smile. Soon he found himself giggling. Kraglin heard Peters laughter and looked down

“Peter hehehehehehelp.” Kraglin cried with laughter. Peter’s smile grew even wider.

“Why? Looks like you’re having fun up there.”

“Plehehehehease I can’t tahahahahake it.”

“I don’t know, what’s in it for me?” Peter said laughing. He wasn’t laughing at how weak this made Kraglin look. (well maybe a little.) He was laughing at how silly this situation was. All of a sudden the vines stopped. Kraglins body went limp. Giggles still pouring out of his mouth from the after tickles. He could still feel the vines tickling his sensitive skin. He stayed up in the air, panting while the vines moved away from kraglin, towards Peter.

Peter started to panic.

“Kraglin they’re coming after me, what do I do?” Peter said worried.

“I don’t know. The blasters don’t seem to have any effect on the bigger ones” Kraglin said trying to break free.

The vines made their way to Peter and started wrapping themselves around his body. Peter braced himself for the tickle torture, but for some reason it never came. He looked down and his eyes widened. The vines had started glowing. They were beautiful. They were glowing a bright purplish green

“Whoa this is so cool.” Peter said with amazement. One vine in particular wrapped its self around Peters wrist and a flower bloomed. “Kraglin, look. This is so cool.” Peter said looking up at Kraglin, who was still struggling to get out of the vines that held him in the air. When peter looked at Kraglin he noticed something. He too had a vine wrapped around his wrist with a flower on it, but his was dead. Peter thought for a moment.

“Kraglin. What color did the vines glow for you?”

“What?” Kraglin asked. Not fully getting the point of the question.

“What color did the vines glow when they first wrapped around you?”

“I don’t know. Dark red, black.” Peter kept thinking as the vines unwrapped themselves from him and back to kraglin. “Peter if you know what to do, you better tell me now. The-there coming back to mehehehehe.” Kraglin laughed as they continued their tickle assault on his body.

Peter thought. Then the answer came to his mind. He sighed in disbelief at what it was.

“Oh my god.” He said sounding annoyed. “Kraglin I know how you can get out.”

“HOHOHOHOHOW.”

Oh my god this is so gay.” He said to himself. “You have to think happy thoughts.”

“WHAT!”

“Yeah I think these things feed off of our energy. That’s why they let me go. They think I’m happy. They must think your sad or something. You have to think happy thought for them to let you go.”

“I CAHAHAHAHAN’T.”

“Come on. Remember the first time Yondu threatened to eat me and you thought it was funny when I started to cry. Or when you, Half-nut and tulk are at bars, partying. Or when you and me hang out?”

Kraglins mind raced. All he could really think about was the tickle attack he was receiving, but then his mind went elsewhere. He started to think about all the fun times he had with his friends, having fun in bars and Scoring hot sex robots. Then he thought about Yondu and all the cool missions they did together. Next he thought about Peter and how much fun they had goofing around and dancing to Peters music. Just being silly. Then he thought about his sister and how he would always do this to her if she was feeling sad. All these memories flooded back to him and for once he felt happy, and just like that the vines stopped. They unwrapped themselves from his body and slowly put him on the ground.

Kraglin laid there panting and getting the last bit of giggles out of his system. Peter ran over to him.

“You ok?” He asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Kraglin said getting up.

As he got up Peter looked at him and started laughing.

“What?” Kraglin asked. Peter pointed.

“Did you piss your pants?” Peter laughed. Kraglins right pant leg was drenched. His face blushed with a light blue color on his cheeks feeling embarrassed.

“Well what do you expect. That dumb plant was tickling me for over an hour.”

“Well we better find a river for you to soak in, cause if the others see you like this, they’ll never let you live it down.” Peter was right. Before they left Kraglin tore off the vine that was wrapped around his wrist. When it fell to the ground it wiggled its way underneath the dirt. After that, they left. When they found a small river they both jumped in to cool off and for Kraglin to get cleaned off.

As they laid there in the sun Kraglin looked at peter and spoke.

“Hey Quill. You won’t tell anyone else about what happened to me will you?” Peter started to laugh. “It’s not that funny.” Kraglin said.

“Yes it is. The great and mighty Kraglin Obfonteri, a man who fought and killed five Skrulls with his bare hands at the age of fourteen. (For those of you who don’t know, a Skrull is an alien slave owner.) A feared ravager, was taken down by a tickling plant.” As peter finished his sentence he started to laugh again. Kraglin thought about it for a moment and let out a chuckle.

“Ok, it is a little funny.” Kraglin thought again and a mischievous smile came to his face. “Not as funny as this.” And with that Kraglin leaped onto Peter and started to tickle his sides. Sending him into a laughing fit.

“Okokokokok I won’t tell anyone. Stohohohohohop.” Peter laughed. Kraglin stopped.

“Look Peter how about this. What if I tell cap the truth about who really broke his thing and you keep this to yourself, It’ll be our secret. Deal?” Kraglin spit in his hand and held it out.

“Deal.” Peter did the same and they both shook hands.

When they finally got picked up Yondu was waiting for them at the opening of the ship.

“I hope you two are done fighting?” Yondu said. Not even mentioning the root that they were supposed to get, which was pointless cause Kraglin and Peter kind of knew it was a lie anyway.

“Yes.” They both said at the same time.

Yondu couldn’t really be mad at them for very long. They were like sons to him, and in a lot of ways, Kraglin and peter were like brothers. They were like one weird happy family.

When peter finally got back to his room, he took the bucket that was laying on his floor and put the dirt from the planet in it. He then touched the dirt with the vine that was still wrapped around his wrist. When it felt the dirt it unwrapped and went into it. He was going to grow his own tickle plant. Now no one would come into his room to bother him.

The end

Notes: I hope you guys liked it. I had a lot of fun writing it. I’m sorry it’s so long but I wanted to get all my ideas in this one story. Tell me how you liked it and constructive criticism is always welcome

P.S. always excepting requests.  :)

��

[babybluebanshee]

Heavy Rains - Chapter 1 (TF2)

Being stranded at Teufort during a raging storm with a gaggle of homicidal mercenaries isn't Miss Pauling's idea of a relaxing vacation. The group tries to make the best of it, but when a mysterious illness starts making its way through the barracks, it's a race against time to find a cure before it's too late. And that's not even bringing the emotional baggage into things.

Rain was not a common occurrence in Teufort. The town got around fifteen inches of precipitation a year, and even then, most of the townsfolk blamed that on a witch’s curse.

Most of the time, it was bone-dry and hellishly hot, a barren wasteland only fit for a few determined souls and the likes of the Mann. Co mercenaries, men too tough and too damn insane to register things like heat stroke and dehydration.

So naturally, when the local radio weather station predicted bizarre torrential rains headed directly for the small New Mexico town, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and winds reaching at least sixty miles an hour, the townspeople blamed the witch and burned effigies in their front yards. The Mann Co. mercenaries were simply confused.

And although Miss Pauling counted herself among the confused, she had very little time to dwell on it. She was currently overseeing the shipment of various supplies to the men at the Teufort base, to tide them over until the storm had passed. She had put them to work loading the boxes off the truck, so they could sort them in the loading bay later. It was best to keep the nine men occupied during something like this. Each one was a volatile whack job in their own special way. Something about being stuck together in close quarters brought all that out in full, destructive force.

She didn’t need another incident like the one in Coldfront. It’d taken three days to clean up the mess, and most of the mercs still complained about ringing in their ears because of the explosion.

With black clouds looming on the horizon, the project couldn’t be completed fast enough for her liking. Sadly, the mercenaries seemed to be in no big hurry, and kept distracting themselves by bickering and trying to loot through the boxes like a bunch of excited kids, eager to see what they’d gotten for Christmas.

“I ain’t lifting that one,” Miss Pauling heard Scout shout. Looking over the rim of her clipboard, she saw him standing next to a large box, and staring up at Soldier. Scout’s face was scrunched up in what he probably thought was an intimidating glare. Miss Pauling thought he just looked constipated. Soldier carried two boxes, one on each of his shoulders, and didn’t look too happy to have Scout in his face, managing to pull off a legitimately intimidating look, even with his helmet obscuring his eyes.

“That box weighs twice as much as me. I try to lift that, I’m gonna snap in two,” Scout continued.

Soldier snorted like an angry bull, and said, or rather yelled, “Back in my day, we didn’t have Sallies like you running around. We were strong and lifted boxes all damn day. And then we threw those boxes at the Nazis and we LIKED IT.”

“Pardon me if I ain’t gonna take my history lessons from a certifiable head case like you,” Scout yelled back, jamming his tiny body as close to Soldier’s as possible. It wasn’t exactly the dominant stance he’d hoped for, since he did only come up to the bottom of Soldier’s chin, but he held his ground nonetheless.

“Oh, son, your mouth is writing checks your butt will find uncashable. Uncashable, you hear me!?” Soldier growled, lobbing the boxes he carried to the ground. He shoved himself even closer to Scout, and continued his tirade. “Insinuate that I am crazy one more time, and your butt will be escorted from the bank, am I understood, private?!”

As the two men continued to scream in each other’s faces, Engineer, Heavy, and Sniper walked by them, each carrying a box on their shoulder. Engineer cast a look between Scout, Soldier, and the three boxes lying on the ground, and then, shaking his head, picked up one with his free hand and slung it under his arm. Heavy and Sniper quietly did the same.

Miss Pauling felt a headache coming on as thunder rumbled in the distance.

It was soon drowned out by a loud, celebratory “Woooooo!” that sounded from inside the loading bay. Suddenly, Demoman came rushing out, a bottle of Mann Co. beer in each hand, and a few on the bandolier that usually held his grenades. Miss Pauling didn’t want to think about where the grenades were now.

“Feast yer eyes on this, lads,” Demo called, using a thumb to pop off the cap of a bottle and take a swig. “The lass was good enough te bring us a whole case of the stuff. This wee squall will pass in no time if I have my way about it.”

“Ya best take it easy there, partner,” Engineer said, setting his boxes by Demo’s feet. “Otherwise that case ain’t gonna last you two hours, let alone the entire storm.”

Demo paid him no attention, simply tipped his head back and drained the open bottle. After he’d gotten every last drop, he let out a long sigh of satisfaction before he pointed to Miss Pauling and said, “Bless ye, lass.”

Miss Pauling gave a small smile and said, “I figured you guys might as well have some small comforts while you’re shut up during the storm. It’d get pretty boring around here otherwise.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “Just please don’t overdo it. I do not want to come back to another Coldfront.”

Medic came up behind her, carrying a box of bottled water in front of him, and huffed, saying, “It was not so bad, Miss Pauling. I managed to reattach Scout’s thumb completely after all.”

Before Miss Pauling could register that nobody had ever mentioned any thumb reattachments, another rumble of thunder, much closer than the last, made the ground tremble beneath them. “Alright, you guys,” she said, taking her lavender pen from behind her ear. “Looks like the rain is ahead of schedule. We need to get these last couple boxes in the base before we all get soaked. Heavy, Engie, can you bring them in? There should only be a few more, mostly more water and stuff.”

The two men nodded and started their way back over to the truck. Miss Pauling continued, “Medic, Sniper, get inside and help Demo, Pyro, and Spy sort through all that stuff. Try to keep Pyro away from the paper products until Engie gets back in there to distract him.”

Medic and Sniper did not look at all happy about their assignment of dealing with the firebug, but they obeyed without a fight, although Miss Pauling swore she heard Medic mumble something she knew for certain to be a German swear. She didn’t bother herself with it at the moment. Soldier and Scout were still arguing a few yards away, and Soldier had managed somehow to find his shovel. This needed to be taken care of before first blood. Tucking her pen back behind her ear, Miss Pauling walked over to them, and managed to catch more of their ridiculous argument insults layered on top of each other so only snippets could be heard at a time.

“...think your shovel scares me, ya lunkhead?”

“...and we lived on falcon eggs and rocks…”

Miss Pauling’s head ached harder. “Guys, that’s enough!”

“He started it!” Scout said, jabbing an accusatory finger right into Soldier’s helmet.

Miss Pauling saw Engineer and Heavy out of the corner of her eye. Their arms were loaded with boxes, and they cast a wary look up at the sky before dashing inside, the added weight of the supplies nothing to them. She heaved a silent sigh through her nose. “I don’t care who started it,” she said evenly. “I’m here to finish it. Now quit screaming in each other’s faces and get inside. If you don’t hurry, you’re gonna get -”

There was a blinding flash of lightning, following by a deafening crash of thunder. Then, the sky almost seemed to open up, and the torrential downpour hit them like a tidal wave beating the shore. All three of them were sodden in a matter of seconds.

“...soaked.”

Soldier and Scout looked at Miss Pauling like a couple of scolded children. Miss Pauling merely jabbed a finger in the direction of the loading bay, and they both began marching toward it. Miss Pauling followed behind them, regretting with every step that she’d decided to wear pumps that kept getting stuck in the sucking desert mud.

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

As soon as Miss Pauling was inside, a towel was draped over her shoulder courtesy of Engineer. She gave him a smile, set her clipboard (which had thankfully managed to stay mostly dry) to the side, and furiously started rubbing herself down. As she pulled off her glasses to wipe the rain off, she saw Sniper throw a couple of towels to Soldier and Scout, managing to hit Scout directly in the face. The towel muffled Scout’s indignant yelp, which Sniper was ignoring anyway to pull down the loading bay door.

Throwing the towel back over her shoulders, Miss Pauling slicked back the strands of hair that had come loose from her bun and pulled out her pen. “Okay, guys, time for some inventory. Just wanna make sure that everything is here. I can already check off the beer…”

Demo gave another hearty “Woooooo!”, before throwing back another bottle.

“So let’s crack open the rest of these and get them put away.”

To her side, Heavy nodded and grabbed a nearby crowbar, jamming it under the lid of the nearest crate and jimmying it open in one swift motion. He tossed the lid out of the way, and it landed with a thick clunk. Engineer tapped Pyro on the shoulder and motioned for him to help him sift through it, while Heavy moved along the line of boxes, cracking each of them open like a powerful machine for a pair of mercs to dig through. For once, Miss Pauling felt as though things were going to go smoothly.

Another crack of thunder made her jump. The noise was as clear as if they didn’t have concrete walls surrounding them, and that made Miss Pauling nervous. She didn’t like being nervous. Nervousness meant a lack of control.

“Sure would be nice if we had a radio,” she said, thinking out loud more than anything.

“Oh yes,” Spy suddenly said, pulling himself away from the box he and Sniper rifled through. “I almost forgot.” He ducked down, and pulled up a small, beat-up black baseball radio. “I’m sure this will be sufficient. Assuming it still works.”

“Hey, that’s mine!” Scout shouted as soon as he set eyes on the radio.

“Don’t be such a child. I merely borrowed it for a greater purpose,” Spy said, setting the device on a nearby chair. He flicked a switch on the side, and a small burst of static began emanating from the speakers, nearly drowned out completely  by the rain beating intensely against the metal roof.

“You coulda just asked,” Scout said, the pout evident in his voice as he went back to pulling paper towels and toilet paper out of his box. “Didn’t have to go through my room and swipe my stuff.”

“Oh, don’t act so scandalized. I go through everyone’s rooms,” Spy said dismissively as he fiddled with the knobs. For a minute or two, it seemed that the radio wouldn’t be able to do anything but spit static at them because of the rain. They got snippets of a drawling political discussions and a very garbled classical music station (which seemed to disappoint Medic immensely), but finally, Spy managed to find the Teufort weather station, although it was quite faint, and interrupted by the occasional burst of static.

  “...citizens wisely preparing for what promises to be a very brutal storm, possibly the *bzzzzzt* of Teufort has ever seen. There *bzzzt* reports of mass flooding, especially along the road leading out of the town and to the highway. All *bzzt* redirected, and many of the roads closed down until the end of the storm. Civilians are advised *bzzzzzzzzt* leaving Teufort, as it is currently incredibly unsafe.”

Miss Pauling’s headache returned with a roaring vengeance.

She was stranded here. She was stranded with a group of nine mercenaries who, last time they’d been cooped up together, had caused explosions and apparently lost thumbs.

“Well, ain’t that a kick in the teeth,” Engineer muttered. “I’m real sorry, Miss Pauling. Looks like you’re stuck with us for the next couple of days.”

The rest of the mercs looked up at her apologetically. Well, except for Scout, who looked quite pleased at this turn of events. In an obvious attempt at smoothness, he said, “Yeah, that’s definitely too bad. But hey, I’m sure we can make the most of it.” He flashed Miss Pauling a crooked smile that made him look like an excited puppy. Miss Pauling had to bite back a frustrated groan.

Spy, letting out a quiet huff, rolled his eyes and shut off the baseball radio. Taking two long strides, he reached Scout’s side and shoved the radio into the boy’s hands. “Yes, we’ll certainly make the most of it,” he said, his tone borderline scolding. “Which is why Miss Pauling will be staying in my room. On the opposite end of the base from yours.”

A titter rippled through the group of men. Scout’s face reddened, and he shot Spy a glare very suited to a sullen teenager.

“Oh, Spy,” Miss Pauling said. “I don’t want take your room.”

“Nonsense,” Spy replied, waving off her concerns. “I insist. I’ll stay in my smoking room. The chairs there are as comfortable as any bed.”

Miss Pauling gave him a grateful smile. “Well, thank you, then. I appreciate that.”

Another crash of thunder made the base tremble around them. Engineer nearly dropped the case of Bonk he was pulling out of a crate. “Sheeeoot,” he muttered. “Always hated storms. Got the worst back home. Least you don’t gotta worry about twisters here. If we had to deal with one of those, I’d be heading for the hills.”

As soon as Engineer set down the case, Scout tore into it, pulling out a can and popping it open. It fizzed merrily. He tipped it back, draining the contents in seconds. Crushing the now-empty can in his hand and tossing it over his shoulder, he said, “You think a twister is bad, hard hat? Try a hurricane. Not only do you got rain, thunder, and lightning 24/7, okay? But you gotta worry about floods too. I remember when I was nine, we got hit with a really bad one. Any of you guys ever heard of Hurricane Esther? Worst one that I’ve ever been through. We got stuck inside for days. Couldn’t leave, couldn’t nothing. Made one of my brothers cry. That was actually the one bright spot of the whole thing.”

Scout’s light-speed chatter tapered off as he pulled out another Bonk and cracked it open. The other mercs seemed to deflate with relief at the silence.

The reprieve did not last, as the loudest crash of thunder the storm had offered up yet once again shook the base. It felt like a bomb had been detonated right outside the loading bay door.

And then the lights went out.

“Well, hell…” Miss Pauling heard Engineer grumble.

From somewhere in the dark, Pyro let out a frightened whine. Engineer once again spoke, this time in a much gentler tone “It’s okay, Smokey,” he said. “I can get those back on, no problem. Just gotta find a flashlight…”

There was a sound of something heavy colliding with a body, and someone let out an “oof!”

“Shit, sorry, uh, whoever that was…” Engineer said.

“No worries, mate,” Sniper ground out. “Ain’t like I need all me ribs anyways…ow...”

There was a sound of footsteps, then a cry of pain from Spy. “That was my foot, bushman!”

“You try getting a metal arm to the gut, ya bloody spook,” Sniper hissed back. “Think it’d take your mind off your shoes getting a bit scoffed.”

“I doubt it, considering these shoes cost more than that repulsive van you sleep in.”

Someone fell backwards into one of the crates, apparently grabbing Medic on the way down. Miss Pauling heard him cry out, “Scheisse!”

“Jesus, hard hat,” Scout grumbled. Miss Pauling heard him scrambling to get back to his feet. He must have been the one to fall into the boxes. “You’re gonna kill somebody with that thing.”

“Well, it’s damn dark, son. I don’t know what to tell ya.” Another thud of metal against flesh, but this time the flesh sounded much more solid. Engineer must have hit Heavy. “Sorry, big guy…”

“Is no problem,” Heavy said casually.

“Did anyone actually see a flashlight in any of the boxes?” Miss Pauling asked. She stood as still as she could. There was no need to contribute anymore to this unfolding chaos.

No one answered her. They were heading towards another Coldfront at full speed.

Then, suddenly, a tiny light filled the space. It drew everyone’s attention simultaneously. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, sat Pyro. In his hands, his lighter, burning brightly.

Engineer grinned and said, “Well, ain’t you a smart little bug?”

Pyro merely let out a sheepish giggle.

Miss Pauling did a quick survey of things - Sniper was still gingerly holding his ribs, though he looked like he wasn’t in too much pain. Spy, now that he was actually able to see them, seemed to be inspecting the damage done to his shoes. Scout hoisted himself back up into a standing position, while Medic glared daggers at him for pulling him down. Engineer was roughly an inch from Heavy’s gargantuan torso. Demo took advantage of the light to pop the top off another bottle of beer, which he handed to Soldier. Both watched the others fumble over each other from a safe distance. Miss Pauling heard them chortle.

She took a deep breath. Things were okay. No one was injured. No one was dead. She could work with this.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Engineer slap Pyro’s hand away from a roll of paper towel stick out of a crate, which he’d been slowly moving the lighter closer and closer to. Pyro let out a defeated whine.

She could mostly work with this.

--------------- It took Engineer two and a half hours to restore the power. “Would have gotten it sooner,” he said as he came back into the loading bay, wiping the sweat away from under his hard hat, “but there were a few times when I had to back off ‘cause of the lightning. Don’t wanna get cooked if it strikes here again.”

“I thought lightning didn’t strike in the same place twice,” Scout said. He’d found his baseball and was lazily tossing it in the air and catching it as it came back down.

Engineer grinned a bit and replied, “That’s just a myth, son. Been through enough storms to know that lightning tends to do strike wherever it damn well pleases.”

Scout seemed unimpressed by this fact. He merely turned his attention back to his baseball, his expression bored and, oddly enough, sleepy. Miss Pauling didn’t even know it was possible for Scout to run out of energy.

Then again, looking at the seven other men lounging around the loading bay, she couldn’t say she was surprised. In the two and a half hours Engineer had been fiddling with the power, they’d been cleaning out the crates of supplies and putting everything away, seeing only by flashlight. It had surprisingly taken a lot out of them. Demo and Soldier were both on the edge of sleep, sitting back to back, still holding bottles of beer in their hands as their heads dipped every so often. More bottles were scattered around their feet.

Sniper had pulled his hat over his face, and she noticed his body slackening every so often as he dozed. Spy took a lazy drag of his cigarette. Medic had fetched his chessboard and had coaxed Heavy into a game. Pyro was practically curled up on the floor like a kitten, napping.

The rain had eased up a bit, though it still hit the roof with rigid consistency. Miss Pauling listened to it for a minute. She supposed that the sound would be enough to lull even hardened mercenaries to sleep after a stressful day of work.

“What about the rest of the stuff in the control room?” she asked. She tried not to yawn. Confound that rain, it was soothing.

“It’s pretty much all shot,” Engineer replied. “Communications are down, and the respawn is just...out. And crawling in there to fix it while this storm is still raging is outta the question. Lightning strikes while I’m in there, I come out looking like bacon left on the skillet too long.”

Miss Pauling couldn’t help the groan that escaped.

No communications. No respawn.

Normally, that wouldn’t bother her. As concerned as she was about the mercs eventually snapping from the confinement and inflicting bodily harm on each other, she at least trusted them enough to not kill each other. They feared Medic and his particular brand of “healing” enough to try and keep themselves in one piece for the next few days.

It was just one more thing to worry about. One more thing that could make things worse. One more thing out of her control. One more thing that she’d have to write up in the mountains of paperwork that were inevitably going to follow this whole debacle. Her head throbbed again.

Spy stood up, pulling her from her increasingly anxious thoughts. Taking one last drag of his cigarette and stamping it out against one of the discarded crates, he said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, gentlemen, but I find myself all ‘funned’ out. And if no one is interesting in cooking dinner…”

A collective groan rose up from the exhausted pile of mercenaries.

“As I expected. With that, I believe I shall retire for the evening.” He turned on his heels until he was facing Miss Pauling. “Shall we?” he asked, motioning towards the hall.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” she replied. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d almost forgotten Spy offering his room. She found herself a little too wired for sleep just yet, but she honestly couldn’t think of anything else to do to kill time until she was. Maybe she could just lay down, stare at the ceiling, and wonder what antagonistic gods had thought it amusing to strand her here.

She let him lead down the hall, past the dining hall and respawn room, and into the barracks. They passed eight doors, one for every man in the base - except, generally, for Sniper. Like any outdoorsman, he preferred sleeping outside, and made a habit of sleeping out in his camper van whenever the weather permitted. Weather was most definitely not permitting now, and Miss Pauling had gently persuaded him to remain indoors for the remainder of the storm. Although the suggestion had made him stare at her like she’d grown another head out of her abdomen, he’d grumbled an agreement.

And Miss Pauling’s mother wondered why her daughter seemed so lukewarm on the idea of children.

She nearly collided with Spy’s back as he stopped in front of the final door, near the end of the hallway. They had reached his quarters. Miss Pauling made no comment about how close it was to a large exit sign, leading out of the base.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask me,” Spy said as he opened his door, motioning for Miss Pauling to enter ahead of him. Ever the gentleman, even when motioning a lady into the spartan barracks of a military base.

Looking around the room as she stepped in, she realized “spartan” might even be too generous for Spy’s room. The place was almost completely bare. She knew for a fact that most of the other mercs had some personal things in their rooms - photos of family, posters, calendars, even the occasional pin-up picture in Scout’s case.

Spy’s room was completely spotless. His thin bed was made, blankets smooth and pristine, pillow propped against the wall and looking like a human head had never made contact with it. Minimal personal effects. Hardly a hint about what kind of man lived here, as much a mystery as Spy himself.

The only indication a person was ever in this room was the desk, which held a line of books, pressed against the wall. Moving closer to them, Miss Pauling realized they were very well-thumbed, having obviously seen multiple readings. One book was set aside from the others, a scrap of paper stuck between the pages to act as a bookmark - A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie.

Spy was reading a cozy mystery?

A quick look at the other books on the desk revealed similarly unexpected titles, at least the ones that weren’t in French - seven books all featuring “Austen” embossed in gold lettering on the spine. A few more Christies thrown in. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Even a dime store copy of The Andromeda Strain.

“You are more than welcome to read those.” Miss Pauling jumped a bit. She’d almost forgotten Spy was in the room, and with his infamous cat-like quietness and grace, he’d walked up to her side to see what she’d been gawking at. He’d pulled out a cigarette in that time, and had managed to silently light it.

“I simply ask that you be careful with Mr. Crichton,” he continued. “A few of the pages are falling out. Cheap glue does not last in New Mexico heat, as it turns out.”

“Yeah…” Miss Pauling muttered, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks and ears. “Um, sorry for being nosy. I just...ya know, never pegged you for much of a reader. Let alone Miss Marple.”

Spy chuckled a bit. “Things can be tedious around here when there are no battles to fight. And Dapper Cadaver is only a monthly subscription, after all.”

Miss Pauling smiled back. Though she’d never say it to Spy’s face, these books offered a look at a side of him he did his best never to show anyone - a human side. It was strangely endearing that this man, who prided himself of his suavity and mystique and ruthless efficiency at putting knives in backs, could be content with reading a quaint story about a spinster turned amatuer sleuth.

She cast another glance at the books. “I don’t get much time for reading these days,” she said. “Demands of the job, ya know? I don’t think I’ve sat down and read a full book since I was in college.”

“I would go mad,” Spy said, pulling a face of mock horror. “Surely we must catch you up. After all, you have plenty of time to fill presently.” He ran a finger down the line of books, humming curiously to himself as he did.

“Really, Spy, it’s fine,” Miss Pauling said. “I’m sure I can find something to do to pass the time.”

“Oh yes,” Spy said. He didn’t look up from the line of books. “I’m sure that Scout would be more than willing to let you ‘hang out’ with him. Sounds positively riveting.”

“...give me the damn book.”

A sly smile spread across Spy’s lips as he pulled out one of the Austen books and held it out to her. Gold lettering on the cover read Pride and Prejudice. She recalled being threatened with the book in high school, if she had chosen to take the AP courses. All the upperclassmen girls had complained loudly about it. She’d stuck with the regular English course and only had to read Huck Finn.

“I dunno, Spy…”

Spy gently set the book in her hands and closed her fingers around it. “Just give it a try, and if you don’t care for it, bring it back. I have many more in my smoking room to choose from,” he said. “I know it seems daunting, but believe me, she is worth it. Besides, I believe you’ll find...a bit of kinship with Miss Elizabeth Bennett.”

“Yeah?”

“She too often finds herself the only voice of reason amongst less than sane persons.”

Miss Pauling couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Excellent,” Spy said. She didn’t miss the excitement evident in his voice. “Perhaps we can even discuss it once you’ve finished?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Ah, well, it was a noble effort, no?” Spy said, his grin slightly devilish.

Miss Pauling chuckled again.

Spy’s grin softened a bit as he said, “I realize this was not the way you intended to spend the next few days. And I know the others and I...we can be a bit overwhelming.”

“That’s not…” Miss Pauling trailed off, the bare-faced lie dying on her tongue.

“I appreciate you not thinking you had to spare my feelings,” Spy said. “Although we may not act like it, all of us are fairly self-aware. We are forced to spend every day around each other. We know what we are like. I promise you, Miss Pauling, I will try and make this as uneventful as I can.”

Miss Pauling felt a warmth rise in her chest. She clutched the book a little tighter as she said, “Thank you, Spy. For everything.”

Spy bowed slightly at the waist. “You’re quite welcome. Goodnight to you, and enjoy the book.”

And with that, he grabbed up the Agatha Christie and walked out, shutting the door softly behind him.

Miss Pauling looked down at the book in her hand again. It didn’t look too terribly long, and besides, Spy had offered other stuff if she didn’t like it. There was no harm in humoring him, not after a promise like that.

Especially when a glance at her watch showed it was only a little past nine, and she didn’t feel in the slightest bit tired. Who knew, maybe a boring book would be the best way to help her fall asleep.

She sat down on Spy’s bed and removed her mud-caked shoes. She tossed them under the desk, so they’d be out of the way. Then came the nylons, which she pulled off gingerly and folded neatly. At two pair for a dollar, she wasn’t taking any chances with them.  She pulled out the four bobby pins and the rubber band that held her bun in place. She tossed them onto the nearby desk. She gave her now-free hair a quick tousle. Then she pulled her arms into her blouse and undid her bra clasp, pulling it out and tossing it on the floor with the shoes.

Fuck it, she was basically in for the night, and she liked to think no one would come in without knocking first. She was willing to put up with a lot of things, but sleeping in her bra wasn’t one of them.

She laid back, propping herself up a bit on Spy’s pillow, and nestled the book on her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something small and white at the far end of the desk.

Upon further inspection, she realized it was a bottle of aspirin. A water bottle sat on the desk next to it. She hadn’t even heard Spy set them down before he left.

Well, now there was no two ways about it. She’d have to read the book. It would only be polite.

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

Medic felt his eye give an involuntary twitch when he heard Scout’s loud, obnoxious groans just outside the doors of his lab. And here he’d been hoping to spend the evening in relative peace and quiet, cleaning up around the lab or doing paperwork or tinkering with some Uber upgrades, to the tranquil sound of the rain outside. Another groan, obviously meant to sound piteous, echoed through his lab as Scout stumbled in, slamming the swinging door so hard it banged into the wall and frightened many of the nearby doves into fluttering, in search of less dangerous perches.

Medic’s eye twitched again. He pushed his glasses up and said, “What is it Scout?”

He lifted his head to look at the younger mercenary, who stumbled over to his desk, clutching his stomach as if it were ripping him apart from the inside. “Doooooooc,” he moaned. He sounded like a toddler crying for it’s mother when it wasn’t getting enough attention. “I’m dying, doc, you gotta save me.”

Medic rolled his eyes. Scout was, to be perfectly frank, the biggest baby he’d ever known when it came to physical maladies. Skinned knees got him grinding through clenched teeth that he was sure to bleed out in moments. A black eye had him wailing that he was blind now, worse off even than the black Scottish cyclops. Stomach cramps got him in the fetal position, crying out that it was cancer, it had to be cancer, tell his mother he loved her. Every time, Medic checked him out, submitting him to a full physical exam if that’s what it took, simply to silence the bellyaching. He never found anything more wrong with Scout than the typical bumps and bruises that befell every other man in this God-forsaken base.

He wasn’t about to entertain Scout’s incessant whining tonight, not when the weather already had him in a less than ideal mood.

“Scout, I do not have the patience for you tonight,” he grumbled, standing from his chair and walking out from behind his desk. Perhaps if he put distance between himself and the little twerp, Scout would get the message and leave him be.

“Aww, come on, doc!” If anything, Scout’s whining got even more pathetic. “Feels like I’m gonna keel over any second. Have a little sympathy, will ya?”

“I rarely have sympathy for the idiot who comes in here every time he stubs his toe,” Medic snapped.

Scout opened his mouth, probably to plead his case again, but he quickly shut it and let out another choked moan. His arms pulled even tighter around his abdomen. If Medic hadn’t known better, he’d almost call that genuine pain on Scout’s face.

Medic didn’t have any illusions about his position. He was not what many called “a caring professional”. To him, the healing was a rather tedious side effect of his experiments. After all, it was easier to poke someone’s atrophied liver if they weren’t in danger of dying on you before you could put it back. But you just didn’t figure out the secret to cheating life-threatening injuries by being a bleeding heart to every whining toddler that came limping through your door with stomachaches and broken bones and the entirety of their blood on the outside of their body. It just cut into the amount of hours you could spend finding reasonably priced Loch Ness hamster hearts.

But he wasn’t entirely without compassion. While his comrades tended to give him funny looks when he asked for volunteers for his more...ambitious projects, they did still volunteer. The wild success of his Ubercharge was proof of that. And the biggest reason for it was because he tried his damnedest to do it as painlessly as possible. It didn’t take a dubiously achieved medical license to know that people didn’t like pain, not even mercenaries who were used to be shot, stabbed, and blown to bits.

Medic was many things, but a sadist was not one of them. It just wasn’t conducive to his curiosity.

Which is why, after another pained groan from Scout, he sighed heavily, opened one of his desk drawers, and pulled out a bottle of white tablets. He tossed them to Scout and said, “Take two of these tonight and get some sleep. If you don’t feel any better in the morning, come back. Then I’ll see what else I can do, ja?”

Relief blossomed on Scout’s face. “Thanks, doc,” he said. He turned the bottle over in his hand, the tablets clacking together against the glass. “So, these penicillin or something?”

“It’s aspirin, Scout,” Medic said, turning his attention back to his papers. “You probably will not need penicillin any time soon. Unless you have a case of syphilis you haven’t mentioned. In which case I have been working on a super vaccine from some spare bits of the bread tumors. You will never guess where that gets injected…” For added effect, he looked up slightly and gave his best maniacal grin.

What little color was left in Scout’s face drained away, and he muttered a “Night, doc” before tucking the bottle in his pocket and stiffly walking out.

Medic chuckled once he was alone. He may not have been a sadist by nature, but he seemed to becoming quite cunning in his advancing age.

[drlauramccoy]

(set in the verse with @masterfulxrhythm )

It’s morning coffee - both the McCoys are taking it black and strong and silent until they’ve finished at least half their cup. This has become a kind of tradition now: Jack and Koschei come to her room once they’re up, help her get dressed and brushed (though she’s needing their help less and less, she still enjoys the attention), then Koschei goes off to his workshop and Jack gets the coffee.

The location always changes, as Laura wants to see as many to see as many rooms of the TARDIS as she can before settling on her favourite. Right now, they’re in a room with a waterfall, a lovely shallow, little lagoon pooling at the base of it with tendrils of soft pink flowers curling up the cliff. She can see the line of little bottles and jars on a rock ledge, and can guess it’s used as a shower by at least one of her boys. It makes her smile, these little hints of their domestic life, and as she sets her mug down, she decides it’s time to chat.

“So, how did you two meet?”

Jack nearly chokes on his coffee. “That’s... a little complicated.”

Laura just looks expectantly at him.

“Timing was bad,” he puts delicately. “We were both hung up on the same guy and... well, we both did things we’re not exactly proud of.”

Now she looks incredibly intrigued.

“It’s in the past,” Jack insists. “We can’t change it, so we moved on from it.”

“So then what changed?” She can’t help but wonder just how dark or shameful it must be if her son is shifting the issue so insistently. But maybe it’s best left buried, something that goes against at least half her instincts as an archaeologist.

Now it’s Jack’s turn to silent.

“I don’t know,” he says at last. “It was little by little. We met up again, years and years later, and we were both very different people. We realised we had a lot more in common than we ever wanted to admit and started travelling together.” He pauses, a chagrined smile on his face. “I’ve never felt more like myself when he’s around. When I realised that, everything changed.”

Laura looks satisfied with that answer, though she’s still certain that her son is concealing far more than he’s sharing.

But she also knows him, knows how jealously he guards secrets and especially his own. Prodding will only make him dig his heels in and calm up even harder. Patience and time is what he needs most times - or she’ll just ask Koschei for the juicy details later and see his reaction. She might not get the full story but she’ll be better able to see if this really is a story better left untold, or if Sam is just embarrassed to tell his mother.

“Did I ever tell you the story of how your father and I met?”

“NO!” Jack perks right up at that, laughing and turning a mischievously wicked grin on her. “I need to know all the details.”

Laura laughs at how easily he can bounce back from the small cloud of remorse - though she’s a little saddened he’s ever had to develop that skill.

“It was my first dig,” she starts, taking a sip of her coffee and setting it aside to tell her story. “I’d done mostly lab work and desk-based assessment work up until that point, but I’d always been itching to get out there into the field. The company I was with at the time sent me to an excavation on Lachter Seven’s moon. It was an old monastery, some order that never really spread, and this was the only known place they’d built a monastery rather than converting it, so it was a pretty big deal. Anyway, halfway through the dig, this film crew came in to grab some footage of us but also start to film a documentary about this order. And your father was the host.”

“No!” Jack nearly cackles, trying to imagine his father as some stoic, boring academic narrator - the image doesn’t come easily. “I can’t believe Dad did that! Doesn’t really seem his style.”

“Oh, I’m using ‘documentary’ in the loosest sense of the word. His whole persona was a bit more Indiana Jones, exploring ruins and climbing mountains and that whole lot. On principle, I hated the whole idea. When I met him, though, it was a completely different story.”

Jack looks intrigued. 

“He was so soft-spoken, completely different than the character they were making him out to be. He was funny, too, and charming and intelligent and oh my goodness, gorgeous.”

“Mum!”

“He was! I had a crush on him immediately - and let me tell you, after spending three months with the same twenty people, he was a breath of fresh air, too. Almost everyone in the camp fell for him, but only ever when he was... well, I guess performing is the best way to describe it. He could turn on the charm and have people falling at his feet, but when he turned it off, it was almost like a cloaking shield. He’d be in the middle of a crowd, and if he wasn’t ‘on,’ no one noticed.”

“No one but you.”

“Of course,” she grins slyly. “His crew was there for a week, and after the second day, I noticed the pattern. If he wasn’t the life of the party, he’d stick to the edges of the group. Still there, but not really. He was especially like that at lunch. People were generally too busy shovelling down food to notice, so I started having lunch with him. Really casual conversations that soon would keep going until someone came to fetch one of us, usually him, and we both went back to work. The last couple days, we’d eat breakfast and dinner too, and just talk away like old friends.”

She pauses and looks at Jack, and he’s hanging on her every word.

“The last night, we climbed to the top of the cliff that overlooked the dig site to watch the stars. I kissed him as we watched the planet rise and as perfect as that week was, I never in a million years thought a one-night stand would ever be more than that.”

Jack has an almost dreamy look as she finishes, happy to have finally heard that story. “What changed?”

“We met again, years later,” she says a little cheekily. “At a conference. He’d ditched the film career idea, but he’d specialised in experimental archaeology. That was one of the driving ideas behind our time at Boeshane, trying to recreate how we thought they lived back then. Your dad was a battlefield specialist, and-” She abruptly cuts herself off there, realising she’s headed down a dangerous path she has no desire to visit right now. “Anyway, I was starting to make a name for myself, and he came up to me after a paper I presented, asked if I remembered him - of course I had - and asked me out to coffee. We started dating, trying to get on the same excavations, which wasn’t difficult when I started running then, and got married just after I won the funding for Boeshane. And there you have it.”

[takeiteasypeasybaby]

Save Me: Chapter - 44 - Lydia

~Hey guys! The title of this chapter is kind of a big give away about who which character is next introduced, but Lydia’s role in Save Me is quite different to the comics/tv series. I hope you enjoy :)~

Molly meets a young girl, part of the group that killed her friend and has to decide her fate, through this realising who she truly is.

There we stood, in the pouring summer rain.

I wiped my face as the rain coated my skin, mixing with the dirt and tears already there.

I sniffled as I kept digging with Aaron and Daryl until there was a gaping hole in the ground.

'Molly, you don't have to do this' Daryl said as he stopped my shovel in front of me.

I sighed.

'I have to, I have to' I whispered as I moved his hand away and kept digging.

Michonne and Luke lowered his body into the space.

Aaron and Tara held my hands as we sobbed together.

I closed my eyes as they all filled back the space, I couldn't watch him really be gone.

I wanted to believe that he was with me, always.

Aaron started by saying a few words, so did everyone else and I was last.

I took a deep breath, looked up to the sky and started.

'Jesus was one of the good ones, so kind, trusting, selfless. He welcomed me to Hilltop, made me feel like I could do this. He was the one who believed in me, even if I didn't and that never changed. I loved him like a brother and I know, for certain, that he is up there, watching over all of us' I said softly, my voice breaking when I remembered how he welcomed me.

I had to keep calm and stay in control for Tara.

So, I fought back my tears after I said my goodbye to Jesus and planned our next move.

While everyone was inside, I grabbed my jacket and helmet and headed to my bike.

'Where are you going?' Tara asked sadly.

'We have to carry on, Tara. I'm going to Alexandria, we need information on those fuckers' I said as I strapped on my helmet and sat on my bike.

She ran over now and begged me to stay.

'Wait you're gonna ask Negan?' she asked with annoyance.

I threw my hands in the air and said 'he might know something, or the Saviours might' I added as I started up the engine.

'No, Molly we need you here...' she pleaded.

I shook my head, 'I can't, I have to do something Tara! We have to fight these bastards' I shouted in frustration.

'You never felt that way about the Saviours' she said reluctantly and looked down when she realised what she had just said.

I stared at her in shock and just nodded at her meaning.

I angrily revved the engine and took off out of the gates and towards Alexandria.

Still annoyed by Tara's words, as soon as I arrived at Alexandria I threw down my bike and stormed to Negan's cell.

Seth just stepped aside, clearly not wanting to even try to stop me and opened the door.

I exhaled and stepped through to see Negan reading on the floor.

'Hey, I need your help' I said breathlessly.

He looked up and scowled, clearly pissed at me for something.

He shut his book angrily and stood up, pacing closer to the bars.

'So now you're confiding in me?' he asked sarcastically.

I frowned.

'What? Negan, I need to know if you know anything about this group that we-' I started to say curtly before he cut me off.

'Me first. Why didn't you tell me about the Sanctuary?' he asked sternly.

I stepped back in reaction and tilted my head

'What do you mean?' I asked nonchalantly.

'Don't play dumb, we both know you're too smart for that. I thought you didn't want it?' he asked almost pleadingly.

I inhaled, 'It doesn't matter, I can't leave Hilltop now' I said as I teared up.

Negan changed his tone when he saw how hurt I really was.

'Darlin what happened?' he asked softly.

'Jesus is dead' I said quietly as I looked down at the concrete floor.

'These people wearing walker masks ambushed us at Hilltop. They moved like walkers, dressed like them, looked like them. I-I just don't know what to do and now people are looking to me for the solution as the sole leader of Hilltop and I have no fucking clue what to do!' I yelled as I collapsed onto the floor in front of the bars.

I buried my head in my hands as I held my knees close to my chest.

'Molly...God I'm so sorry. You know I'd do anything to help you, but I've never encountered these fuckers. If you want my advice, buy yourself some time by reassuring the people and then go out and attack strong. I'm talkin full force type shit, no exceptions' he said seriously.

I looked up and he smiled sadly.

'You've got this Molly. You are strong as shit, a born leader' he said assuringly.

I stood back up, ran my fingers through my hair and said 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the Sanctuary. I just...I knew how much it meant to you and I didn't wanna hurt you'.

'Besides, I can't leave Hilltop now, they need me especially while Maggie's gone' I said now confidently.

He just nodded and smiled.

He stared back into my eyes, we didn't even need to say it in that moment, we both just knew.

He reached out between the bars as I placed my hand gently into his.

He smiled as he ran his thumb over my knuckles.

'Be safe' he said, his smile now vanishing as the seriousness of his words set in.

I smirked at his care for me.

'Always' I said softly as I hesitantly let go of his hand and left the cell, looking back once more at him one last time before I went back to Hilltop.

I had told Tara that I needed to go to Alexandria to learn about the whispering walkers, but in reality, I think I just needed Negan.

I needed his comfort, his presence and even if I couldn't be in his arms, just to see his face was enough.

I felt rejuvenated, like I had Negan's strength and spirit within me.

Negan was right, no fucking exceptions.

A day later...

When I got back to Hilltop, I spoke with Michonne and Daryl and told them of my plan to which they agreed heartily.

We would tell everyone that everything was under control while we went out and sought after the walker people.

Others like Luke, Magna, Yumiko and Aaron were told about our plan and were more than willing to help.

While they searched East of Hilltop, we went West.

As we roamed the forests, I alerted Mich and Daryl to watch their hands for weapons so we know if they're alive or not.

We mostly only found walkers until we crossed an old wooden bridge.

Not thinking much of it, we crossed, only to be stopped by a group of five walker-like figures blocking the other side.

'It's them' I whispered slowly to Mich and Daryl as they stood either side of me.

Suddenly, they charged at us unannounced and I whipped out my gun and shot a couple of them down as Daryl shot another with his bow.

Michonne fought off another with her katana, slicing him virtually in half when he tried to stab at her.

Leaving only one smaller figure remaining, it dropped to its knees and raised its hands either side of its head.

Daryl was about to kill it and thoughts of what Negan had said flashed before my mind.

'Stop!' I said as I held Daryl back.

I wasn't like Negan and I couldn't be.

Michonne took its weapons as I removed its mask.

My eyes widened as I realised that she was just a kid.

'Please...please don't kill me' she begged as she hyperventilated.

Daryl and I looked at each other worriedly as Michonne asked sternly, 'how many?' as she held up one of their masks.

'You killed em all, please it's just me now' she begged as she cried.

Michonne took her katana and placed it against her throat.

'Michonne' I said sternly to which she just glared at me.

'I don't believe you!' Michonne said to the kid as she pushed the blade harder against her throat.

I heard growling and snarling so I looked across the bridge to see walkers coming closer and closer.

'There isn't time, we take her with us' I said as Daryl grabbed her and tied up her wrists with twine.

'You try anything, you won't have to pretend' Daryl said to the kid as he held up a mask to her face.

We pushed her out in front of us and all kept our guns on her as she walked.

I wanted to kill her, to avenge Jesus.

I was seething with anger but I realised that she was just a kid.

I could practically predict that this was gonna bite me in the ass by keeping her alive but at least we could use her for information on her group because I knew she was lying to us about being the last one.

Once we got back to Hilltop, Daryl took her down to the cell and locked her up in the farthest one.

He told me later at dinner that Henry was apparently at Hilltop and wound up in the adjacent cell because on his blacksmith apprenticeship, he had gotten drunk with the other Hilltop kids and put others in danger.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead knowing that I would have to deal with this.

I stood up from the table and was about to go when Daryl stroked my hand.

'No, I'll go. You've got enough on your mind' he said softly.

'You sure?' I asked frowning.

'Yeah, i'll talk to Henry and the girl' he said as he stroked my back and left the room.

I told Tara everything at dinner, knowing that I couldn't hide anything from her anymore.

I had to stop thinking that just because I was older, that I had to protect her from all this.

She was more than capable, as she kept reminding me.

She actually gave me some really good advice, she said that we could use the girl as leverage against the group she belongs to and maybe lure them into a trap.

Daryl's POV//

I stormed down the steps to the cell and said 'who are you?' to the kid.

She immediately crawled across the floor to the back wall and crouched down into a ball.

She was terrified, but I wasn't buying it.

'Answer the question. Do you wanna die?' I threatened as I opened the door and walked into the cell.

'Daryl what's your problem?!' Henry yelled from the other cell.

'Quiet!' I shouted at him.

'People up there just buried a good man and they're ready to string you up right now' I said sternly as my hand rested on the blade in my pocket.

'All I gotta do is drag your ass up them steps. How many in your group?' I growled.

'I already told you' she started to say before I grabbed her arm.

'Get up!' I yelled as I pushed her against the bars.

'How many?!' I repeated angrily.

'Ten! Ten! There were ten of us! I think. We wear skins to blend in, we didn't have names' she said nervously.

'I mean we did, but we didn't use em' she added shaking her head.

'How long you been out around here?' I asked angrily.

'I don't know, we moved around with the dead, the skins made them leave us alone' she said quietly.

'You got a camp? Walls?' I added as she started to smile.

'Walls? Walls don't keep you safe. Places like this don't make it, it's how it is. My mom and me saw it happen, over and over. I barely remember the world before all this. But, my mom, she told me how it was changing. How we had to change with it' she said calmly.

'Why'd your people kill our people?' I asked angrily.

'Tell me!' I yelled as I pulled out my knife and held it to her eye.

'We were always gonna kill you okay? It's just what people do now! It's us or them!' she said frantically.

'How many in your group?' I repeated slowly.

'My mom, just my mom' she said shaking.

'She's a good person, please don't go looking for her. She's just one woman, out there alone' she begged.

I moved the knife closer, saying 'you said your people were never alone'.

'She was at the cemetery, she got separated but just her' she cried.

'Liar!' I yelled as I dragged her out of the cell.

'I told you what was gonna happen!' I shouted.

'Daryl stop!' Henry yelled as he hit the bars.

'Please don't kill me! Please!' she begged as she tried to go back into the cell.

I let go and she shuffled back into the corner.

'You need to wise your ass up' I growled at Henry as I locked the cell door.

I should've killed her.