#feeling gross with yearning the last few days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orobivrse · 4 months ago

Text

or something ♡ (shigadabi)

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wc: 3.8k

pairings: shigaraki x dabi (bnha)

genre: fluff, suggestive

cw: there's a lot of talk about sex but no actual written sex scenes (minors dni), friends to fwb to lovers, they're not villains in this au just outcasted, communication issues, bisexual dabi, gay tomura

ao3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Dabi had never let the loneliness he'd been forced into bother him. Dabi sits on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. His lungs are on their last legs but he lights up the cigarette in his mouth anyways. It burns a little on the inhale but breathing has always felt like that for him. He watches the smoke swirl around the empty room as he tries everything he can to shut down the memories of ‘Touya Todoroki”. Dabi wants, for even just a second, to be free of his past. He pretends the smoke eases him and relaxes against the leather seating. He hadn't done much today, a rare quiet day among his friends. He didn't know where everyone else was, nor did he care.

After a seemingly endless twenty minutes of vacant staring, Dabi extinguishes his cigarette. He's not ‘lonely’, per se, but the silence grates on him. He's accustomed to the bustling atmosphere of a full house, and while he doesn't yearn for the tumultuous arguments of his parents, he does find himself longing for the playful banter of his siblings. He imagines his friend Tomura, probably awake at this hour, engrossed in his video games and pestering his ‘uncles’ who took him in after the incident that left him homeless. Dabi’s not sure if what he has with Tomura is friendship; the pair is closer than most, and while they are not physically affectionate, they’ve shared many deep romantic talks. Though he'd never admit it, Tomura is the only one Dabi feels he can talk to for real. Dabi enjoys Tomura's company, not because of the need to speak but because of the way the clicking and soft music of his video games fill the quiet that unsettles him.

As if on cue, Dabi hears his phone ping and checks his phone to see his best friend's name pop up on his screen. It's Tomura asking him to come over. He asks who else is coming and, even though he does have some love for the rest of his friends, he's pleased to see that it'll be just the two of them. He drags himself up, remembering to pocket his cigarettes, and shrugs on his jacket. The walk to Tomura's house doesn't take more than 10 minutes and Dabi, who's always sensitive to the cold, is thankful for that. He passes two of his little brother's friends while he's out, and despite his history, they greet him with a wave. When he arrives at the rundown bar his friend lives in. He opens the door to see Kurogiri standing behind the bar.

“Here to see Tomura? He's upstairs. We’re going soon, so you’ve got the house to yourself.”

Dabi nods and heads up to Tomura's bedroom. He doesn't know what compels him to do so, but he stops outside the door to listen for a second. He hears Lebanon Hanover playing behind the clicking of controller buttons. It's familiar to him and he feels immediately safe. He swings open the door, inviting himself in and sits on Tomura's bed. Tomura is sitting on a bean bag chair next to the bed and only looks away from the screen once to give Dabi a nod of acknowledgement. They sit quietly until Tomura finishes his round.

“So, where have you been?” asks Tomura, crawling up to the bed to sit next to Dabi.

“Found some empty house a few streets away. It's cold, but it's a decent size.”

“Sounds gross,” says Tomura as he changes the song on his playlist.

“It's cleaner than your room,” Dabi retorts. Tomura immediately launches himself at Dabi, and he enjoys how easy it is to rile him up. Dabi easily pushes Tomura down so that he can lie against the pillows with his legs over Dabi's lap.

“Whatever. I don't get why you won't stay with us. Kurogiri and Giran wouldn't care” Dabi had been kicked out by his father. He still sees his siblings occasionally but has no contact with his parents. He's an adult in college, but without daddy's money, his student loan barely covers tuition. He can't pay rent, so he's either couch-surfing around his friends' houses or sleeping in abandoned housing in the poorer parts of town.

“Because you listen to shitty music like this, try listening to something with heavy guitars and I’ll consider.” Dabi jokes, but the real reason Dabi won't stay with him is because of the feeling that stirs in his stomach whenever he's around his friend for too long. Dabi puts a cigarette between his lips and lights it with his quirk. Tomura allows Dabi to smoke in his room so long as he stands by the window. Dabi gets up and opens the window as wide as it will go. When the window's like this, Dabi can comfortably lean out the window while he smokes. He's quickly joined by Tomura, who breathes the cold air outside his window.

“It's nice, isn't it? The city looks a lot less judgmental from here,” he sighs, looking out at all the lights. Their whole friend group is formed by people with unfortunate quirks and rough pasts full of resentment from those around them. Dabi shrugs, exhaling smoke. “I wonder what the others are doing,” Dabi shrugs again. Tomura leans his head against Dabi, who doesn't move. The touch initially flusters him, but he covers it smoothly with another drag of his cigarette.

“Are you good?” he asks Tomura, who nods against his arm.

“Do you think if I wear my gloves all the time and get my degree, people will stop treating me weirdly?” Tomura asks, holding out his hand and showing off his two-finger glove. Dabi and Tomura have dealt with their tumultuous pasts differently; Tomura desires to please people and be accepted by those who rejected him, while Dabi just wants to move on by himself and be rid of his father.

“Maybe,” says Dabi. Tomura nods. Dabi puts out his cigarette, and they walk over to the bed. They sit back down and watch the TV quietly for ten minutes. Dabi can feel Tomura's eyes on him. Tomura asks another question. Dabi fights the urge to groan aloud when his friend speaks up. He'd always been the quieter of the two, but Tomura’s never been this chatty.

“Did you know your hair looks nice white?” Tomura asks, pointing at the white roots that are starting to show in his hair. Touya’s hands instinctively fly to his hair to play with a strand before realising Tomura had complimented him.

“Do you wanna make out with me or something?” he jokes, but Tomura quickly swings a leg over Dabis so he straddles him. This isn't the first time he has jokingly flirted with his best friend, and it's not even the first time they’ve been this close, but something felt different about this closeness.

“or something”, he mumbles, leaning in to capture Dabi's lips in a kiss. It takes a moment to settle in before Dabi starts to kiss back. The kiss doesn't set off fireworks or alter his perception of the universe like in those awful movies Himiko is obsessed with; it's comfortable and natural. Tomura has always been touchy with him; Dabi supposes it’s because he’s one of the first people not to be scared of Tomura’s quirk. Dabi rolls them so he’s hovering over Tomura and leans down to press kisses down his neck. “Fucking finally,” Tomura huffs as he reaches his hands between them to grab at Dabis's belt. “I've been waiting for this.”

Hearing Tomura's admission has Dabi’s mind reeling. He pulls back from Tomura’s neck and takes a second to stare at his face. It takes him a second to realise that Tomura is waiting for a response, but he’s been rendered speechless, so he gives it in the form of a roll of his hips. The soft gasp from Tomura has him eager to keep going. He leans in as close as possible to Tomura and finally speaks.

“Can I stay over tonight?”

----------

The next day, as Dabi walks down the cold street to a nearby diner, he reflects on the night before. He recalls how Tomura had tasted and how Tomura had felt around him, but there was still an odd feeling lingering in Dabi’s stomach. They hadn’t actually talked about their feelings or how this would change their friendship. Tomura had fallen asleep in Dabi’s arms five minutes after the second round, and Dabi had left early in the morning, leaving a text telling Tomura that he’d gone out. Dabi figures that when Tomura had said he’d ‘been waiting for this’, he just meant that he was horny. He feels a little resentful at the Idea that Tomura just wants sex and knows it’s a bad idea to let himself get into a friends-with-benefits type relationship when he already feels a certain way about Tomura. He wants to talk to Tomura. He knows it's probably the smart thing to do, but he doesn't know if he can handle the rejection. He kicks a bin in frustration as he passes.

When he gets to the Diner, he sees his brother sitting at one of the booths. Despite vibrant shades of hair being commonplace due to quirks, the stark white of his little brother's hair stands out among the crowd.

“Hey, Natsu,” he says, grunting as he plops himself down against the cushioned booth seat.

“You look like shit” is all Natsuo offers him as a greeting causing him to roll his eyes. Natsuo pushes a cup of coffee towards his big brother, and Dabi takes it with a nod. They meet biweekly at a quiet, run-down diner for a greasy breakfast and catch-up. “Seriously though, what’s wrong?” asks Natsuo.

“It's complicated; don't worry about it.”

“Well, now I'm worried, so you have to tell me.”

Dabi groans at his brother’s stubbornness, which they inherited from their father. They make eye contact, a silent competition in which Natsuo almost immediately wins as Dabi gives in.

“I slept with Tomura,” he says, and Natsuo almost chokes on the egg and rice he’s shovelling into his mouth. And then I slept over and left before he woke up,” he nods, clearly thinking as he chews his food. Natsuo swallows harshly before looking up at Dabi like he's crazy.

“So you had a one-night stand with your friend. This isn't the first time. Didn't you lose your virginity to Magne?” Natsuo says, reminding Dabi of the night he’d spent with the older woman. She wasn't much older than Dabi, but she was more experienced than him and was one of the only people he was comfortable with touching him. She’d been so gentle in guiding him through his nerves, and she didn't once laugh at him as he clumsily followed her instructions. He had a great time with Magne, but it felt different with her than with Tomura, and he knew exactly why.

“It's different,” he mumbles, gulping his coffee. Natsuo doesn’t respond, and Dabi can’t make eye contact with him. He diverts his eyes to the menu board, pretending to read today's breakfast specials. His attention is brought back to the man in front of him when Natsuo suddenly bursts into laughter, drawing other customers' attention. In embarrassment, Dabi kicks his brother under the table, who stops laughing to hiss at the sting. Dabi didn't kick him hard; Natsuo is just a wuss. “What’s so funny?” he asks angrily, already knowing exactly what Natsuo was laughing at.

“You’re in love with your best friend and slept with him without telling him how you feel? You’re such a fucking idiot, dude,” he says. Dabi immediately protests the idea that he’s in love with Tomura, but Natsuo gives him an unamused expression that immediately shuts him up.

“That’s mostly correct -” Dabi starts, emphasising the word mostly.

“I’m entirely correct. So what now? You friends with benefits?” Asks Natsuo. Dabi doesn't have a response to that question. Dabi and Tomura didn't establish anything at all. All they did was fuck and sleep. Dabi shrugs, and Natsuo smacks his forehead in frustration and disappointment. “You’re a mess”

“Well, there wasn't really much talking going on,” he says defensively. Ignoring Natsuo’s fake gagging noises. “I think it was just a one-time thing, but I don’t know.” Dabi feels his annoyance growing as he discusses this topic. He’d often broken up fights between his brothers, so he’s good at problem-solving for others, but for himself? He's useless.

“Why don’t you just ask him like a well-adjusted adult?” He says. Dabi pushes down the urge to launch himself across the table at his brother’s logical and sound advice. If he had wanted genuine help, he would’ve asked their sister, Fuyumi.

“Does anything about me look well-adjusted?” Dabi retorts instead of acknowledging the advice.

“Look, Touya -” Dabi cringes at the name. Natsuo and Fuyumi still have trouble calling him anything other than his birth name. Natsuo immediately catches it and apologises, fixing his mistake. “Sorry, Dabi. Suppose you don't talk to him about your feelings. In that case, your only options are to ignore that it ever happened and continue suppressing your feelings, or become friends with benefits and be in a relationship dynamic you are unsatisfied with.” He says, finishing his bowl of food. Dabi leans forward, slumping onto the table and smacks his head against the surface a few times, trying to clear it of all his turbulent thoughts. When he sits up straight, Natsuo looks at him inquisitively, and Dabi just puts enough change to cover his coffee on the table and stands. “Where are you going?”

“Tomura’s house”

----------

When Dabi arrives at the bar, he says hi to Kurogiri and Giran before storming into Tomura’s bedroom to see his friend still asleep. He was going to storm in, confess his feelings, and leave. He stops, taken aback by how soft Tomura looks curled up in his sheets. His chest squeezes, and suddenly, he's filled with fear that he squashes into indifference. Tomura opens his eyes as if he can feel Dabii staring at him.

“Why are you out of bed?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep.

“I went to meet up with my brother”, Dabi explains.

“Ok…get back in bed then”, Tomura says, reaching out to grab Dab’s hand and pull him back to bed.

“After a cig, I will,” he says. He leans out the window, lights up a cigarette and exhales the smoke as he thinks deeply about what to do next. All his confidence shattered the moment he saw Tomura; there was no way he would be able to confess now. Dabi hears Tomura shuffle around but doesn’t turn to look at him. He feels Tomura tug at his jacket, pulling it from his body and throwing it on a nearby chair. Tomura’s arms wrap around his waist and Tomura’s forehead presses against his back.

“Come back to bed,” whines Tomura, fingers ghosting over Dabi’s belt buckle. “I can give you something better to put in your mouth.”

Dabi shakes his head in disbelief. That answers the question of whether or not the sex would be a one-time thing. He wordlessly puts out his cigarette, turns around and lifts Tomura into his arms. Tomura wraps his legs around Dabi’s waist and lets himself be carried over to the bed, where Dabi unceremoniously dumps him onto his back. Dabi stands above Tomura, who looks up at him with a satisfied grin as he removes his shirt.

“You really think you can be quiet this time? We’re not alone today” he says. The last thing he’d want is to be walked in.

“Just lock the door and come fuck me,” says Tomura, rolling his eyes. Dabi is all too happy to oblige. The feelings talk could wait for another time.

----------

A week later, they still haven't spoken about it. They’ve slept together a few times since, and Dabi accepts that Tomura doesn’t want to label anything and their ‘new relationship’ consists of no strings attached sex. His feelings haven’t quelled, and he grows increasingly frustrated every time he sees Tomura. He knows he should sit Tomura down and have a proper talk, but he’s convinced himself he’s ok with having Tomura in any capacity.

He's sitting at a booth in a bar surrounded by his friend group. He’s squished between the girls. Himiko aggressively explains to Jin and Shuichi why her crush giving her a pen in class counts as flirting. Magne sits on his other side, and he notices she’s been watching over him all night. She decided to be the designated driver tonight so the others could drink. After several more minutes of silence, she leans in and talks lowly in his ear.

“You ok, sweetheart?” she asks, tone soft as usual. She's always been the group's mother, eager to care for all of them. Dabi nods, not wanting to worry her, though if he were going to open up about his problem to anyone, it would be her. She looks unconvinced but sits back and engages Atsuhiro in a conversation about theatre. The two of them like to watch local productions and give reviews. Atsuhiro runs several social media accounts reviewing the performances. Dabi doesn’t read the reviews, but he makes sure to like his friends' posts when they pop up on his feed. Tomura is sitting across from him, and with everyone else engaged in conversation, the only place he can look is at the man who is causing all his inner turmoil. He realises that Tomura hasn't been drinking at all. His glass is still full, which is shocking because, aside from Dabi himself, Tomura is usually the most drunk at these group get-togethers. He waits for Tomura to meet his eyes, then tilts his head towards the other man's drink in a silent question. Tomura picks up his phone, and Dabi is immediately confused about why Tomura hasn’t answered his question verbally. A second later, a notification comes through his phone, and he picks it up to see that Tomura has texted him a response instead. He tries to switch his phone off in time so that no one else can see the message reading ‘can’t fuck you if I'm drunk’, but he’s not quick enough for Magne’s nosey reflexes, and she lets out a shriek of horror. Tomura doesn't look embarrassed, but Dabi feels as if his skin is on fire. Magne immediately quiets down when she realises that this must have something to do with Dabi’s souring mood. She makes up that she’d seen him sending flirty messages to an unknown when the table enquires about her outbursts. Dabi is grateful Magne doesn't tell the group about him and Tomura.

Tomura’s message, however, was the final straw for Dabi, who stood up. He intends to go home rather than endure teasing from his friends, as well as pointed looks and more provocative texts from Tomura. He figures if there's any right time to talk properly; it should be now while the adrenaline is flowing. Magne and Atsuhiro move aside to let Dabi pass, and he rounds the table, grabbing Tomura's arm and pulling him up and out of the booth.

“We're going to go. Tomura isn’t feeling well,” he says, dragging Tomura out of the bar with him after waving goodbye to the group. He doesn’t turn around to see the group's reactions, but he knows they’ve probably figured out that the random person Magne had been talking about was actually Tomura. Tomura doesn’t say anything until Dabi calls a taxi.

“Where are we going?” Asks Tomura, leaning up against him in the back of the vehicle.

“The house I’ve been staying in. We won’t be interrupted,” Dabi says. Tomura tries to press kisses to his neck, but Dabi stops him. “Behave until we get to my place.” Tomura obediently agrees and settles into Dabi’s side. Dabi’s mind is working overtime trying to keep up the motivation.

When they arrive back at the house, he guides Tomura into the house and to the sofa. The place is usually cold and empty, but it does feel a little homier with Tomura in it. Dabi takes a seat on the sofa, and Tomura all but pounces on him immediately. Tomura pulls Dabi into a kiss that almost distracts him from his mission.

“We need to talk”, Dabi says between kisses. Tomura mumbles out ‘later’ and goes to reattach his lips to Dabi’s. Dabi puts his hands on Tomura’s shoulders, stopping him from coming any closer. “No, we need to talk now,” says Dabi, and Tomura deflates slightly. Tomura stays where he is, straddling Dabi’s lap as he places his hands on Dabis shoulders for stability.

“What could there possibly be to talk about right now?” asks Tomura

“Us”

“Us? What about us?”

Dabi sighs and shifts beneath Tomura. He hadn’t expected to get this far, and now he doesn't know what to say. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking.

“I don’t think I can do this with you anymore. I -” He begins his explanation, though it doesn’t matter as he immediately gets interrupted by Tomura. Who freezes above him.

“I'm so sorry. Did I do something wrong?” asks Tomura, who begins to move off of Dabi’s lap. Dabi realises how poorly worded his first sentence was and immediately grips Tomura's thigh, forcing him back onto Dabi’s lap. “Do you not want to sleep with me anymore? Are you not having fun?” Dabi stops Tomura’s ranting by grabbing his face and making eye contact.

“Can you let me finish? It's not that I don't wanna fuck you. I just don't think I can sleep with you knowing how I feel about you.” he says, releasing Tomuras face and looking up at the ceiling in preparation for rejection.

“And how do you feel about me?” he asks. Dabi realises that this is it. He can’t pussyfoot around an honest answer; he has to say how he feels. He still can’t bring himself to make eye contact with Tomura, so he keeps his eyes trained on the plaster above him.

“I like you. I've wanted to be exclusive this entire time. I can’t do no strings attached. I’ve never felt like this before, and it's pissing me off, but the thought of you with someone else makes me feel sick. I want you so bad.” The words tumble clumsily from his mouth, and, as cathartic as it is to say it finally, his stomach turns slightly. He can hear the vulnerability in his shaky voice and hates it.

“Exclusive like ‘boyfriends’ type of exclusive?” asks Tomura, tilting Dabi’s head forward to look into his eyes. Dabi sees Tomura’s smile and soft expression, and the rotted feeling in his stomach fades. Dabi nods, scared to say anything else and embarrass himself further. “I’m not going to lie. I thought we were boyfriends this entire time,” He says confidently.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I’m sorry for not communicating properly. Will you forgive me, baby?” asks Tomura. The pet name has Dabi’s heart squeezing in his chest and he leans forward to kiss Tomura.

“I'll forgive you if you be my boyfriend.”

“Of course. Now take me to bed.”

#bnha dabi #dabi #shigaraki tomura #bnha #bnha shigaraki #shigadabi #shigadabi oneshot #shigaraki fluff #dabi fluff #bnha oneshot #mha #tenko shimura #tomura shigaraki #touya todoroki #shigaraki x dabi #anime

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urfavstargirl1 · 2 years ago

Text

a recipe for disaster - an e.m. one shot

summary: Shy!academic weapon!reader has a crush on the cute senior, Eddie Munson, in her home ec class. They’ve become friends over the course of the semester, but she wants more. Only problem, he already has a girlfriend.

Cw: for the sake of the story, Eddie and Chrissy are 17 while the reader is 16 and Eddie graduates on time, angst, yearning, pining, unhappy ending

a/n: I've had the worst writers block, but cooked up something and wanted to gift my lovely fandom baddies a valentines day surprise. may or may not be based on a true story with the same unhappy ending

word count: 4k

“Hey Eddie, can you pass me the sugar?”

“Sure thing, sugar.”

My initial reaction is to furrow my brows and make a face of disgust, glaring at Eddie from the sides of my eyes. And at the same time, my heart rate increases just a little too much while a sense of heat crawls through my veins.

He stifles a laugh with a tight lipped smile and winks at me. It’s a playful wink. One that diffuses the tension created by the aforementioned pet name.

“Sorry,” He chuckles and shrugs, “Couldn't help myself.”

I nervously laugh and nod, not sure how else to react. But inside I feel a weird sense of gnawing.

Even though it was just Eddie being silly, something about him calling me sugar feels… off-putting.

For one, I’m almost grossed out by how much I liked it. Never would I ever admit to such a thing. But also, it felt weird to hear a guy call me something like that. No one ever calls me things like that. Especially not a boy like Eddie Munson. Or a boy who has somebody else in his life to be calling those names.

I carefully pour out the sugar into the measuring cup and toss it into the bowl.

Today we’re making sponge cakes. Should be easy enough.

It’s nice having a class like home ec right before lunch. I always get hungry eyes looking at all of our delectable creations and am rewarded by getting to eat them soon after.

Today is no different. But what is different, is Eddie’s energy. He’s always playful and teasing like this, but today he’s somehow… a bit more revved up about it.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” Eddie mutters as he bounces on his tippy toes, “can’t wait to demolish this thing when class is over.”

I smile and exhale through my nose, feeling the same way.

The word sugar in Eddie’s voice keeps buzzing around my head like a swarm of bees, and I wish for something to distract it.

And sure enough, Eddie begins to hum the words:

Pictures building in my head

Nothing done and nothing said

Talking to me with your eyes

What they say is no surprise

Things are so much different now

But nothing lasts forever

He bops his head back and forth and taps his fingers along the table. Then he looks at me and smiles, shaking his head to the rhythm as he sings the words:

You, looking at me, looking at you

I wanna talk to you

You, looking at me, looking at you

I look at him and awkwardly smile, intermittently looking between him and the bowl of dry ingredients that is much less uncomfortable to be looking at because it doesn’t have the same big brown eyes that look deep into your soul if you make eye contact long enough.

“Mr. Munson,” the teacher calls out from a few tables behind us, “Let’s keep it down a bit, shall we?”

Eddie looks over his shoulder and gives her a stellar albeit sarcastic grin, “Sure thing Mrs.P!”

He turns back at me and rolls his eyes. I chuckle.

“Practicing some new band material, are we?”

“Yeah,” Eddie scoffs as he dips his fingers into the sack of flour and quickly flicks it in my face, “Maybe. Do you like it?”

I screw my eyes shut and tense my body up as my hands fly upward, as though that’ll block any of the flour.

“Ugh,” I scoff. “What the hell Eddie? Did you even wash your hands before sticking them into the flour?”

I open my eyes to see him grinning at me. He’s lucky his smile is so damn infectious.

I smile back, “And no, I don’t like having flour thrown in my face.”

“I was talking about the song,” Eddie says as I grab a bit of flour and flick it at his face, a few particles landing in his hair as the rest float around him.

It’s kind of fun being cheeky with Eddie like this. He brings out a playful side of me that I often forget exists.

“There, now we’re even. And yeah the song was good.”

It was good, if metal music is your thing. It was alright if the cutest boy in your class was singing aloud rather obnoxiously.

I’d confidently fall in the latter group.

“So Corroded Coffin’s adding new stuff to the set list?” I ask as I read out the next step in the recipe.

“Maybe you should come and find out for yourself,” Eddie nonchalantly smirks.

I turn to look at him, and he winks, again.

What the hell does that mean?

Before I can shyly turn away and avoid his penetrating gaze, he places a hand on my shoulder.

“Wait,” he says as his hand falls, as though it weighs a ton of bricks, onto my shoulder like this is where it calls home, giving him a much needed break.

Without moving my head, I freeze and look down from his hand on my shoulder up to his face. His eyes don’t meet mine. They're deep in focus looking at something below my own.

“You have some flour on your cheek,” Eddie says in a low, quiet voice as he leans closer. I tense up even more and close my eyes, unsure if I even want to bear witness to what is happening to me.

But then I feel heat in the form of Eddie’s rough hand as it cups the side of my face. His thumb slowly strokes against the now burning skin of the apple of my cheek. I could just melt.

And then he softly blows a whisper of air onto my cheek and it’s game over.

My eyes shoot open, but just as quickly as it started, Eddie ends it. And soon, I only feel the ghost of his hand lingering against my skin.

I make the mistake of looking into his eyes and he smiles at me. As if to say, there we go, no longer a smudge on this beautiful oil on canvas.

I clear my throat and turn back to our work station. I attempt to give the recipe a once over, but the words look shaky.

“Hey, um, could you go get some vanilla extract,” I ask. Eddie nods and leaves the table.

That was a close one.

Eddie gets distracted pretty easily, so I usually end up having to set us on course, or give him things to do, like grab whatever ingredient or go ask another table for their measuring cup.

But today, it’s because I’m the distracted one.

I’ll be the first to admit that I make a good effort to resist the charms of Eddie Munson. He’s cute, funny, and an overall fun person to be around. But, that? What the hell was that?

I’m usually good at not being too distracted by him in this class. Even in an elective class like this, I have to take things seriously. Wouldn’t want my gpa to take the fall for it. But today he’s coming in at full force.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was taunting me. But that can’t be, right?

I somehow manage to calm myself down enough by the time Eddie comes back. He sets the small dark bottle on the table. I take it and pour out a teaspoon.

“Seriously, you should come see us sometime. You could use the study break.”

“What,” I ask. I can’t remember anything that happened before Eddie… touched me.

“Corroded Coffin. You should come check us out. Or check me out,” Eddie cheekily says as he grins and shakes his head from side to side.

“Oh,” I say breathlessly and sigh.

Eddie’s been bugging me for weeks about seeing his band play at some dive bar outside town. I’ve tried telling him that I’m busy, usually with studying, or that my parents would kill me for being out that late on a school night because for some god forsaken reason his band has to perform on Tuesday Nights.

But he won’t seem to take no for an answer. But he should, because I have no reason to be there.

God knows what spell he’d have on me after I saw him perform. Fingers flying along the guitar. Body moving to the rhythm of the song. Lips so close to the head of the microphone. Sweat gleaming off his skin.

It would be a disaster.

But, more importantly, it would be weird if I was there, because she is the one that’s supposed to be there, not me.

“Maybe next week,” I offer, not even feeling the slightest bit of remorse at the empty promise. Because it’s more than just that. It’s me covering my ass.

What would it say about me to be going through all the effort for a boy who is only really my friend for one class period a day. For a boy who already has a girlfriend, one that is very much not me.

I continue to add the rest of the ingredients before I pass the bowl to Eddie to stir.

I don’t know why, but mixing the ingredients is his favorite part. He genuinely gets a real kick out of it.

He says he hates measuring the ingredients because he always somehow fucks up and adds too much or too little. But he enjoys mixing them all together. He loves mixing as fast as he can and trying to beat his own personal record of how long it takes to whip the batter. We have a journal with documented scores and everything.

“How long was that,” he asks me as he shows me the bowl of yellow batter.

“I counted 15 seconds,” I say.

Eddie balls his hand into a fist and tucks it to his side, “Yes!”

“Better than last time,” I say encouragingly.

“Alright, let’s put this bad boy in the oven,” Eddie exclaims.

Letting the thing we’re making in class bake in the oven is usually the part where Eddie and I really get to talk.

Some days it’s ranting over what happened in one of our previous classes. Other days it’s learning about each other’s taste in movies and music. Today its–

“So how’re things going with Chrissy?” I blurt out nervously. One of us has to bring her up, right? Like somehow, I need us both to remember, he has a girlfriend.

He can’t be doing the things he does when he has a girlfriend. And I can’t enjoy those things when they come from a boy who has eyes for someone else.

He gingerly cupped my face and touched my cheek. And maybe it’s because that sort of thing doesn’t happen to me very often, but that’s the sort of thing reserved for boyfriends and girlfriends, right?

Maybe I’m just reading into it too much, but why did he do that? He really did not have to do that. He could have pointed out where the flour was on my face and I could have taken it myself. But, no. He didn’t.

“They’re good,” Eddie shrugs, as if he couldn’t be bothered to care, “She’s just been bugging about finding a dress for the homecoming dance.”

Oh, yeah. Just like I thought.

“Oh,” I gulp. “Finding the perfect outfit can be tough,” I say, trying to somehow empathize or just respond with something sensible because I don’t know what else to say.

Or, what I’d really rather say is, “If it were me going to the dance with you, I couldn’t care less what I wear.”

“Yeah, but she gets so worked up about it for no reason. Like really stressed about it. So I just end up telling her, babe you’d look good in a garbage bag. I don’t care what you wear. It’s just a dance.”

Do you hear that? Oh, no? Not to worry, it’s only the ice crystals on my heart crackling.

My brain keeps going in all different directions. It makes a pit stop at the sound of Eddie saying the word “babe” and imagining a brief scenario in which he might call me that. But then it continues traveling into another direction.

“Yeah,” I nod. “I’m sure it just feels like a lot of pressure to wear the right thing, you know? Being a girl and a cheerleader no less.”

“What do you mean?”

I glance at him, and he genuinely looks clueless.

“Um, I mean, it’s just that, as girls we, um, we’re often judged for what we wear. And I think in cheerleader culture or whatever, there’s like a big expectation to basically be a Barbie doll.”

Eddie shakes his head, “Yeah, but I don’t care about any of that stuff.”

I nod, “Yeah, but, I don’t know. Maybe she still does. Old habits die hard, as they say.”

God, I don’t even know why I’m defending this poor girl, but… I don’t know. She seems nice enough. And a weird, almost selfish part of me guesses I kind of want Eddie to be a good boyfriend, even if it’s not to me.

Eddie looks lost in thought as he contemplates my words. I’m starting to feel uneasy, so I try to slightly change the subject.

“So, anyways, do you think you’ll try to match whatever she ends up wearing.”

Eddie shakes his head.

“Oh, yeah, for sure. I know, it’s corny, but she likes it, so I do too,” Eddie replies as if it’s a given, like anyone would know.

I nod back and smile. And as he changes the subject, I’m grateful he doesn’t ask me if I’m going to the dance. I can barely stomach hearing about his perfect relationship with the most beautiful girl in school. If I had to tell him I’m not going because no one has asked me yet, I think I’d pass out.

“What about you? How’s honors math? Anything cool go on in honors gym? What’s your grade in honors lunch again?”

I roll my eyes and fight the smile wanting to form in my lips at hearing his cute laugh.

I should’ve never told Eddie that all the other classes in my schedule this semester were honors classes. He hasn’t let me live it down since.

“Actually yeah, today in honors gym, they took all the honors students and made us play dodgeball but instead of balls we threw textbooks,” I smile performatively.

Eddie snorts and erupts into a boisterous laugh, “God, I know you’re being sarcastic, but that is so fuckin’ hilarious. I would pay money to see that.”

I roll my eyes and glance at the timer. Still got 15 minutes to burn.

“Bet your little honors boyfriend would too.”

I bite my lip, “Eddie, how many times do I have to tell you, he’s not… my boyfriend. Just a boy who’s a friend.”

At least, that’s all I want him to be, now. After I’ve gotten to know Eddie.

“Does he know that too,” Eddie asks as he theatrically places an elbow on the workstation and rests his chin on his closed fist.

I press my lips together and exhale. “Yes, Eddie, I’m pretty sure he does.”

At the beginning of the semester, there was a boy in a few of my classes that I’d started having a crush on. And after a while, I could have sworn he might have felt the same. There were a lot of moments where it felt like he might be flirting with me. At the time, I was still getting to know Eddie, so when it inevitably came up between us during class, I would ask him for advice about what to do.

But somewhere along the way, I got to know Eddie better and things changed. Soon, I’d forgotten all about the boy in my classes. I had eyes for someone else.

A boy in the grade above me, who was in zero honors classes, but somehow smarter than anyone I knew. A boy who was so messy and ruggedly handsome, but in a refreshing way compared to my clean cut way of life.

Eddie was the only boy who really saw me, as I was. Not just the honors student with good grades and a shoe-in for college. But as a girl who was wise beyond her years and wanted to explore the world, even if she didn’t really understand it.

And before long, he ended up becoming the only object of my affections. Even if that object was a forbidden fruit, never to be eaten, and only admired from afar.

As for that other boy, well, it’s safe to say he moved on.

“Ok, just checking,” Eddie replies.

I nod and look away awkwardly. I bend down to look through the glass door of the oven to check the cake. It’s starting to rise.

I rise and find Eddie looking at me, almost studying me. His gaze is calculated. For a moment, I match his gaze.

He’s a very expressive guy. If he doesn’t say it with his words, he’ll say it with his face. But right now, his expression is unreadable. His eyes, a dark cloud of mystery.

For a split second, something in his hair catches my eye. I break from his gaze and notice the flakes of flour still caught in his hair.

“Hey, um,” I say pointing to my own hair, “You still have some flour stuck in your hair.”

Eddie tilts his head and looks to the side opposite of where I’m pointing. “Oh, where?”

“Um,” I keep pointing, “Kind of by your cheek.”

Eddie runs a rough hand through his hair, “I don’t see it. There. Did that do it?”

I shake my head. He tries running his fingers again, but he doesn’t get it.

“Here,” I mutter as I hesitantly reach out and gently shake the bits of flour clinging to the curls by his face, “Um, kind of… like that.”

I dust off the remaining bits, gently raking my fingers through the loose ringlets. I can feel Eddie’s piercing gaze, like a laser burning through my skin. I ignore it and softly put the curl back into place, making sure his hair doesn’t look all mussed up.

When I retract my hand, I make the mistake of looking into Eddie’s eyes. He’s already smirking. Smirking like his lips wants to form a shit eating grin but he’s too pleased with himself.

“What?” I innocently ask as I let my hand fall to the wooden surface of the work station.

I look away, worried my eyes will say something my mouth will never have the courage to say. I’m sure the blazing heat I feel in my face will give it away, but let’s keep up the illusion that it won’t.

“Nothing,” Eddie sighs, “It’s just cute, you know?”

I scrunch my eyebrows, “What is?”

Eddie shrugs and then looks me square in the eye as he says in a seductive voice, “My hair looks sexy like this, doesn’t it?”

Yes.

“What?” I blurt out. I shake my head and scoff, “You’re crazy Munson.”

I look away and pretend to check on the cake again.

“You can pretend all you want,” Eddie replies cheekily, “But your eyes sure didn’t.”

“My eyes? Seriously? You’re seeing things,” I brattily say.

Oh my god. Am I that transparent?

Then, our home-ec teacher makes an announcement and points out the five minutes of class remaining. We all start to clear our workstations and take our assignment out of the oven and let it cool on the cooling rack.

Lunch can’t come soon enough. I’m feeling a lot like that sponge cake right now and I really just need some space to cool down from this conversation that has me way too heated.

Ding! The school bell rings, signaling the end of class. I end up letting Eddie keep the cake.

Eddie and I usually walk out of class together, today being no different. He’s moved past the whole hair incident, but I haven’t.

I feel so many things I can’t even begin to understand or explain.

But Eddie goes on about something Hellfire Club related as we walk through the halls. He says something and I don’t understand the reference, but it had the cadence of a joke, so I laugh.

As we walk to lunch, I see a girl from one of my classes come out of one of the rooms we pass.

Her name is Janet and I’m pretty sure she has band class before lunch. She looks at me and smiles while raising her eyebrows. I stare at her blank-faced as she makes her way down the hall and to the cafeteria like the rest of us.

“Hey princess,” Eddie greets as a cheerful blonde girl magically appears at his other side.

I nearly freeze in my tracks.

“Hey baby, I missed you!” She says as he leans over to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

I sharply turn my gaze forward.

I could almost throw up. I’m stunned with how open either of them are to such public displays of affection. I feel like I would be too aware of how many other people are seeing me engage in such a vulnerable act and get self-conscious.

Eddie starts talking to her, and suddenly I feel like a third wheel. Like I don’t need to be here. I’m intruding.

Eddie continues walking with Chrissy by his side.

I’ve never even properly met the girl. I’ve seen her around, and obviously know who she is because of Eddie. But face to face is new.

Does she even know I exist? Does Eddie talk about me to her? Probably not, right? That would be crazy.

I speed up my pace and weave through the crowd of students making their way to the lunch room. I continue my pace before turning over my shoulder and seeing them far back in the crowd.

I’d rather not meet her today. Not like this. Not after what happened in class.

I need to drill it in my head. Eddie has a girlfriend. There’s no way things could happen between us. Even if she wasn’t in the picture, Eddie would be graduating next year while I still have another year to go. It would never work. It’s impossible.

I keep having this internal debate as I wait in the lunch line and eat my food in tense silence as my friends rant about their fourth periods.

By the time I make it to fifth period, I’ve cooled down. I ran through our conversation about a hundred times. But I’m over it now.

“Hey,” Janet greets as she walks over and leans a hand on my desk.

“Hey,” I reply hesitantly. Janet and I are cordial in class, but not exactly someone who sits at my table at lunch.

“Who was that guy you were walking with earlier? He was really cute!”

I open my mouth and for a millisecond, nothing comes out, “What? Oh, him? That’s just a guy from my home-ec class?”

“How come I’ve never seen him before? Is he new?”

I glance around and notice the rest of the desks around me filling as students arrive to class.

“Um, no but he’s a senior.”

“Ooh, an older man,” Janet teasingly coos. I smile, albeit uncomfortably.

“Do you like him?”

Yes.

“What? No! He-He’s not my type, a-and besides, he has a girlfriend.”

“It sure didn’t look that way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw the way he looked at you.”

The way Eddie looked at me.

I’m at a loss for words. What way did Eddie look at me? Why do I even care so much?

“What a shame? You guys would be really cute together.”

What?

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst ##stranger things fanfic #stranger things s4 #stranger things season 4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #urfavstargirl1

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obxone · 1 year ago

Text

Marmoris (Chapter Twenty One)

Edited-ish. ~1.7k words

Taglist: @gillybear17 @fallingwallsh

Masterpage

"Hey, handsome," you smile at your boyfriend while leaning onto the counter next to him. You want to touch him, but with being at the Island Club and him working, you are not sure if he wants that.

"Hey, girlfriend." He looks at you, ocean eyes drinking you in. "You look really pretty."

You blush a little, swishing your skirt around your thighs. "Thank you, Baby."

He grins before reaching out to drag his hand over the curve of your waist. "I thought your dad grounded you for being mean to Rose?"

"Well…" You turn, pressing your back against the edge of the counter. "It's almost debutante day, so we have last minute rehearsals. And this was Rose's idea to begin with..."

He glances over at you before snickering at the unimpressed look on your face.

"Don't be mean," you huff, shoving at his shoulder. You miss him. Four days without him is too long to go. "I only came early today so that I could see you."

"Sure," he mutters, and you gape at him. He laughs. "I'm kidding. I've missed you too."

You smile, leaning closer to him. "How much?"

"Too much." He responds, loading more drinks from the bartender onto his tray. "Where's Sarah? Isn't she one of the many debutante minions?"

You laugh. "Late as per usual." You lean in and peck his cheek. The urge to touch him wins out despite the local patrons glancing your way. "Find you after?"

He nods with a smile stretching across his face.

"Bye, Baby."

You wave goodbye to the bartender, who watches you both with a small smile before you take a step back. Finding your other friends until Sarah arrives would be nice. It had been weeks without seeing them outside of the Island Club.

"Hold on a minute." JJ is fast, hooking his hand around your waist to pull you back into him. You gasp as he pins you between him and the bar.

"We are in public!" You chide him, and he shrugs. You can feel the disapproving stares of some of the elderly wealthy Kildare kooks. Your lips are only inches from his, and your body tingles with the anticipation of feeling his lips on yours after so long apart. "But it's worth it."

"I think we've abandoned the rules by now, y/n."

You watch him for a moment before looping your arms around his shoulders and tugging him closer to you. You lean up and press your lips to his. He kisses you back, his arms circling your waist. He pulls you that last inch into him, deepening the kiss. Yearning for the world to melt away and leave you two alone and together again fills you both.

"Gross," the bartender grumbles playfully, and you giggle against JJ's lips. He smiles before pecking your lips one last time and letting you go.

"See you later, boyfriend!" You call as you walk away. You glance back to see him watching you, a faint blush on his cheeks.

Cecile steps out from a small cluster of plush loungers, and you gasp, startled, which makes her laugh. "Did I just see you kissing JJ Maybank?"

You bite your lip, glancing over her shoulder to see Scarlet, Blair, and El watching you in surprise and admiration. You smooth your hands down the skirt of your summer dress. "Yes."

"What?!" Blair laughs, sitting up straighter. "Since when?!"

You cannot help the smile that stretches across your face. "A few weeks now."

"Oh my god!" El squeals, practically kicking her feet in excitement.

Scarlet looks a little less excited for you. Her lips pressed into a line. "Is this why you've been so MIA?"

"Of course it is!" Blair answers before you can. "So, what? Do you see how happy she looks?"

"Blair's right," Cecile grins, hooking her arm through yours. "Happy looks good on you."

You lean into her before turning to Scarlet. "Besides, this frees up Kelce for El." El gapes at you, and you laugh along with the others. You tap her chin with a wink. "We all know, Babe."

She sighs, a blush coloring her porcelain skin before she shoves a red curl behind her ear. "Fine, okay! Yes, I like Kelce."

"Finally!" Blair claps her hands together. "Now we need to do something about it."

"Agreed," you smile at them, and you all shift back into your usual antics.

The conversation flows, and you all manage to fit into the loungers with several pairs of you sharing one.

"Where is Sarah?" Scarlet asks you, her elbow nudging you as she whispers.

"I'm not sure," you whisper back, fidgeting with your bracelets. "She wasn't at home when I left this morning."

Scarlet frowns but stays quiet. And you know that she is likely upset that she has not been spending much time with her two best friends this summer. It is primarily your fault for seeking your freedom and beginning the relationship with JJ while driving Sarah and John B to be closer together.

"Ladies!" Mrs. Henley's voice interrupts your thoughts. "Please find yourselves in the banquet hall in the next five minutes!"

"All right," Cecile complains while getting to her feet before she helps everyone else up.

You shake your head quickly. "I'm going to wait for Sarah. You guys go ahead."

"You sure?"

You nod, a tense smile on your face. "I would rather us both be late than face Henley's wrath without her.

"Touché!"

They all go quickly, and you dig your phone out of your clutch and dial Sarah's number.

"I'm walking in now!" She answers, sounding nearly out of breath.

"Oh great," you reply and stand, looking for her before hanging up. She exits the primary hallway moments later, and you meet her halfway. "Why are you so late?"

"I was with John B."

"Sarah!" You stare at her with wide eyes. "All night?"

She nods, biting her lip before exhaling. She leans closer, her voice dropping so no one else can hear her. "John B and I are together."

"Like together together?"

She grins. "We are both dating pogues." Your mouth drops in shock, and she laughs, a faint blush blooming across her cheeks. "Say something!" She tugs on your arm.

"I'm happy for you," you whisper, squeezing her hand that is wrapped around your forearm. "But Mrs. Henley is going to eat us alive."

She laughs with a happy shrug. "I don't care."

"I can see that," you giggle before hugging her. She hugs you back, squeezing you tightly. "I'm happy for you, Sarah."

"Who would have thought that this is how our summer would have gone?" She takes a step back. "All because you got a job at The Wreck."

You smile at her, the smile tense as you reflect on that day at the docks with JJ. Yes, it started because of your job at The Wreck, but it is not solely because of your job. "Umm… Sarah, listen." You grasp her hand and lead her back to the loungers. You have to be honest with your sister. Even though it is breaking the first rule, you cannot let her believe a lie. All the other rules were broken anyways. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What?" She asks, concern washing over her face. "Did you and JJ break up?"

"No," you murmur quickly with a shake of your head. "No, we are still together. But there is something we have kept secret since the beginning of the summer."

"What?"

You exhale before lowering your gaze to your hands. "I'm happy you and John B are together. I am. But it is not because I got a job at The Wreck." You lift your gaze to hers. "I saw something between you two, and I knew neither of you would do anything about it. You were dating Top, and John B would not do anything because of that. So, I asked for JJ to help me get you two together." You study her, but she is silent and watching you with a look of surprise dawning on her face. "After everything with Kasey, I thought at least one of us deserved a happy ending, so JJ agreed to help me. We started dating in order to get you two together."

"What?"

You nod, exhaling as you fidget in your chair. "We did not start dating because we liked each other. Honestly, I think we hated each other at that time. But we both saw what you and John B could not see. It was JJ's idea, really, the dating part. I asked for his help in getting you two together, and he knew that us fake dating would be what could bring you two together."

Because of your rambling and worry over SArah's reaction, you do not realize JJ is just past the loungers, listening to you confess to her. His face darkens with every word that you say.

"I understand if you are upset, but it was the only way we could think of, and it worked."

"I'm not upset. I'm…" Sarah. "Grateful. I'm happy. I'm in love with John B, y/n. You were right."

You smile at her, tears welling in her eyes. "Promise?"

"Promise!" She hugs you, and you hug her back, trying to keep the tears at bay. "And you are too." She holds you at arm's length. "I know you don't think you will get a happy ending, but I've seen the way you two look at each other. You are happy."

"I am," you agree, wiping at your eyes. "JJ makes me happy. Very happy."

"You love him," she supplies, and you pause, your fingertips freezing on your cheek. The realization practically steamrolls you. Sarah laughs, squeezing your leg. "You do."

"Wow."

She laughs again. "JJ loves you too. I see it every second I am around the two of you."

You blow out a breath and clear your throat. "I love JJ."

"You do."

You nod, the realization sinking into your bones. You had found it again, despite thinking you never would. "We are so late."

"So."

"Rose is going to kill us."

"Maybe she won't make us do it next year since we keep showing up late."

You both laugh because you know that is not true before standing and heading for the banquet hall, arm in arm.

(Chapter Twenty Two)

Feedback is welcomed, just remember to be kind. Please feel free to like, reblog, comment, or send an ask if you want. Happy Reading.

#outer banks #obx #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #obx jj maybank #outer banks jj maybank #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n

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ruinedbylanadelrey · 1 year ago

Text

King of Your Heart

Chapter 6 "Games"

summary: All that Frankie has ever wanted to be was your everything. After years of being best friends one phone call changes everything between the two of you.

inspired by The King by Sarah Kinsley

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, age gap (reader is 28-29, Frankie 38-39), friends with benefits -> situationship, Frankie isn't a dad, jealously, best friends with benefits, reader is lowkey toxic, reader wears makeup, reader has long hair, self-hate (both characters), alcohol consumption, yearning, secrets, no y/n, pet names, possessiveness, triple frontier boys, Tom is dead, reader is a flirt

inside the world of king of your heart

playlist

series mainlist | main masterlist

taglist: @hiroikegawa

Meeting Frankie was the worst night of your life, you had just broken up with your last partner and you ran into your military friend Ben. You haven't seen him just yet since he had only been back in town a few days. You were sulking at the bar, and Benny bumped into you, spilling a pitcher of beer on your lap. You stood up and backed Benny against the bar like you were going to punch him. Your right arm is backed to throw a punch when you see the blonde in front of you with a dazzling smile laughing at your fight stance.

"Still feisty as ever, princess," Ben lowers your arm and takes you to his table with his friends.

Seeing all of them attractive as hell. You had melted every guy's heart when you became friends with everyone. That bad night turned into a good one, finding some good friends who liked you for you.

You kept looking at the brooding brunette with the damn 'Standard Heating Oil' cap shadowing his beautiful face. Frankie "Catfish" Morales.

When you became friends with Frankie, it was like you've known him your entire lifetime. As Frankie made his way into your heart it was like you and him were soulmates, just meeting in this lifetime. Maybe in another lifetime, Frankie would be an older man, and you just be a silly 20-year-old girl fawning over the older gentleman. But this is the platonic break for your souls.

So many days and hours were spent with Frankie, you want company as you run errands Frankie is there driving you around, just enjoying the mundaneness of life. Frankie needed a small pair of hands to screw in a part for the Jeep, you and him have decided to buy together as a project car, since you both love cars; you were there to help. Late-night liquor store runs. Late night Mcdonald's due to have the munchies. Everyone assumed you two were dating until you asked Ben to fix you up with someone.

A lot of questions were asked. Confused faces on everyone's face. Frankie trying to act like he was grossed out by the thought of dating you and then you were laughing it off burying down the yearning for him.

His deep brown eyes burn into your doe eyes. No one says anything, Frankie just continues to hold you. Frankie feels his heart wince because of the look on your face, just so soft and all the walls are broken down. Your eyes flashing the green light but it seems like a mirage to him. Walls are being built on Frankie's side as he unwraps his arms from you and turns back to the fight.

Your body felt cold without Frankie pressed against you. Dispair hits your stomach, twisting up your insides, and nausea makes you break out into a sweat. You can't make a scene. Not here when you are all there for Benny. You turn towards the cage and try to watch Benny throw punches and then absorb the counter move from his opponent. You recluse into your mind, recalculating every interaction you ever had with Frankie.

Can you and Frankie ever be best friends again?

Does this mean that Frankie is done with you?

If you play with fire too much you are bound to get burned. At this point, you wanted to be set on fire so you wouldn't have to feel rattled awakening. Another 10 minutes went by then Benny announced the winner. The guys were cheering more like just yelling and pushing each other around. You snapped out of your head and started to run to Ben exiting to cage.

"I told ya! I told you'd win, pretty boy!" You threw on a cheery persona and gave him a quick hug before you met up with the rest of the guys.

Will suggests going to the bar, Ben and Pope were walking to the locker room hollering down the hall. You swallowed the knot forming in the back of your throat.

"Alright We'll make you guys there," Will could feel the shift in the air between you and Frankie, and couldn't bear another second of it.

Frankie opens his mouth and turns watching Will walk away. You sighed and rolled your eyes,

"Shut your mouth you look like a fish," You gritted through your teeth. He snaps his head and looks at you, just an angel with anger festering inside. Frankie swears he watches your halo fall and horns sprout from your head. Becoming someone he doesn't know.

Where is the princess who just loves her friends?

Who is this girl in front of him?

Did he screw up that bad?

"Watch your mouth, princess," Frankie didn't know what took over him, but here you were between the cinderblock wall and Frankie who never looked so sexy before. Both of his hands make purchase on the wall and his frame towers over you, both of your chests heaving and heavy breathing. A scowl still on your face and that infamous Frankie smirk on his face. You grow enraged, and you push Frankie away, his hand grabs your arm and pulls you to his chest.

Frankie had to make it right.

But maybe it's too late.

Frankie swears that each time he tries to make sure he's doing right by you, he screws it up and you only give a finite window to fix his mistake. He wishes that he could have someone tell him to change his ways when it's needed.

He needs to fix this.

Your relationship.

Platonic.

Romantic.

You put up a fight and just gave up and let him hold you. It was time to let you have happiness, a life with the one person who knows you. Breathe, breathe, breathe, and just cry into his brown eyes. This is the millionth time crying to Frankie.

"O-ohh...Frankie, I love you," You spin his arms and cup his face just itching to feel his skin on yours.

"Do you think you could love me?"

Your question stuns him. How could he not love you? Yes, you have your baggage but so does everyone else.

"Oh, sweetheart..." Frankie brushes the hair out of your face and just loves how pretty you look when you cry. The tears glistened in your waterline drawing more attention to them.

"You're too precious. I love you for your faults and all." Frankie chuckles and helps you embrace the blooming love that is coming out of your heart.

"Because that is what you do when you're madly in love with somebody," His words are just so heavy and meaningful. You always said Frankie's a secret hopeless romantic just like you are.

You smiled and sniffled, Frankie wipes away the trickling tears from your eyes.

"You have to promise me one thing, princess,"

"Anything,"

"You don't even know what I was going to say." Frankie laughs a bit and shakes his head at you.

"I know but I'll do anything for you."

"No more playing games. No more of this 'more than friends but less than lovers' bullshit."

"I promise."

Frankie appreciates your promise with a kiss. It's been a while since a kiss from Frankie, a deep kiss, teeth clinking together, your fingers brushing through his hair and taking off the cap. His nose bumping yours, and his hands resting on your hips pulling you closer by the belt loops.

"I fucking told you guys!" Benny shouts, you jump in the kiss and Frankie doesn't move one muscle besides his tongue licking into your mouth.

Frankie breaks the kiss and looks into your eyes while the hallway sounds like a middle school with all the whistling and catcalling coming from the guys pretending to gawk at Frankie. "The Princess and the Catfish!" Pope tries to make a joke and everyone including you groaned in dismay.

"C'mon, we are celebrating the win!" Benny clasped his hand over Frankie's shoulder fixing his cap and pulling it over his eyes. You pushed Ben off of Frankie and fixed the mistake Benny made. Frankie smiles when you come into view, eyes tinted pink from crying, your lips swollen from the kiss.

"My place or yours?" You asked with a cotton candy fluff tone.

That same question still makes his heart race.

"Your apartment since it's closer," Frankie smiles and intertwines your hand with his and walks you to your car and watching you drive away to the bar.

Frankie could feel 3 pairs of eyes on him, his chest rose up and down before he faced them. All their faces were straight as they saw a tired look in Frankie's eyes.

The drive to the bar was quiet, Benny not wanting to ask Frankie the question they were all wondering.

Is Frankie happy?

You had a table with 4 beers and one cranberry vodka. You were giddy in your seat while you waved over 4 of the scary-looking guys.

Will makes a toast to Ben on his win and 'to Frankie and Princess for finally ending the games.' Frankie takes a drink of the beer and your hand rests on his thigh, he swallows hard and feels like in a dream state.

You with the guys, sitting next to him, touching him in front of everyone, finally letting go of whatever fears you had about being in a relationship again. A small pit in Frankie's stomach with each laugh that comes out your mouth, every hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

How long will you be like this? Is this going to be forever or until you get in your head?

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fluff #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal

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xticklemeemox · 8 months ago

Text

The Love You Want: III, Part Three

Masterlist

Previous Part

Next Part

AO3

Word Count: 10,333 or something

I am ngl I made that last part with the drumming up, I don't even know if ST has a song where II uses all those parts of a drumset at the same time.

Writing slow burn hard they just love each other in my head already I can't do this, fast burn it is... that is mainly a bunch of yearning

For the few days Vessel is sick, II and III remain a constant at his side. He is grateful for their presences, but- He doesn't know what to do with their clear affection and care.

Vessel allows them to hold him, his body half strewn over their laps as either II or III hold him as close as he'll allow. Even sick as he is, Vessel grows distressed whenever they try to hold him in places near his chest or neck, not allowing either of them to even hold his forearm in attempts to deter them from his wrists. They hold him as he cries from the pain of his migraine, as his body aches.

He is cool against their stomachs even as his fever runs rampant under his skin, most prominently felt on his forehead. They wiped his tears and shushed him gently, so soothingly that sometimes it made Vessel cry harder, taking turns watching over him when one needed to sleep or eat.

III was still so new, but he settled in so easily with them, eager to talk Vessel's ear off at any hour of the day. To keep him company when everyone knows Vessel gets no reprieve from this sickness. Every day they would show Vessel a new drawing of a different flower, the one worded meaning written below or to the side. They were in increasingly better quality, Vessel notices, as III very slowly improves their skills with traditional art. It was touching, for III to sit next to Vessel with Vessel's book on flower languages open next to them, carefully inking lines into a spare of Vessel's notebooks.

Vessel had gifted it to them when III dejectedly realized that they had nothing to draw with here. They didn't even think about it while at the store.

III hugs Vessel, then, and if Vessel's heart was in his chest, it would have stopped. Vessel doesn't push III away. He is so warm, head leaning against Vessel's own and arms wrapping securely around him. When III pulls away after a few seconds, it kills Vessel to write out a request for no hugs, unable to meet III's confused, but understanding gaze.

Vessel wants III to hug him again, and again, and again until Vessel is sick of it though he's sure he would never tire of III's warmth wrapped around him. Wonders what it would be like if II hugged him. If he was even tall enough for Vessel to comfortably rest his chin on the top of his head. Vessel wants to pull II to himself, wrap him securely in his arms-

III isn't what Vessel expects. II wasn't either.

III redo's the braid in his hair, even as it gets gross with oils and tears until finally the both of them help Vessel into the bath, giving him the mercy of keeping on his underwear, as uncomfortable as the sensation is. It should be mortifying, to let someone else care for him this way but II was there the last time he was sick, and III never shows any judgment, not even with the full scope of Vessel's self-harm scarring on display.

Vessel likes the way he feels cared for when II washes his hair and III fills the silence with idle chatter and jokes that are sometimes the furthest thing from funny yet never at someone else's expense. Vessel tries to pretend his metaphorical heart doesn't flutter when III brushes a finger under each of his six eyes in wonder, tries to pretend he doesn't flinch away when that same careful hand reminds him of someone else as it brushes his jaw in something a bit too close to grabbing it.

III pulls away with a quiet apology and doesn't comment on it, only squeezes Vessel's hand and goes back to talking about their budding plans to start a garden. They help him dry off as Vessel looks down with an embarrassed blush the entire time, leaving him for only a moment to change into dry underwear and pajamas.

III can't stop staring, glad Vessel is too embarrassed and staring resolutely at the wall to notice because II certainly does. II smiles knowingly at III as he rebandages Vessel's arm and thighs, and the shorter man is thankful that there hasn't been any more cuts added. He supposes its the one good thing about Vessel being too sick to move around much.

II brushes his hair when his arms shake from the effort and lets III show II how to re-braid the damp strands.

II makes Vessel soup, even knowing he doesn't need it. Vessel appreciates it anyway. He can't remember when someone had made him a meal before II, and it makes II happy to see Vessel eat it.

II and III only speak of the weakness of the vines all throughout the house down in the kitchen, where they are sure Vessel won't hear. They're hesitant to leave him alone, even for a moment, but its hard not to notice the lack of movement of the vines when usually they react so keenly to Vessel's emotions, and II is quick to point it out when they're alone. They're listless, like they're weighed down, only moving like they used to when Vessel leaves the room with help from one of the others, reaching out to him, brushing his arms and legs and catching gently in his hair as though to caress the unruly strands. III is a little bit in awe, to truly see something so supernatural, even though they had accepted a God, had undergone and seen the results of their own transformation into a vessel of that God.

As Vessel's sickness wears off, he tries to speak less and less, not from a lack of trying, but because it hurts. As the days drag on, his tongue aches like its on fire, and eventually he is afraid to move his mouth at all. On the third day, Vessel is in the middle of listening to II talk about a new style he wanted to incorporate into his drumming while III also listens in rapt attention, laying on his stomach with his hands under his chin, feet kicking leisurely. Their masks lay piled atop one another on Vessel's nightstand. It hit suddenly, the spike of pain lancing through his tongue.

Iron fills his mouth and Vessel nearly leaps off the bed, stumbling instead, to reach the trashcan that he hasn't needed as often the past few days as his stomach settled.

Blood spills out of his mouth like a river, the taste of iron coating every inch of his mouth unceasingly. II and III exclaim his name in shock and worry, II hopping off the bed and pulling Vessel's face into his hands, carefully keeping his hands away from Vessel's jaw. He turns it this way and that, inspecting him for any obvious wounds.

Vessel lets his tongue spill over his lips to show where it hurts at II's prompting and both II and III stare in confusion at the appendage. It drips blood over his chin onto the floor, split right down the middle about halfway into his mouth.

"Your tongues' been split." III says, an odd expression of interest on his face.

Vessel tilts his head in confusion, head still held in II's careful hands. The touch is soothing, and Vessel basks in it. "A change from Sleep, maybe? Where the split begins, your tongue fades into a black at the tips. " II inquires, contemplative.

Grim realization settles over Vessel's features, but there is no regret to be found in the bond, only acceptance.

The blood spilling from his lips begins to darken as black seeps into the red. It mixes together, swirling like the stars in the sky.

"Your... Vessel, your blood is- black is mixing with the red." III states unsurely, leaning closer to get a better look.

Some emotion they don't have time to try and name raises to concerning heights and Vessel pulls away from II with an expression of great distress.

II and III share a look of concern, a silent conversation passing between their bond with ease. They really need to have that talk with Vessel, they both know that if they do, so many things will come to light, if Vessel will only speak of them.

Vessel needs to see. He doesn't care if the knife gets taken away, he has others. He needs to see, see what using something that wasn't his has done to his blood. He doesn't regret a fucking thing but he needs to see with his own eyes what he has done to himself, in the same way he loves to watch the blood drip down his skin with some morbid fascination at the glimpse into what he looks like on the inside.

Before either II or III can figure out what he's doing, Vessel is pulling a blade from under his mattress and slicing into his arm as they cry out his name in alarm.

Blood spills immediately, and distantly, Vessel knows he went deeper than he normally would've.

Like III said, it is human red mixed with pitch black, swirling together like oil and water, never mixing to become entirely one color.

III pulls the blade out of Vessel's hand with haste, cutting themself on the sharp edge, throwing it somewhere Vessel doesn't care to follow. II is already trying to staunch the bleeding with one of Vessel's blankets.

Vessel's bond does not change to anything like shock, only a little more realization as he watches, entranced by the sight of his own blood.

"Sleep's blood." Vessel manages, though its slurred and far more quiet than usual.

He looks up and all six eyes zero in on the blood on III's hand, dripping slowly between the cracks of their fingers as they try to hide it.

Clarity bleeds into the mess of Vessel's mind.

He slams the door of his bond shut and III cannot stop the tears that fall from their eyes at Vessel being gone, even if he is right in front of them.

"I-" Vessel starts, "S- orry. Sorry. Sorry." He repeats, unable to stop the tears that well in his eyes and slip over.

They drip onto his shirt and the blanket where his blood is seeping through. "Sorry, sorry, sorry-"

III shakes their head frantically, "Not your fault, Vessel. I'm the one who grabbed the bladed part of the knife like an idiot."

II cannot speak, cannot form a word and shove it past his lips because he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that if a single noise escapes him, he will break down into sobs that will never cease. So he keeps his lips tightly shut, biting on the lower one to remain silent. He has to be strong, for both Vessel and III's sake. They are upset by the proceedings and so II needs to remain calm in the face of the storm, for their sakes. For them. No matter how he wants to cry, no matter how it causes his throat to ache or his eyes to sting.

He has to be strong for them.

Vessel lets III hold his hand with their injured one, as III holds his available hand to Vessel's bleeding forearm with help from the now ruined blanket. They both fall silent while II leaves to get a medkid he keeps in a few places throughout the house. He'll have to show III where they're all hidden, II thinks grimly as he picks up the pocket knife III had thrown, pocketing it.

III cannot feel Vessel's guilt at making them cry, at hurting them. Its all consuming, eating away at his mind with such force he wants to claw out of his own skin. He wants to apologize, over and over and over again with the hope that III can forgive him.

When II comes back, Vessel insists that II wrap up III's hand first. He holds his arm close to himself, refusing II no matter what he says. II is desperate to get bandages on Vessel's arm and III just the same, so III offers up his hand quickly to get it over with faster.

Vessel apologized with every wince, a repetitive 'sorry, sorry, sorry' that only further saddened II and III. III was trying desperately to reassure him that it wasn't his fault but it was like talking to a brick wall as Vessel stared at III's hand with unseeing eyes still leaking tears even after the injury was bandaged up.

It wasn't a bad wound, all things considered, but Vessel just wouldn't stop staring with wide eyes that screamed of his shame. III excused himself to take the bloody blanket to the washroom as II began on Vessel's arm and as soon as that door closed behind him, still feeling Vessel's gaze on their back, III rushed down the stairs and all but collapsed into the washroom door after closing it as quietly as they could, struggling to keep his sobs quiet.

The blanket is still held tightly in his hands, and when III can see the blurry crimson and black stains still wet beneath their fingers, they drop the blanket to the floor as though burned by the plush fabric.

They do not want to look at it, covered in Vessel's blood as it is, and it makes III sick to look at. It was one thing to see Vessel's scars and watch II rebandage the healing cuts on Vessel's thighs and arms and hips-

To watch as Vessel so casually cut into his own arm without even hesitating- To watch as blood beaded slowly at first on the surface, then started dripping down as it all gathered at the opening of the wound-

Every time III closes their eyes they can see that exact moment, imprinted into their eyelids-

III sobs harder, struggling to breathe through their nose as he hiccups, hiding his face in their hands. Even as Vessel's bond is closed -He's gone, he's gone, Vessel is dead, III can't feel him, he's dead- , III is glad for II, who keeps the bond open so III can feel he's alive, though he's upset, as upset as III is and still holding strong to the mask of courage he's wearing for Vessel's sake.

Waves of reassurance are stemming from II's bond and III latches onto those feelings like a lifeline, trying his damn best to send the same thing back even though he can barely think through the red bleeding behind their eyes.

Red was III's favorite color. Of his memories from Before, they can remember wearing it often, and how they always wished to dye their hair a bright firetruck red color but could never commit to it.

Red reminds him of blood, now. He wonders if he'll grow to hate it.

As III's sobbing dies down and they gain control over themselves, they venture back up to Vessel's room after grabbing a clean blanket from the cupboard. They nearly scream when Elvira, who had taken residence in that very cupboard whose door had apparently not been closed all the way, meows and blinks bright eyes up at III that seem to glow in the darkness. III picks her up along with the blanket she lays on. When they knock, it is II who tells them to come in. Said man has taken residence towards the middle of Vessel's bed as the taller man lays on his side, half on top of II with their head buried in his stomach, hiding his face from view. Vessel's arm is noticeably bandaged, laid across the material of II's shirt that Vessel doesn't occupy, hand fisted in the material so tightly its like Vessel fears II will disappear. II lifts the arm not occupied holding Vessel close to beckon III closer, and III couldn't stop himself if they tried.

Elvira jumps down from III's arms and makes her way to lay against Vessel's back, rubbing contentedly along the length of his spine before settling down with her tail flicking back and forth.

III crawls onto the bed and takes up residence on II's other side, laying the blanket over all three of them, II laying his arm over III's shoulders to pull them closer. II's chest is warm under III's head as III reaches out and grabs Vessel's hand with his injured one. Vessel doesn't pull away, doesn't make a sound or move at all except to blink slowly at III, like he's not all there in his own head. Even so, he squeezes back, entwining their fingers together, careful of each of their claws.

III notices something for the first time then, notices that while he and II have long, sharp black nails, Vessel's are shaped a little differently. His are sharper, curved down only slightly. III glances to Elvira, whose tail he can still see as it slowly flicks back and forth as it lays over Vessel's hip. Vessel and Elvira's nails kind of look similar, in a way II and III's don't. He lets the thought linger in the back of his mind, focusing back in on Vessel and II beside them.

The bond remains shut, but III can feel Vessel's skin on his own now, the touch grounding him to the reality that Vessel is alive, Vessel is okay.

None of them keep track of how long they lay there until II, forever the sleepiest one out of the two of them who can sleep, eventually succumbs to exhaustion and begins snoring lightly. III forces themselves to stay awake for Vessel's sake, but after a while, can feel their eyes begin to droop in exhaustion as well. For as much as the Second and Third Vessels don't need sleep, human emotions are taxing at least and utterly draining at worst, and the last couple hours have been an exhausting affair.

"Sleep." Vessel says, and at first, III thinks he is calling out to their God.

That is not the intent behind Vessel's words, and he refuses to use that power unless its required for their health. Vessel really is only urging III to sleep because the other is tired, and does not need to stay awake to keep Vessel company. Already, Vessel is coming back to himself from where his mind had half slipped away from his body. He'll be back soon.

Though III shakes their head in refusal, it is only a few moments more that their eyes are slipping closed for the final time, succumbing to their exhaustion much like II had.

Vessel is content to bask in both II and III's touch, and listen to the soothing sounds of their respective breathing, II's snoring, and the occasional sniffle from Elvira at his back when she kicks him in her sleep.

Feeling III's bandaged hand in Vessel's kind of makes him want to die.

Both II and III have nightmares that night.

Vessel eats them and feels sick, disgusted with himself when they're both about him dying, covered in his own blood with numerous wounds in his arms or his thighs or both. He can never tell them what he does. They wouldn't understand.

The nightmares taste delicious, sliding down his throat so easily and settling in his stomach. Vessel is satisfied, and yet, he craves more. More.

The next morning, as the edges of the sun peek through the corners of Vessel's blackout curtains, Vessel slips out of bed, the chill of the room seeping into his bones as he leaves the warmth of the others, grabbing his mask from his nightstand and buckling it on. That warmth leaves his skin in minutes, and Vessel wants to get back in bed and bask in II and III's bodyheat, but he has something he wants to do.

His most recent journal full of lyrics sits on his dresser, and Vessel grabs it, then one of his many pens that lay about.

Gifts always seemed to placate his past partners, even if II and III were merely close friends. Friends.

Vessel is silent as a wraith as he heads downstairs, Elvira trailing after him, thankfully only meowing when they get to the bottom of the stairs. Vessel goes around turning all the lamps off first, which had all gotten left on the night before. Then he makes sure to feed Elvira, who rubs against his leg the entire time he's fixing up her food. After giving her a few careful pets on the head, he heads off.

In the kitchen, he makes tea for both II and III. A floral sort for II that Vessel sees him using often, and a sweeter blend for III, that Vessel adds far too much sugar into. Vessel likes his coffee sweet, but even he thinks the sheer amount III uses in their teas and coffee is pushing it.

He carefully pens two notes, one for each of them, wasting a few pages of his notebook to get the wording for III's as close to what Vessel wants as possible, even if he still overthinks the whole thing he has planned. As he places both of their drinks on an older silver platter that has begun to show signs of age, II's bond clears of sleep, while III's remains fuzzy.

Vessel realizes suddenly that his bond is shut off when II's panic strikes through him, distant, and Vessel can feel the faint, faint impression of II tugging on his side of the bond in frantic question. Vessel's own bond is locked shut, but he opens it a crack, so II can feel his presence again. II's bond calms immediately, and if Vessel concentrates, he can feel the relief II is purposefully sending Vessel. Guilt churns Vessel's stomach. He really hurt II yesterday, didn't he?

An idea strikes him, and Vessel tears off a couple small pieces of paper from his notebook again. Before each drink, laid in front of them, he draws a little smiley face with six dots for eyes, and their names right next to them.

II is still in bed when Vessel pushes open his door. When Vessel enters, II looks over from where he is running his fingers through III's curls. It would be comical how small II looks with III laid beside him, their head still on II's chest, if it didn't make Vessel so sad to see.

Vessel wants to be close to them that way. He's not sure when his feelings evolved from some mix of envy and jealousy into just wanting to hold both of them. Perhaps somewhere between just caring for III and loving them the same as he loves II.

"What's this, Ves?" II asks, keeping quiet so as to not wake III.

"Apology." Vessel replies, sidestepping a stack of books with grace and coming to a stop at his bedside.

He holds out the platter, and while II takes his drink, he smiles wide, but his eyes are sad. "You don't need to apologize, Vessel, I told you already. I- I- just please don't do that again. You scared me. Scared us. But thank you, for the tea. It's just as I like it." II corrects himself, voice as soft as his smile.

Vessel looks away with all six eyes, before forcing himself to meet II's kind gaze with one pair while another watches the slow rise and fall of III's chest. "Sorry. Won't hurt in front of you again." He manages, the words coming out a little slurred, but its the most he's managed in a while.

"That isn't what I meant, Ves. I'd prefer you not to hurt yourself at all." II takes a careful sip, and sighs when Vessel averts his gaze again.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't apologize. I-" II pauses, releasing a long breath before gently jostling III after setting down his mug. "Three, Ves made you tea."

III doesn't stir the first time, nor the second, but the third time II shakes his shoulder finally works. They blink their eyes open, pretty blues surrounded by endless black, squinting with sleep still.

Their mug is still steaming as Vessel holds the platter out, and when their eyes light up at the sight and they shoot up, Vessel cannot help the blush or the widening of his eyes, nor the tiny little subconscious smile that pulls at one side of his lips involuntarily. III is just so pretty.

Vessel is still looking at II, and he is also struck dumb by the others beauty. Why did Sleep have to pick such pretty vessels? It wasn't good for Vessel's heart. He knows if he could feel it in his chest, it would be thumping wildly.

III grabs the little note first, with the smiley face. They're smiling when they show II, who holds up his own little drawing. Vessel's face feels hot, and its not because of the fever he'd gotten over.

They both compliment it, laughing lightly and saying how cute it is, how accurate, and somehow Vessel's face grows even warmer.

III takes the mug with both hands, then, and without a care for the temperature, takes a large gulp. They smile afterwards, a big grin that radiates the same happiness Vessel can feel faintly through the bond, "Just how I like it. Thanks, Ves!"

III laughs when Vessel blushes up to his ears again, and Vessel folds his arms in front of himself, using the platter as a barrier, holding it tightly. While taking greedy sips of their drink, Vessel takes a moment to sit beside them on the bed, taking pleasure in the way they make room for him and also get closer at the same time. Their knees all touch as II and III sit cross legged, while Vessel bends one knee and lets the other hang off the bed.

It's comfortable, as he finds things usually are with these two. Vessel is free to simply... exist, here, in this house. II and III never yell at him for making too much noise, or when he asks to hold their hands. Their touch is always gentle, never crossing the line into painful. They're- They're both so gentle with him in ways he isn't used to.

Vessel has never loved someone who was gentle with him. He always seemed to gravitate towards people who treated him like he was used to, treated him with familiar pain and anger. II and III are nothing like the people he fell for before. He is glad for it.

Realizing this only solidifies Vessel's resolve to give them those notes, to do what he's going to, despite the thought making him nervous. It won't be much different from the contact you allow now, Vessel tells himself.

Vessel loves them, he knows. Somewhere deep inside, Vessel hopes II loves him like he says he does. Hopes that maybe III can love him like Vessel can see he loves II.

So Vessel listens as II asks for opinions on what meal he should prepare later that night, listens as III makes corny jokes that are sometimes so stupid that they all laugh anyway. Vessel gives his own input on things, with short sentences that are becoming easier and easier to say, and feels as though he is heard, he is seen, and he is not in trouble for it.

His smiles come easier and easier the longer he spends with them, and Vessel could not be more thankful to Sleep for bringing both of them to him than in that moment.

Vessel waits until the afternoon to enact the second part of his plan, going in search of the others when he's sure they're apart. He finds III first, the other in the practice room with all the lamps turned on, strumming at their bass to one of Vessel and II's songs. They're good, even if they don't have all the parts down yet. The bandage seems to be limiting the things they can do with the injured hand picking at the strings, and Vessel still feels so guilty.

III looks up when the door squeaks as Vessel pushes it open enough to get through, smiling when they see Vessel. "Hey, Ves! I was just finishing up in here before I go to water my plants! Did you need the room, or want to practice together? I know we haven't practiced as a group yet."

"Ah, no, I- Was looking for you. Want to give you something." Vessel stumbles over his words, a little surprised that III looked so happy at the sight of him.

"Oh, what is it?" III asks as he sets the bass aside carefully, standing and meeting Vessel halfway.

'Thank you for the flowers you left me on those receipts, but if anyone's smile were like sunshine, it would be yours. I've wanted to tell you.' Vessel hands over the note, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks hidden by his mask.

When III sees what Vessel has written, taking a couple minutes to squint at the elegant cursive writing, they grin brightly, leaning closer with a glint in his eye. Vessel leans closer on instinct, not quite realizing that their foreheads are nearly touching. "You're adorable, Sugar. I plan on giving you many more in the future, to go with all the ones I gave you while you were sick. And real ones, eventually! Alas, my children need watering, I'll see you in a little while."

With a sly little grin and a peck against the cheek of Vessel's mask, III bounds off with a skip in their step but not before they get to see Vessel's pointed ears turn red. They grin triumphantly as they bounce off and Vessel is left reeling.

When Vessel regains his composure, he sets off to find II. His blush is still prominent when Vessel finds him in the altar room, cleaning the offering table of invisible dust. Vessel's heartbeat pounds in his ears with his nerves, though it must be only him that hears it, since II seems none the wiser. It's a curious thing, one that Vessel doesn't want to think about.

Vessel glances at the sigil on the wall that contains his beating heart, but can't stomach looking at it for long due to the phantom pains of ripping it out creeping up on him.

"Ves? Everything alright?" II asks when he notices him, putting down the rag they were using, uncrouching and walking towards Vessel, a cutely concerned expression on his face.

Vessel does not allow himself to back out, does not let himself over think it any longer. He hands over the folded note, watching intently as II opens and then reads the single word written.

'Hug? :::)'

II looks up at Vessel with wide, disbelieving eyes, but there is excitement there too. Vessel opens his arms wide in invitation and there is no hesitation on II's part to collide with Vessel, almost knocking both of them to the ground. II is laughing, happiness surging down the bond like a tidal wave. Vessel huffs out a laugh of his own, wrapping his arms a little tighter around II.

Vessel didn't know someone could be so happy to simply... hug him. Not even with any skin touching.

Vessel had put on many, many layers of his thickest clothing, and it was greatly uncomfortable, but he wanted to hug II, just once, so he doesn't mind. II holds Vessel tightly, arms wrapped around his waist, and even then, II is keeping away from Vessel's chest, leaning his head into the space nearest Vessel's shoulder.

Vessel is swimming in elation, utterly content and happy and his heartbeat thumps in his ears and there are butterflies in his chest. Vessel adores II. Utterly adores him, body and soul.

II is one of his beloveds. Vessel would die for him, kill for him. Vessel- Vessel thinks he might have wanted to live for him if death was permanent for him anymore.

II is warm, so warm, and hugging him feels right. Right in the same way his mask brings him comfort, in the same way III's voice makes him happy to hear, just as II's does.

Vessel wants to cry, wants to hold II tighter, to never let him go. Vessel wants II to open him up and climb in to where his heart used to rest. Its where he and III already reside anyway.

Where Vessel's heart used to be, II and III have made a home, whether they know it or not. Vessel wants to live in every breath II and III inhale and exhale.

Vessel and II hold each other for what feels like hours, but must have only been minutes. Despite his initial contentment, Vessel grows more and more anxious the longer he hears his heartbeat. He worries that II, if he can even hear it at all, may begin to wonder why the thumpthumpthump isn't sounding from Vessel's chest, but under the floorboards and in the walls.

Vessel forces himself to start pulling away. He relishes in II hesitating to begin doing the same, hopes with everything in him that the happiness he felt from II was real, that the disappointment II is broadcasting distantly down the bond is real, that Vessel's mind is only playing tricks on him.

Vessel wants II to love him so badly he aches with it, but Vessel is a coward who is stuck under the abuse he suffered, who doesn't know what it means to be loved.

Vessel excuses himself, blurting out an excuse that he had an idea for a song, glad for his mask to hide his tears, even if his smile is true. Vessel... doesn't know what he's feeling. He's sad, happy, confused and filled with all consuming yearning.

II stares after Vessel, his own longing mirrored in the bond. Vessel wants to hold II again, but his heart stops him. It beats under his feet like a drum as he escapes the altar room, flustered and crying and elated and about to crumble under his fear of the unknown.

Vessel escapes to the practice room to transfer his emotions onto the worn keys of his piano.

After that, Vessel recovers quickly. They all paint smiles on their faces in the hopes of reassuring one another. Vessel quickly regains his usual health, though his migraine has only devolved into a headache but he is quite used to those.

He knows that if they decide it is time to give up the caring act, then he at least wants to make sure III's hand remains cared for. He can do that much, at least. It was his fault, after all.

He expects things to change, for III to lessen the casual touches but they continue to lean on him when standing near each other. They continue to ask to hold his hand, they continue knocking on Vessel's door to talk or read together.

III continues drawing him flowers, talking over his plans for the garden he wants to put out in the front of the manor. Vessel helps them design the layout, such as which flowers they'll put where, with occasional input from II. During one of these planning sessions, III asks Vessel if he'd like to help him with the garden itself, even after it was completed. Vessel couldn't refuse, not when III was looking at him with a big, hopeful grin and shining eyes.

Every drawing Vessel gets from III is pinned next to the original receipts with the utmost care. Every time Vessel leaves his room, the sight causes a smile to pull involuntarily at his lips.

II and III do not leave Vessel to rot under the weight of his negative emotions even if they cannot feel them. They comfort him in small ways, always reaching out to help, and it is only right Vessel does the same to the best of his ability.

It is a struggle to navigate III's outgoing personality, when louder noises or sudden movements cause Vessel to flinch or go silent, when he had been working so hard to get used to his new tongue and speak around the thorns wrapped around his throat at the same time.

Vessel does not want III to stop being themselves. All he wants it to get used to them, used to the way they live because Vessel does not want them to leave. Vessel doesn't want to keep letting those in his past, people whose faces he can't fucking remember, taint what he is creating with II and III but he is afraid. Always so afraid.

Faceless, nameless people haunt his every move, his body, his blood, their actions are ingrained in his soul. He is nothing without them, they made him who he is.

It is easier to forget what they did when II and III are nothing like them.

III worms himself into Vessel's heart so easily, with pretty smiles, jokes, and an exuberant personality. It feels like they belong there, beside II, in Vessel's heart. He can't recall a time when he felt this way, safe, in someone else's presence. Its easy to feel safe when II holds his hand or smiles when Vessel enters a room. It is easy to feel safe when III sits on Vessel's bed and goes over all the different plants they saw that morning, showing Vessel the rough sketches of his favorites.

The house seems to notice the change in Vessel's heart, and it's only been a little while since III arrived.

When III loses something, and he loses things often, he always seems to find it after a few minutes, returned to whatever surface is closest. II explains that its just the house, and that things don't stay missing long, that the vines are sentient and react to all of them, but not quite the way they react to Vessel.

Vessel knows better. He knows what lies in the altar room, what beats through the walls and floorboards though it is not apparent unless he is in the altar room itself.

He knows exactly why the house helps them.

Vessel always has fallen in love quickly, with the entirety of his heart.

III is flabbergasted. Utterly appalled.

"Who organized this nightmare?!" They exclaim, waving a hand at the entirety of one of the living room walls, lined with bookshelves, which are filled to the brim with books.

"Well, we didn't really... organize anything. Vessel just stuck them all down here because I told him he couldn't keep them all in his room. Some are mine, but since there wasn't any order to them, I also just stuck them wherever." II explains, sheepish.

Looking at all the bookshelves, he realizes it is a bit of a mess. There is no order to any of the placements, not to mention a lot of the books are just stacked on top of one another until they can't fit on a shelf any longer and are placed on a different one.

III sighs in mock exasperation before beginning to sort. II offers to help but III shuts him down quickly with a pointed glare at the rest of the mess. II sits back down and simply stays nearby, watching and keeping III company.

III arranges all the books on the shelves in alphabetical order by authors last name and in sections based on genre, dedicating specific bookshelves to each of them living there. It takes hours, and when they are finally done, they ask about Vessel's room.

"As I said, I told him he couldn't keep any more than seven stacks because he trips over them all the time. Nearly split his head open- Well, I'm exaggerating but he scared the shit out of me. Anyway, he now stacks them all as tall as they'll go before toppling while sticking to my seven stack rule. I'm sure you noticed them in his room while we were taking care of him."

III grimaces, remembering how they, too, had tripped one night while going to the bathroom when he was watching over a sick Vessel. Even with the night vision, they were half-asleep and their coordination was a bit off. The whole stack had fallen over, some of the pages in a couple of them getting folded, and Vessel had only waved III's panicked apologies off with a tiny, half-hearted smile.

Vessel didn't tell them that his books had often been put through worse intentionally, by others, long before Sleep came to him. That folded pages was far better than torn pages, or books where entire chapters had been purposefully ripped out. Hateful words written in with permanent marker or scribbles left everywhere.

II had always been careful with both Vessel's and his own books, and Vessel knew III did not trip intentionally, and made sure to tell III that much, at least. III's smile came out a little wobbly, and when they came back from the restroom, they had scooted as close to Vessel as the other would allow.

"Do you think he'd mind if we brought all of 'em down here?"

II takes a minute to ponder the question but ultimately decides that he doesn't think Vessel would mind at all.

III goes to ask, a little nervous but not sure why. When he knocks on Vessel's door, pushing it more open a moment later when Vessel tells them to come in, III does not let himself falter.

Vessel is laying on his bed, Elvira curled on his chest with his hand in her fur as she purrs up a storm. Vessel slides one pair of eyes to look at III curiously, keeping the top pair closed and the bottom pair eyeing Elvira with clear affection. They're adorable, and III wishes very suddenly they had a phone, wanting desperately to capture the moment.

"Hey Ves, I was organizing the books downstairs and wanted to know if you'd mind me putting yours down there as well?"

Vessel tilts his head just slightly, the action coming across a little odd as he is still laying down, but he nods easily. He bites his lip when III smiles, opening all six eyes to look at III properly, before asking shyly, "Can I keep a couple of the ones I'm currently reading in here?"

"Of course!" III exclaims, a little sad that Vessel looked so nervous to ask for something so ordinary, "Keep whichever ones you want, I don't mind. I'm gonna start taking some down, I hope you don't mind me coming in and out for a bit."

"I'll help, they're my books." Vessel says before turning one set of eyes to stare down at Elvira forlornly, "Gotta get up, Ellie."

The cat meows in complaint, stretching out over Vessel's chest further. Vessel picks her up as he sits up, her body hanging limply in his hands as he holds her so gently, meowing in docile outrage. The small, misshapen braid in his hair falls into view, II's work that Vessel had refused the shorter man upon him asking to take it out because it looked 'awful.' A few more tiny braids have been woven into other parts of Vessel's fluffy mess, III's additions that they are very proud of. If II's hair were longer, III would love to add braids in his too, but will settle for the both of them torturing Vessel with II's practicing. III and Vessel match, with the braids, and III feels warm at the thought, giddy even.

Vessel apologizes again and sets her down, where she immediately hops off the bed and runs out of the room past III's feet.

III watches her go with a smile before bending down to pick up as many books as they can carry. His and Vessel's longer arms allow them to nearly carry a stack each, and III tries their hardest not to drop any as they head down the staircase. Glancing at Vessel as he follows them, III concluded Vessel is surprisingly elegant for a man that trips over his own items so often. He's noticed it often enough in the way Vessel moves about the house, silent and lithe. He's pretty, always so pretty.

When they bring down those stacks, II follows them back up without a word, only a loving brush of his fingers against III and Vessel's shoulders as he breezes past them. II makes a comment that somehow, Vessel had accumulated more books since the last time II was in there, and there were more of them strewn about under his bed and on his desk.

Vessel blushes in mild embarrassment at being caught as he hurriedly puts his mask on, avoiding II's disappointed gaze.

Things go quicker then, as II is easily able to carry more books than they can. III makes it a game to see how many they can stack in II's arms before he loses one or II's arms get tired. No strength limit was reached before all the books were taken downstairs, II not having broken a sweat, but he had dropped at least four making his way down the staircase. Vessel had snorted quietly, an action quite unlike him, but III supposes they also thought it was funny to watch II be swamped by books that he couldn't really see past, stacked as high as they were in his arms, laughing easily and with his whole chest at II's expense with nothing but pure affection. Vessel and II glanced at each other with little smiles as they looked at their Third.

After all the books are brought down, III thanks II first, giving him a peck on the cheek. II blushes but kisses III's cheek back, right over one of their little freckles which had slowly been growing into the shape of a question mark.

Vessel is a bit jealous, but III, despite not being able to feel it as Vessel's bond is almost entirely shut off from them, quells it quickly when they walk over to Vessel, kissing his masked cheek and calling him Sugar again as they thank him for helping.

Vessel stammers out a response, too flustered to pay much attention to what was said, excusing himself, cheeks burning as the vines on the walls writhe gently, reaching out in III's direction longingly.

III laughs quietly when he's sure Vessel won't hear and assume it was out of cruelty, leaning into II who has come up to lean half against their side and back. "You're far bolder than I am."

"He's just so pretty when he blushes. I can't help it." III admits, turning around to wrap II in a hug, enjoying how the action sends mutual contentment lazily down their open bond.

They melt into each other easily, "He is pretty when he blushes. Too bad his mask covers it most of the time."

"Yeah, but the blush always spreads to his ears if I get him flustered enough, so its still kinda visible! Well worth it if I can get him to smile too."

II hums an agreement, closing his eyes as he takes in III's heartbeat and the rise and fall of their chest. III lets the hug linger for a few minutes, happily enjoying II's warmth and swaying them back and forth a little while they hold one another.

"I'm gonna make labels." III decides suddenly after a few minutes, "For each of our shelves, I mean."

III pulls way to begin writing out little notes to tape onto each bookshelf. Each section, if whoever owns the shelf or shelves has multiple genres, are given a piece of paper taped over.

They do their own first, and since they mainly read dystopian and sci-fi, it's pretty easy, adding an upside down question mark to represent themself. II's shelves get a big label with the Roman numerals for II, like his name, and a pair of crude drumsticks, and then taped to the right of his name something for the genre, 'II's Gothic horror.' Vessel only has textbooks, so that's what III puts on Vessel's shelves, of which he has quite a few, filled to bursting even after being organized. III adds a little, six eyed smiley face next to Vessel's name on his label, because it's cute, like Vessel himself.

"So, do we just not need phones?" III asks, as he begins rearranging the books on the lower shelves of one of Vessel's bookcases, after realizing they did that shelf wrong.

II smiles sheepishly, "Vessel never said anything and I was kind of leaning into the mystical messenger of a God thing. Didn't think phones fit that, uh, vibe."

"We should definitely get phones. Vessel turns his bond off, and doesn't seem to like going into town with us. It would be best if we had something to communicate with! I think he'd feel better about it too."

"Also, I need photos of you both to admire when I'm sad." III states bluntly, a bright grin directed up at II.

II blushes down his neck but laughs anyway, letting it fade out before stating seriously, "You can just come to either one of us. I'll never refuse you and I'd imagine Vessel wouldn't, even if the physical contact would be limited."

"Let me rephrase. I need photos of you both to admire whenever I want. Just to have them. You're both very pretty and I need physical evidence to carry on my person." III jokes, but in reality, they know they're not joking at all.

II snorts, but doesn't say anything further, only shakes his head in amusement, letting III continue working.

When the organizing is done, II comes to stand next to III to get a better look. III leans their arm on II's head, gently, without much of their weight and II only looks mildly put upon. III gives II a kiss on the cheek, a shy little smile afterwards. II returns it, getting on his tiptoes to kiss their cheek in return.

"The little drawings next to our names are cute." II says as III places their arm on his head again.

"Thank you. Oh! I'm getting a gaming console. As much as I love to read, I love gaming just as much."

"Sure, not like we're wanting for money. Sleep has us set for eternity with that credit card Vessel holds on to. Never played any games myself though."

"Oh, you have got to try NieR: Automata! I- Hm, I think I was only on the second ending but that shit is painful but so, so good. Soundtrack is one of the best I've ever heard."

"Maybe we can rope Vessel into watching you play then." II agrees, interested.

"Hell yeah, this game is going to make us all cry, just you wait."

The first practice session they have as a band is the most chaotic one to date. All three of them were trying to get the feel of how they wanted their music to go with a bass added in to the mix. Vessel couldn't quite sing yet, struggling with his voice still, and so they decided to work on his piano segments and how II was going to incorporate his drumming into the song they were working on.

Fiddling with the tuning on his bass while Vessel sat at his piano playing the song, III was half-watching II playing a drumbeat full of hi-hats and fast bass drum kicks, casually as though it was second nature.

When II moved to play a beat on the medium tom, his drumstick slipped out of his hand due to the speed at which he was drumming. As it flung towards the wall, silver glinted in the lights of the practice room as it spun, transforming into a battle ax with a spray of golden sparks. It barely misses III, who lets out a loud shout of alarm, jumping back and falling on his ass while simultaneously trying to protect their bass.

Vessel startles at the sound, hunching into himself and slamming his fingers into the keys of his piano, creating a discordant sound at the same time the battle ax made a loud thwack as it struck the wall.

II looks down to find that his other drumstick has transformed in his hand as well, and put a fucking hole through his snare drum.

Everyone stares in silence, stunned by what has just occurred. There was something to be said about vessels of a God having strange eyes or skin that turns pitch black, or literal fangs. It was something else entirely for an everyday item that II has used his entire life to suddenly turn into a deadly weapon while in use. It was something else entirely for said deadly weapon to break through a drum head as though it were paper. It was something else entirely for said deadly weapon to get launched in the direction of someone he cared for, barely miss them, and get stuck in the wall five inches deep.

"What the fuck." II states, with a blank expression.

They all continue to stare, looking back and forth between the wall and II's broken snare, as though II hadn't said a word. II wonders if they sit and stare at the weapons long enough, they'll turn back into drumsticks like nothing ever happened. He wonders if this was a dream given to them by Sleep-

Ah. II has an idea.

II reaches out and tugs on the bond in his chest that leads to his God, so different from the ones he shares with Vessel and III, and yet so similar. He does not tug with the same intensity or aggression as he did before, but Sleep is clearly displeased all the same when they answer his call.

"While not as disrespectful as the last time you called upon me, I am quite disappointed, my Second. What is it you have called me for?" Sleep's voices bounce around the practice room, displeasure clear as day.

"Why- Why in the everloving fuck did my damn drumsticks turn into axes?" If there was a way to exclaim something with utmost feeling while having the most dead expression in the world, II would have accomplished it.

"It is a gift. You ate the apple of Eden, and it has granted you abilities." Sleep states, indifferent to the confusion his vessels share.

Vessel turns his head away, refusing to look anyone in the eye, or even in their general direction. He is well aware what the apple of Eden is, but to find out the others ate it as well is... unsettling. His heartbeat thumps on his tongue, and its like he can still taste it, still feel the texture of his own heart as he bit into it.

II glances at Vessel and takes a gamble. At worst, the God can correct him and he'll apologize to Vessel for assuming things without first asking for a proper answer. Its besides the point as to whether Vessel would answer in the first place.

"Is it like Vessel's ability to put people to sleep?" II asks, and purposefully does not glance at Vessel as he does so.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vessel stiffen further, going rigid as a corpse. Ah, so II was right. He should feel satisfied at the confirmation of his theory, but he is only profoundly saddened.

"That ability is not my Firsts. It is not meant to be wielded by anyone but myself. It is a dangerous ability, much like the Firsts penchant for-" Sleep pauses, and everyone turns to look at Vessel as he frantically shakes his head, six eyes begging Sleep not to say anything.

"As I was saying, you have all been granted a gift by eating the apple of Eden. It is only a matter of unlocking them." Sleep continues as though He had never even mentioned another dangerous ability that Vessel is using, "My First and Third ate the entire apple, so their gifts will be stronger. You, my Second, ate everything but the core. Transforming your drumsticks into weapons of battle will likely be the extent of your gift alongside your superior strength."

II will not be forgetting the God's slip up. III either, from the way they squint in displeasure, their brow furrowing alongside the thinning of their lips.

"My... strength?"

"Yes, you are far stronger than any human ought to be. Especially one of your... stature. You're quite vertically challenged for males of your species."

III cannot stop the laugh that spills from their lips, a little high pitched and unsure. Even Vessel, who has remained silent and tense, manages a small, silent huff of a laugh.

"Yes, well, thank you for answering my question, Sleep. That was all I wanted." II bites out, flustered as his brows furrowed in something akin to anger, perhaps outrage.

There is a laugh that echoes around them, sounding as though it was from a man and a woman, a child and an elder, fading into nothingness.

With an answer given, the silence wears off quickly.

"Sorry Vessel, didn't mean to scare you, but that sure scared the fuck outta me." III apologizes, and Vessel slowly untenses, glancing nervously at the weapon in the wall with one pair of eyes, III as they finally stand from the floor, and the last pair on II.

Plucking the ax out of his snare as though it weighed nothing, II walks over to grab the other from the wall. Despite how deeply its stuck, he pulls it out with ease. The weapons look right in his hands, as though he was always meant to wield them.

"Suppose I'll be keeping these in my room until I figure out how to turn them back." II mutters, before heading to the door, bond radiating fervent upset.

III has wandered over to Vessel, trying to coax the other into standing. He remains frozen in his seat, two pairs of eyes now watching II as the last set watches III. Through his mask, which he continues to wear nigh on constantly, unlike the others who do not feel the need to hide around people they care for so deeply, his expression is hidden from view. Without the bond, without being able to see his face, Vessel's feelings remain a mystery.

"Vessel," II stops just before the door as III silently rejoices Vessel letting them hold his hand, "I'm not upset with you, to be completely honest so you don't think I'm angry. I'm upset you hid something dangerous to your health from me, and clearly there is still more I've not been told. I just- I want to talk it over with you."

Vessel loses some of the tension in his shoulders, then, disbelieving relief creeping into the cracks of his soul. He knows he cannot avoid this, no matter how he wants to.

"Tomorrow." Vessel states, hoping that if he gets it over with faster, the longer he'll have to pick up the pieces of his heart when they learn what Vessel has done for them.

He knows they will not be grateful. They do not seem to like anything Vessel does that puts his body in harms way. Its something Vessel doesn't understand, but has grown to expect from them.

As the day turns into night, Vessel emerges from the practice room he had insisted on staying in, long after II left, no matter how III tried to convince him to go rest or come out for dinner, even just to be near while the others ate.

Quiet laughter can be heard as Vessel makes his way into the upstairs sitting room. He pauses at the top of the staircase to listen as III giggles at something II has said. It makes him smile, but also causes sadness to weigh heavily on his chest.

III opens their door to leave his room, an empty mug in hand, just as Vessel turns to head to his room.

"Vessel!" III sounds so excited, so happy to see him, and Vessel wants to believe he's reading their faint emotions right in the bond so badly.

"Did you want to sleep with Two and I tonight? We've got room!"

The vines on the walls tremble with Vessel's heart, his longing and desire. Vessel glances at III's hand, hanging limply at their side. The bandage is starkly visible. Shame fills him up, foul like tar, burning the back of his throat.

Vessel shakes his head. Vessel... doesn't want to refuse. But he is afraid they'll notice his lack of heartbeat. He's too afraid of the outcome of tomorrow. Perhaps he should bask in the affection they are willing to give him before they take it away but Vessel is a coward.

The hope Vessel felt faintly through the bond crumbles, but III smiles anyway, a wobbly thing that Vessel can tell they're barely holding up, "Okay, um, we'll- we'll see you in the morning then?"

Vessel gives a shaky smile back, unable to help himself as he walks forward, moving his mask up a little to leave room between it and his skin, taking III's hand and placing it under the mask on his cheek. Vessel leans into it, closing all six eyes for a moment, before pulling away, dropping III's hand and fixing his mask at the same time.

"See you in the morning."

III stares after Vessel as he turns away, not seeing II come to lean against III's door frame.

"'Night Ves." II calls out quietly, but Vessel doesnt turn around, no matter how he wants to.

They both watch him go, desperately hoping he'll turn back around and join them anyway.

He parrots the saying even quieter before his door shuts behind him firmly, hoping they don't notice the tears dripping down his chin.

#poly sleep token #vessel sleep token #sleep token band #sleep token iii #sleep token sleep #sleep token #fanfic #sleep token fic #polyvessels

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ariestrxsh · 4 months ago

Text

.・✫・゜🚿・。.・✫・゜🚿・。.・✫

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, degradation, humiliation, mean!matt, brattamer!matt, roughdom!matt, mentions of masturbation, enemies to lovers (but without the fluff)

✍️ Summary: ✍️ Your best friends, Nick and Chris, offer to let you come over to use their water while yours is out at your place. The only problem is you and their brother Matt have always absolutely despised each other, and because both Nick and Chris are gone for the night, you're stuck with Matt all alone.

.・✫・゜🚿・。.・✫・゜🚿・。.・✫

hatef--k part one

"Thank you so much for letting me run a load of laundry and shower over here, you guys. You're seriously lifesavers," I told Nick and Chris, emptying my mess of gym and work clothes into the washing machine.

"Of course. Any idea how long your water's gonna be out?" Nick asked me. "No, I wish. They said anywhere from a few hours to a few days" I groaned.

"Well, like I said earlier, anything you need, we got you. Even if you need to stay here until it's back on, you're welcome to," Chris said, packing up his bag to go over to Nate's place for the night.

"That's really sweet of you, Chris. I might take you up on that if it's not back on by the end of the day," I replied. "Yeah, Chris and I won't even be sleeping here tonight, so you can stay in either of our rooms," Nick mentioned.

"Ew, what is she doing here?" Matt said, entering the room, gesturing at me. "Dude, c'mon, her water's out, and she needs a place to stay for a bit," Chris snapped at Matt.

I got along great with Chris and Nick, but Matt and I weren't very fond of each other. I thought he was cocky, disgusting, and rude, and he thought I was bitchy, shallow, and a whore, and it seemed like we couldn't exist in the same space with one another without being at each other's throats. But we often had to be in each other's space because of our mutual love of Nick and Chris.

"Please tell me you're also staying the night somewhere else," I said, rolling my eyes at Matt. "Why? 'Cause you wanna sleep in my bed?" He asked, smiling at me. "Not in a million years," I shot back. "Nope, not going anywhere tonight," he smirked. "Staying right here so I can annoy you as much as you annoy me."

"Oh my god, you guys, don't kill each other while we're gone. My uber is here," Nick said, putting on his sunglasses and strutting out the front door. "Yeah, seriously. Just please pretend you get along for once," Chris begged right before following Nick out.

I scoffed at Matt and walked over to the couch in the living room and started flipping through channels on their TV. "Um, what is your TV broken too?" Matt gave me attitude, grabbing the remote from me. "C'mon Matt. I can't leave at least until my laundry's done, and I need something to do while I wait to move it along," I whined back, reaching for the remote.

"Okay, cool. So you don't mind watching the game with me then?" Matt asked, turning on some sports channel. "Oh my god, so fucking boring. I just wanted to watch The Bachelorette," I groaned at him. "Yeah? Well that sucks. Who wants to watch some pathetic guys all drool over the same girl?" Matt rolled his eyes at me. "I do!" I yelled, making a last desperate attempt to snatch back the remote.

"Yeah, I bet you like that show because you're a little slut, and you're always juggling a bunch of dudes," Matt sneered. "Hey! That's really mean," I said in a genuinely hurt tone. "Not my fault that it's true," Matt responded harshly.

Sometimes, when Matt would say things like that to me, which was fairly often, it would make me feel a certain type of way that was hard to pinpoint. I was authentically disgusted and got my feelings hurt, but sometimes I'd feel a sensation of yearning in my core, and I didn't fully understand it. It was similar to being turned on, but it was accompanied by all these gross feelings of humiliation and anger, so I tried not to look into it much.

"You know, I just haven't found anyone worth committing to. Doesn't make me a whore," I defensively responded. "Whatever. Why do you care what I think? Is it cause you want me?" Matt smirked. "Absolutley not," I answered, following it up with a gagging sound.

"Yeah, is that how you'd sound, choking on me?" Matt laughed. "Ew, you're sick!" I shouted, storming out of the room. I decided to take a nice, long, hot, everything shower to cleanse myself of Matt's deranged behavior and how sick he made me feel.

I had everything I needed with me already - my razor, my body wash, my shampoo and conditioner, my entire skin care bag, and a towel, along with a change of clothes. I was still in what I'd worn to the gym earlier, and it was nice to finally shed off all my layers and feel the hot water hitting the back of my head and running down the rest of my body.

While I was shaving my legs, I thought I heard someone rustling around in the bathroom with me. "Matt?" I asked. "Chill, I'm just grabbing something. I'll be out of here in a minute," he said. "Fuck you, Matt. Whatever it is, it can wait. I'm in the middle of something here," I complained.

"What? Are you touching yourself?" Matt snickered at me. "Ew gross! I could never do that while I'm in the same house as you. Just get the fuck out. I'm trying to enjoy my shower," I felt myself growing red. I did feel a bit of wetness between my legs as I went to clean myself, but I certainly couldn't do anything about it now. I wouldn't let Matt be right about anything if I could help it.

After shaving and scrubbing just about every inch of myself, I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. I went to reach for my towel and realized it was missing. And so were my clothes? "Matt!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, rifling through the different cabinets and shelves in the bathroom. The fucking pervert took anything I had to cover myself with when he was in here.

"You fucking asshole! Bring me my towel and my clothes!" I shouted out the bathroom door. "You didn't bring clothes or a towel into the bathroom with you? God, you really are a little slut!" Matt yelled back from a few rooms away.

"Not funny, Matt. C'mon. There's nothing for me to dry off with in here!" I yelled. "Well, I guess you're gonna have to come in here and get your towel," Matt responded. "Can you bring it to me?"

"Nope, sorry. In the middle of a game." "I'm not gonna wait 'til you're done with your game. Bring me my towel, jackass!" "That's no way to talk to someone who has the power to either bring you or not bring you your towel. You can always come in here and get it," Matt taunted me.

Fuck. "Fine, I'll wait here patiently 'til your game is over. Just please bring me my towel soon."

A few minutes later, I heard Matt's voice outside the bathroom door. I cracked it open and peered out at him. He was standing about six feet away from me, holding my folded towel. "Here you go," he smiled smugly at me, barely making an attempt to entend his arm. "My arms aren't that long, Matt. Please bring it to me," I reached my hand out, hiding my naked body behind the door. "No, you can meet me halfway," Matt teased.

I found myself getting so undeniably wet at this. I couldn't understand it. How was it that Matt, who was clearly very disturbed and also a fucking asshole, had me sexually excited over the fact that he was trying to humiliate me and see me naked.

"Fuck you, Matt," I said coming out from behind the door and trying to snatch the towel from him. He held it up in the air out of my reach. "You're such a dick, you know that? What? Is this what you wanted to see?" I said, giving up on getting the towel back and gesturing towards my body.

Matt couldn't help but to glance up and down my body and nibbled on his lip as he tried his hardest to contain his grin. "Why the fuck would I wanna see that? You're the one basically throwing yourself at me," Matt handed me my towel, winked at me, and walked away.

"Where did you put my clothes, Matt?" I said, wrapping my towel around me. "What clothes?" He rolled his eyes at me. "Not fucking funny. The only clothes that I have that are clean right now. Give them to me," I demanded. "No, I think you look better in that towel," he smiled at me.

"Perv," I called him. "I might be a perv, but you like it," he responded. "No, I don't," I quickly answered. "There's only one way for me to find out," Matt looked at me with a dark look in his eyes. "I bet you're wet right now, because you're a little whore, and you love being teased and showing off your body."

"I am not!" I argued back. "Let's make this interesting. Prove it to me, and if you're telling the truth and you're not wet, I'll do whatever you want," Matt said, "and if I'm right and you are wet down there, then you have to let me eat you out."

"Oh my god you're so gross, Matt," I pushed him back gently. "What do you want if you win our little game?" Matt replied. "You have to be nice to me for a month," I stated, "and you have to give me my clothes you took and finish the rest of my laundry while I go home and enjoy the rest of my night alone."

"Okay, deal," Matt said, reaching for the bottom of my towel and slowly pushing it up. I wasn't a religious person, but in that moment, I prayed that I wasn't wet enough for Matt to be able to tell. I bit my lip and held back a moan as he brushed his finger between my folds.

"Wow, naughty girl. You are wet," Matt observed. "Fuck you, Matt," I answered, my face reddening. "I knew you were touching yourself in the shower," he whispered back, continuing to run his fingers over my wetness. "No, I swear, I really wasn't," I responded, slowly losing my focus as Matt played with me.

"You mean, you got this wet and you didn't even touch yourself? You really are turned on, you dirty little whore," Matt growled back to me. "I hate it when you call me that," I moaned.

"You hate it? Your wet pussy is telling me otherwise," Matt teased me. "Sorry, correction, I fucking hate you," I lashed out. "I think you fucking love to hate me," Matt said, tilting my chin up with his finger. I pushed him again. I watched as something in his demeanor changed, the way his features darkened and became more serious.

He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder while my towel barely clung to my body. I protested and started hitting his back as he carried me into his room, but I secretly couldn't wait for him to have his way with me.

part two posted here 💖

#sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #Spotify #ariestrxsh #hatef--k

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aloneelunare · 6 months ago

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i'm starting to suspect that i'm mostly writing to myself. i've been thinking about you these past few days. i am very surprised to find out that i still yearn for something that never even happened. what if? what if i wasn't afraid? what if i had more control? what if i just decided to give it a try? i am not being arrogant when i say that you would take me back if i come back to you. but she was right. what made me walk away was that i couldn't control you. i wanted it my way. i wanted you to be there when i needed you. but that was never gonna happen. "you know i cant' stay" so, what are the benefits of going home? warm bed, warm food and someone to hold at night? does she know? i bet she does. and i bet she just turns her eyes to the other side. she shuts her ears. despite everything, she knows you will always return back home. i wanted to feel the rush. the adrenaline to be seen with you. they actually asked me about you. i didn't even bother to explain. you were nothing. that's why i moved on too quickly. but i touched you. i did it because i knew since i woke up that day that i would do it. i wanted you. then your phone rang and the world collapsed. i am not even sure it was her. i don't know why i have convinced myself it was. that's the story i always tell. but i was far too drunk to actually remember. all i know is that you wanted to ran away after you answered that call. it wasn't too late. i'm trying to gather up the clues. i think i'm remembering you right now because i ran out of fantasies. i hate the father of my child because now i can see the light of our situation. he grosses me out and now i don't ever want him back. i will never forgive him. then i think about the guy before him and i'm just bored. now, he's the one that i could forgive. he's the one that i would accept. but he has to love me the way i always wanted and i know that's not in his heart. i remember how he didn't even held me when i was cold. he just wanted my warmth when no one else could see us. i do not actually want him back either. i think about the first man ever and i want him miles and miles away from me. i don't ever want to be who i was when i was with him. i'm not the best yet, but i was the worst when he was around. he's so far away from my fantasies because i might just secretly still hate him for all the damage he caused. finally, i think about the current guy. poor him. i think it's the best if i don't ever talk to him again in my whole life. if i just, disappear. he won't miss me. maybe i will get another text at 3am at the morning. but that's just about it. i'm trying to figure out if the jacket it's just an excuse to go out and have some closure. i swear on my life i never wanted to leave shit at his apartment. should i go back to get it? who the fuck knows. he helped me get through you. but since this castle it's crumbling, i find myself remembering you. making memories of the things i wanted from you. i'm so bored that i dream of a life we never had. i don't know how to go to sleep without any of this. every single one of you has been my escape. when life gets too grey, one of you is there to save me. so i have to learn to stand on my own. either i accept a lifeless life or move on to something actually enriching and interesting. can't keep depending of your drugs. the effects never lasts and i end up with so many withdrawals. you all see me lonely and vulnerable. that's why you all pick me apart. once you get a piece of cake, you walk away. and i hate it because it's true. i am lonely. i am very vulnerable. sometimes i don't want to stop being like that because it's what i had know for my whole life. bu i do wish people would stop noticing it.

#letters to no one

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joyboythehopepunk · 1 year ago

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desire

i havent had sex in a really long time. for multiple reasons.

i have two stds. herpes and hpv. theyre relatively benign and certainly common. luckily we may be closer than not to eradicating stds, the common cold, and even cancer. it may happen in my life time.

i don't have a high body count. i've been with a handful of women. i tried to suck a dick when i was in highschool but it felt gross and weird.

to this day i have a strange relationship with my bisexuality. it is more like my attraction to men and cocks is a kink or fantasy-only thing.

i don't feel that way about women and pussy at all though.

when i think about women... all sorts of things rise to the surface. first are pain and regret. the next is yearning and desire. within all of that is fear. fear because i have never been loved properly. fear because i always get hurt instead. fear because i am unsure if .. if i am capable of love. because i have never been able to receive or return it.

well. that isn't entirely true. i am certainly able to give love. even in healthy ways.

but i do not trust people. i cannot trust people. to stay. to give me love. to understand me. and of course.. everyone is insecure. but rejection sensitivity dysphoria is a more apt description of what i experience.

and then ... people prove me right. and im ashamed of how i acted. all i want is love. yet.. my experiences in this world make it seem like it is not for me. like what i am looking for doesn't exist.

what is the point of bearing my soul like this? i can no longer hold its contents. and that is all.

and perhaps that is why no one stays. not because i am a bad person. or too depressed. not because i am complex. but because they see the burden i bear and want no part of it.

i have held up well until the last few years. but i've burnt out badly in that time. i've healed a lot in that time.

for some reason.. the more i heal.. the less i seem to feel. the less things affect me. the more detached i am. i am .. technically happier. but i wonder if my love will be dulled like everything else? everything used to feel.. much more intense. and now it is like.. the nerves have been fried.

but i do enjoy life a lot more now. not worrying so much. not being in so much pain. or at least not such acute pain.

at this rate i will become even further removed from humanity. and how will i find the love i seek then? even if i love and accept myself.. what i'm looking for is definitely outside of me. and it seems it is something i cannot use magic for. (because that turns out horribly for me)

well. at least this is out now. i hope i find the woman who can love me. and who i can love. outside and in.

#trans #voidpunk #single #loner

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commonwealthoccurences · 1 year ago

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Back To Eden - ch5

Summary: Sole is a journalist and independent investigator who worked with the famous Detective Nick Valentine before the bombs dropped. They stumble out of Vault 111 with hazy memories of a case gone awry, a sense of desperate yearning, and the bitter experience of already having had to fight for their life to survive against the odds. What's a little nuclear wasteland to a (newly) seasoned investigator?

See masterlist for warnings.

Fic-long tags: Hurt comfort, angst, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), etc etc.

Sole had a hard time talking for a few days after that. There was a certain numbness that overtook them rather quickly. They found themself avoiding glances at the outside world whenever the door opened and they often laid with their back to the rest of the room; they simply faced the dirty wall and started listlessly or slept.

Which, they supposed, was okay. Their body needed rest, especially after they dragged their way to the back of the house to get Preston that key. He hadn’t opened it yet, according to Sturges, who often gave little settlement updates to their back whenever he came in to check on them. Apparently, he wanted Sole to be there; he still felt they had some ownership over the food and it wouldn’t feel right otherwise. Sturges had expressed once, under his breath, that Preston was too good of a man to have come from the wasteland.

The word had slipped out and Sole knew he hadn’t meant for them to hear the comment at all, but they’d fixated on it. The wasteland. That’s what Boston was now, and the rest of the world, too. Just a wasteland. They weren’t sure if they considered themself lucky in the fact that most of their memory from stumbling home had vanished. All they remembered was those brambles, everything else was a blur of shapes, nausea, and cold.

Sole thought about Nick Valentine a lot in those days they spent mentally isolating themself. They also thought about their parents a lot, about the fact that they hadn’t had much contact after college, but the loss still stung. They thought about the younger woman who managed the local Slocum Joe’s– she often gave Sole a free coffee when they worked on their articles in her shop. Their heart ached, far more than their muscles had. They’d lost everything. They’d never see that life again.

“No you– hold it like this. Move your thumb– not there. You’ve never held a gun before, have you?” Detective Valentine asked, hands on his hips.

Sole laughed and looked at the pistol in their hands. “Once, when I was six. My dad thought it would be a great idea to teach us, so he took us to the range. I fired it once and cried until we left and the entire car ride home.”

“Uh-huh. Explains why you’re an independent investigator and not a cop.” The last part was muttered under his breath, but didn’t go unheard.

“Watch it, Detective, that’s a can of worms you and I don’t want to open.”

“Of course. Now– what are you doing with your foot? I don’t think I’ve ever even seen someone stand like that before.”

Sole sighed and readjusted their stance until they got a half-pleased nod of assent from the Detective. They were watching him actively struggle with the urge to just jump in and adjust the way they were doing everything himself, but it was sort of an unspoken standoff. Sole wasn’t about to ask him to, and they didn’t think he would voice the request. “Okay. Place your finger on the trigger, but don’t squeeze yet.”

They complied, but felt a gross chill crackle its way down their spine. As he’d previously instructed, Sole took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an attempt to settle their nerves. “Good.” The Detective said quietly. “Now look where you’re aiming and when you’re ready, squeeze the trigger.”

For a few seconds, Sole simply stared forward at the target, eyes locked with the bullseye. Then, they squeezed, and the resulting BAM made them jump out of their skin. Quickly, they placed the gun down and raised their hands. “I hate it.”

Detective Valentine was obviously suppressing a laugh, and if Sole wasn’t so uncomfortable from shooting, they would’ve felt a bit smug at being able to make him laugh. Instead, they gave him their best attempt at a withering look. “I’m trying!”

“I know, I know, it was a… good attempt.” Sole could tell he was doing his best to be genuine, but noticed he swiftly turned away under the guise of pressing the button to push their target to the front.

Sole mimicked his earlier posture, putting their hands on their hips. “Am I blind, where’s the hole?”

The Detective leaned over to them. “I’m impressed, Sole.”

“What? Why?”

“You completely missed.”

Sole groaned. “You’ll get the hang of it. Come on, I’ll help this time.” The Detective offered.

Sole assumed their best approximation of the stance they had before, but Detective Valentine shook his head. “Here,” he said quietly, moving into their space behind them, “You need to keep your arms like this and your knees like this. Make sure you’re prepared for the recoil this time. Okay, breathe.”

Considering how close he was, it was a bit difficult to follow up on that last instruction. Taking a deep breath was nearly a mistake; the smell of cigarettes overwhelmed them, and while they didn’t mind the scent– they had become very familiar with it over the last three weeks– it was more than distracting. “Alright. Fire.”

Sole complied easily, squeezing the trigger with less hesitation than they’d had before, though they still screwed up their face in discomfort. It definitely helped to have the Detective there to handle the recoil. When they released the breath they took, Detective Valentien patted them on the arm and moved away. “See, you hit the target this time. You’ll get the hang of it.”

While Sole wasn’t pleased to spend the next two hours practicing their aim, they knew it was important. The Detective was right, when he said it was their job to have his back. It was his job, too, to have their back, but they weren’t worried about that. It was unfair for the Detective to have such an uneven dynamic and if something happened to him because they couldn’t do their job, they would never forgive themself.

Sole remembered that day clearly– doing target practice and hand-to-hand with Valentine. It was one of the first solid days that they’d spent together outside of paperwork and the bullshit that the BPD was throwing at them. Suddenly, they felt ridiculous, especially as they remembered their last memory they had with the Detective. He’d taught them so much just to keep them both alive in the face of the danger they had willingly put themselves in. He was the reason they were still around and it almost felt that to give up was to spit in his face. So when Sturges came in to check on them that day, they asked, “Would you mind if I sat outside for a bit?”

“Oh! Yeah, ‘course. We got one of those chairs with wheels from next door just in case you asked. It won’t be the most comfortable, but it’ll have to do.” Sturges was clearly pleasantly surprised as he busied himself with medical supplies Sole had no clue about.

They’d had many salves and bandages pressed over blistered skin and injections– Stimpacks, he’d called them– and creams that tried to fix their damaged blood vessels, different parts of them warmed and cooled, the feeling restored in different limbs and then taken away and restored again. They’d honestly lost track of everything that’d been done to them as they slept away the days in an attempt to rest. Sturges had said that was their one job, that sleeping was their way to heal their body, but it hadn’t been something they tried for. The exhaustion often crept up on them when they least expected it and they were out like a light within minutes.

Sole hadn’t complained a bit about all of the medical antics, though. Slowly but surely their persistent pains eased off into muscle aches, the blisters healed, their eyesight went back to normal, and the antagonistic itching that followed their damaged blood vessels dissipated– for now. What they were left with was a ridiculous amount of muscle weakness that Sturges informed them would be resolved with use, some balance issues, and the occasional migraine. Sure, it sucked, but in the grand scheme of things, they were damn lucky.

They waited quietly, patiently, for Sturges to walk next door and drag the chair over. They could’ve sworn they had their own office chair, well, in their office before the bombs went off, but then again a lot could change in two hundred years. And change it had.

When Sturges made it back, which he did rather quickly, he had Preston in tow along with the discussed chair. Sole cocked their head to the side, confused as to why they needed Preston. “Oh, don’t look at me. He saw me and asked for an update and y’know. Wanted to supervise.” Sturges chuckled and set the chair down next to them before moving to help them sit up.

“Does he hover like a worried mother duck around everyone or am I just that special?” Sole’s teasing was lighthearted and they made sure to flash Preston a grin to show it.

“Oh, that’s his job. You get used to it.”

“I think it’s nice. I may not know much about the world anymore but good people are good people, and from what I heard we’re now in short supply.”

“Well, you’re right about that.”

Preston supervised from the corner as Sturges helped Sole ease from their bed into the chair, pausing every few movements to let them catch their breath and soothe their aches. On the biggest movement, when Sturges had to practically lift them to actually get them into the chair, they saw Preston take a half-step forward, ready to jump in if needed. Once they were sat back and breathing hard from the exertion, he relaxed. “Just, uh, give me a minute. Feels like I aged every one of those two hundred years.” Sole gasped.

“Take your time.” Sturges said quietly.

Sole gave themself a minute to catch their breath and get comfortable, or as comfortable as they could manage. Eventually, they put their feet on the base of the chair. “Alright, let’s go, now or never.”

When Sole had emerged from the vault, they had no sense of dread or apprehension. They had no idea what was waiting for them on the other side– hell, they were barely conscious and functioning. Now it felt like they were finally facing the cards they had been dealt. Reluctantly and bitterly, sure, but they were facing it as Preston grasped the doorknob and began swinging the door open as Sturges pushed them closer. The post-apocalyptic apprentice doctor and his… General? And Sole. The survivor of a nuclear apocalypse and a roughly 226 year old one at that.

“Oh, c’mon old man, is that the best you’ve got?”

Sole was getting cocky and they knew it, but they didn’t care. At Detective Valentine’s insistence they were in the gym on a mat, finally going toe-to-toe in a little lighthearted practice fighting. Well, it had been lighthearted at first. Sole had always been a competitive person and the Detective was not taking kindly to being shown up for the first time ever by them, but they were exhilarated. Finally, they were good at something. Finally, they were actually better than him at something. Every duck and jab reaffirmed that they had a reason to be there, even though they felt like they were floundering in the field.

“Old man? Really? Am I even that much older than you?” The Detective rolled his eyes, but never fell out of his defensive stance.

Sole looked for an opening and saw none. They faked a punch and immediately went for the resulting weakness his defensive movement provided, but the Detective was quick on his feet despite being tired from their antics. They laughed, breathless. There was something about this that was unraveling all of the tension from the past handful of weeks. They were on even ground. Sole was holding their own.

The round of sparring lasted for several more creeping minutes until Sole finally got their chance and managed to sweep his feet out from under him. The Detective hit the mat with a soft oof and Sole didn’t hesitate to drop down next to him, exhausted but satisfied with the day’s events. Heavy breathing filled the silence of the room; it was nearly two in the morning and it had long been vacated, but apparently the Detective knew the owner. Sole hadn’t been surprised. “You did good today.” He said, between panting breaths.

“Thanks.”

Despite the comforting wear in their muscles and the sleepiness in their bones, the discomfort set back in the longer they were left unoccupied with catching their breath their only task. Sole squirmed a bit, unable to settle with the layer of sweat that had coated their skin. “Detective–”

“Nick. Or Valentine. Whichever.”

“Oh.”

A moment of silence.

“Uh, Nick…”

“Yeah?”

“I– this won’t sound rational, and I know that’s kind of what we’re supposed to do. Well, what you’re supposed to do– I’m new here, so I guess I get a pass. Anyway, I– I don’t know how to explain it but I just have a really bad feeling about Grayson.”

Dete– Nick shifted, too, from the sounds that Sole heard, but they didn’t look over at him. They waited, tense, to be ridiculed. They knew it was illogical. They didn’t have a reason, other than just not getting a good feeling from the guy and the weird thing he said to them in the elevator, but still. Something was up with him. Sole couldn’t say for sure that that was their guy, but there was definitely something wrong there.

“On the record I will tell you as your partner that we will follow the book and look for the evidence, but unfortunately we cannot keep a man detained due to a gut feeling, and that if nothing comes up we’ll simply release and keep an eye on him.”

“... and off the record?”

Valentine sighed. “Off the record, I would agree with you. Somethin’ isn’t right.”

Sole flinched away from the sudden influx of light as the door opened. Even though there were plenty of flaws in their house now, Sturges had made an attempt to seal it up to the point that they had forgotten it was summer. Something about that was so uncomfortable. Falling asleep when it was autumn, nearly winter, and waking up when it’s summer. Sole suppressed a gasp.

The neighborhood, as expected, was absolutely destroyed. No, that wasn’t true. They saw other settlers, the people from Preston and Sturge’s little clan that they hadn’t met yet, doing their absolute best to put it back together. Someone was hammering away at the house across the street, turning the rust and blue shell into a patchwork quilt of a shelter. Someone else was hard at work planting or harvesting some sort of gourd they had never seen before.

It was hard to see the progress, the survival and determination, past what Sole could only absorb as the wreckage of everything they knew. They knew the people that had lived across from them. They knew what the wife cooked for breakfast every morning (omelets for the adults, pancakes for the kids) and what her husband’s engine sounded like when he left for work (loud, at 5 am no less)and what time their twin boys left for baseball practice (3:30 PM). And now they were gone and no one knew.

And Sole was left with a fierce battle going on between the two halves of their brain and heart. They couldn’t see the point in going on when everything had crumbled while they were away. The neighbors across the street and the man next door and every person they had ever met was gone and all they had left to grasp at were memories and grief. And the heartbreaking thing was, they didn’t even know these people all that well. It was just the little things that made them know them, the things they never thought important. But their old life had slipped out of their grasp and suddenly the sound of that engine was so unbelievably important and 3:30 in the afternoon would never be the same.

But the last thing Sole was was a quitter. They’d fought to get to where they were before the War and they fought to survive everything that had gone down after… and they almost had. They were working on surviving that. And then the bombs started dropping and they couldn’t reach Nick over the phone in time and they were underground and they never got the chance to say goodbye. To him or to anyone.

And then they were here. On their front porch on the other side of the end of the world. And Preston placed his hand on their shoulder and asked in that soft tone he liked to use with them, “Would you like to go back inside?” And they realized they were crying again.

“No. No I– I think I’d like to just sit a while, if that’s okay.”

So Preston leaned back against one of the supports of their awning, his ridiculous looking gun propped up over one shoulder and his hat tilted forward to keep the sun out of his eyes. Sturges sat at the stoop, by their feet. Some of the other people from their group greeted the pair as they walked past, and a few even occasionally said hello to Sole. They weren’t quite sure if they said hello back, but the intention was there.

The sun crept forward into the sky as the minutes ticked into hours. Preston left eventually; he had things to do and a settlement to run– well, try to set up. But Sturges simply shifted in place every now and then to stay comfortable, and didn’t say a word. That is, until Sole finally piped up. “Sturges?”

“Yeah?”

“Does, uh– there used to be a small river, where the bridge leads to Sanctuary, there was a river underneath. I just– is it still there? Does the river still run?”

“Yeah, Sole. The river still runs, it’s still there.”

“The river still runs. And I’m still here.”

Sturges reached up and patted them on the knee. His expression was one they’d grown familiar with, a sort of warm sadness. The river still ran. There were people there, right in front of them, and they were fighting for their lives. They were running out of food and Sole had the key tucked into their pocket. “Sturges?”

“Yeah, Sole?”

“Can you take me to the bunker? Please.”

He turned and looked at them. Not a quick glance, but a bit of a non-judgemental stare, like he was studying them. And the warm sadness turned into a soft grin and he nodded, “Yeah, alright. Let’s go crack that thing open, shall we?”

A/N: There may not be an update for a hot minute as I finish up finals week and work on other important things I have going on. It shouldn't be too long though and I'll try to get another chapter out before the end of the week!

#back to eden #fallout 4 fanfiction #nick valentine #preston garvey #sturges #gender neutral sole survivor #hurt comfort #slow burn

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