#like why do thumbnails look fucking sticky now

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Eleven

The beeping is driving him kind of crazy. It’s familiarity an uncomfortable reminder. He’s tried pulling the sticky thing off but that just made a bunch of people come running, and then he got a professional explanation as to why he’s a moron, and not to touch the equipment.

That just leaves him here, languishing. His head is pounding, his mouth feels like some rough assed creature rolled around in there and then took a dump on the way out. He keeps running his tongue along the back of his teeth, they’re furry, and there’s a new little chip off one of the bottom ones. Eddie investigated it with his fingers, so he knows it’s tiny. Feels massive when he finds it with his tongue though, physically unable to make himself leave it alone.

He doesn’t remember doing it. Might have happened when he was drunk.

Might have happened in the bathroom, when he was done shoving stuff up his nose, he's pretty sure he fell over.

Might have happened when they had to shove the tube in.

He doesn’t know, but it’s no ones fault but his own.

Chrissy comes in carrying a coffee. One coffee. Nothing for Eddie. She sits and sips at it, not saying a word.

Her eyes are still red rimmed, bags under them from being up all night.

Truly, Eddie is the greatest waste of space on the planet. Someone should just ditch him off a cliff and have done with it.

Chrissy sighs, giving up on whatever she was doing on her phone, she holds it between laced fingers instead, clasped hands dangling between her knees. She stares off into space.

She still hasn’t looked at him.

Eddie guesses he deserves that.

There’s nothing he can ever say to make this any better.

Eddie’s being discharged in the next hour or so. He’s pretty sure he’s done. His career was hanging by a thread; the label won’t tolerate such a massive screw up. Eddie doesn’t really care about that stuff; he cares about the guys. He cares he might not get to write for the band any more.

He finds himself suddenly desperate to write again. He figures he must suddenly have something to say. He was angry with himself, in the face of Chrissy’s tears, but anger is a hot emotion, it burns bright and takes a lot of energy to maintain.

Self loathing, apparently, is low maintenance and Eddie feels like he could keep that up indefinitely.

His throat hurts, and all Chrissy has allowed him is ice chips to suck on.

He doesn’t expect Steve to turn up. Doesn’t know what to do when, at the sound of a knock on the open door, he looks up and finds Steve standing there.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, but Steve comes in anyway. Sits himself in the seat next to Eddie’s bed. It feels like a small, dumb thing to worry about, but Eddie has never liked rocking the hospital gown of shame; he likes it even less right now.

“Why did you do it?”

Eddie shrugs. Looks at his own hands. He had a couple of rings on, before. They’re gone now. Eddie’s been too frightened of what Chris will say if he asks for them back. He picks at his thumbnail instead.

“Because I said no to coffee?”

Eddie does his best to make a dismissive noise, but his voice is croaky and fucked from the tube. It hurts to swallow, and Eddie feels like he has to force it.

“Don’t lie,” Steve says quietly, ��this is exactly why I said no. Because of this.”

Eddie makes another ‘pffft’ noise, or at least, tries too. “Because I’m an unstable drug addicted alcoholic-”

“No. Because you’re not ready. Eddie, I said no to coffee, and you’re in the hospital, what if we got together, and then broke up. How well do you think that would go, exactly?”

Eddie curls his hands up, staring at them, shamefaced. It feels like he’s being eaten alive by it, feels like he’s dirty and used up inside and the darkness of guilt and shame and worthlessness is going to crawl out of him and eat him whole. Steve's words gnaw at him, painful. They could have had something, and now Eddie's fucked it up before it started.

“How did you know?” Eddie looks up, everything a little misty. He seems to cry at fucking everything. Wet and pathetic and not like he used to be. He never used to be like this, before. He can’t remember ever feeling like this in his life. “How do you always know?”

Steve and his magic mind powers.

Steve sits back in the chair. Rubs at his face for a second. Watches the silent TV.

“I had rich parents,” Steve starts, speaking quietly. He pauses, then continues, but it’s halting. It’s the first time Eddie’s thought Steve sounded uncertain about anything, “big empty house. They were away all the time, especially once I was kind of old enough to be left. My place was where the party was at. I was drinking every Saturday by the time I was seventeen. Then every Friday and Saturday. Then Sunday afternoons. Then Thursday too. It was every day before I realized, and I graduated by the skin of my teeth. It got worse at college. The partying. Started to realize if I was going to keep up I needed something to pick me up a little, get me going in the morning so I could make it to class. Pills first, when I was partying, then other stuff. I flunked out pretty fast. Parents put me through rehab once, but the second I was back at college I relapsed. Couldn’t seem to help myself. The second time they put me through, they disowned me right after, and that was the end of college too. It was...bleak. For a while. But that's how I always know; I know how you think, because I used to be the same.”

That hangs. It hangs for a long time, like Steve’s memories are lingering in the room with them. Eddie feels like he should apologize, but he doesn’t know how.

He’s pretty sure it wouldn’t be worth anything, anyway.

He desperately wants to write; feels even more that if he doesn’t get this bubbling overwhlem of emotions out of himself somehow he’s going to end up plastering the walls when he finally explodes.

Steve stands, finally, and Eddie’s eyes are automatically drawn up to him. Steve leans forward, his hand in Eddie’s nasty hair. His big hand gripping and cradling Eddie’s entire head. Steve leans down, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. It’s warm, soft, and Eddie’s eyes slide closed and his hands lie limp and useless on the hospital blanket covering his lap.

“Remember, it’s what you do now that matters,” Steve whispers into Eddie’s hair.

He doesn’t expect the tug, but he’s limp and washed out feeling, knowing now the weight of everything Steve went though. Everything unsaid. Absent parents and missing out on whatever it was he wanted to pursue at college. Bleak, Steve had said. The word carries a lot of weight, coming from Steve. Eddie has no doubt he’s severely understating.

Eddie’s head moves with Steve’s hand, his eyes are still closed when Steve’s lips move to Eddie’s mouth.

It’s not like anything he imagined. It’s devastating. Steve kisses like he’s pouring his everything into Eddie.

Like he’s angry.

Like he’s frustrated that Eddie fucked this up for both of them.

Steve’s kisses are bitey and it won’t be until later that Eddie will finally have the wherewithal to be surprised that nurses didn’t come running considering how fast the monitor is beeping.

Steve doesn’t ask permission, he sucks on Eddie’s lip so hard it hurts, and when Eddie’s mouth opens on a pained gasp, Steve’s tongue invades with no hesitation. His hand is tight in Eddie’s hair; Eddie can’t move an inch as Steve holds him where he wants him, Eddie’s scalp stinging.

Steve’s kisses are an argument that Steve’s already won.

By the time Eddie manages to blink his eyes open, Steve’s already gone.

The guys all have some sort of cocktail, Eddie doesn’t say anything. It means Eddie’s drink looks exactly the same, which doesn’t bother Eddie, hasn't for a long time, but if it makes everyone else feel better, then he’ll go along with it.

They’re all celebrating; drinks in the back of a limo on the way to the airport feels a little gauche celebrity to Eddie, but the guys are giddy with the excitement of success and it feels just a little contagious, even to Eddie, who always sidelines himself from that kind of celebrating. Feels like he's kind of allergic to it all now, knows instinctively that it might poison him again.

Chrissy squeezes his hand on the seat, hidden from where the guys can see, but he knows what it means. Well done. I’m proud of you. I’m unbelievably fucking relieved you’ve held your shit together for a whole tour.

That kind of thing.

Eddie kind of likes flying. Well, he doesn’t like the idea of flying commercial. Eddie likes the comfort of the private jet, of course he does. No, the reason Eddie kind of likes flying is because he can’t really do anything for the next seven hours.

He has a book with him. He has his note books. He has a pen.

The low rumble of the jet is his companion, and all he can see is bright white clouds beneath them so there’s nothing to distract him there. Eddie writes.

He scribbles things out. He changes the order. He...nudges things along until the tune presents itself. And it does. It almost always does.

He hands one off; it’s not complete, but it’s complete enough that the guys should look. He listens with his eyes closed as the music is hummed, Gareth pacing up and down the wide isle.

Eddie half sings the words under his breath to match.

It sounds pretty good. A little janky maybe, but still. A solid start.

“Nearly got enough for another album,” Jeff tells him.

Eddie blinks his eyes open again, “yeah? That one okay?”

They say no just as often as they say yes now. Eddie doesn’t mind. He understands why half his stuff ends up back in the notebook. He agrees with their judgement. Some of what he writes now is different than it used to be, before everything.

“Yeah man,” Gareth tells him, “it’s great.”

Gareth and Jeff share a look, sliding into the seats opposite Eddie’s table. Eddie shuffles his things, moving some of his scrappy paperwork out of their way. Something is coming, Eddie can read them.

They’re definitely about to say something.

“You know those tunes you’ve written,” Gareth nods at Eddie’s notebook.

“The rejects,” Eddie confirms lightly.

Jeff rolls his eyes, “you know it’s not because they’re bad.”

Eddie knows. Eddie privately thinks some of it is the best stuff he’s ever written. But the guys almost immediately picked the first one out as ‘not their kind of thing,’ and since then Eddie’s had a pretty much fifty fifty pass fail rate with his songs. “I know...they just don’t sound like Corroded Coffin.”

“No...they don’t. But we’ve been talking,” a little curl of apprehension forms, because those words never seem to precede anything good, “and we thought you might have enough of that stuff for a double album by now.” He probably does. He nods, not sure where this is going.

Chrissy had suggested to him, once, that he make the tunes available to other artists. Ones whose style is better suited to the music. At least get it out there, and then just get the royalties, like a proper, grown up song writer. The thought of it had been physically uncomfortable to Eddie. These are his tunes, his music, and they...mean something to him that they never ever could to anyone else. The thought of letting someone else perform them feels gross.

“Anyway, if you want, we thought we’d do something with them.”

“Do what with them?” Eddie frowns, not understanding.

“Well...kind of like a Corroded Coffin unplugged, kind of thing. Or maybe like...just under your name, and we could still play for the recording, kind of thing. Just release the record as is. Or you know, get some other people in on it, there’s plenty out there who have wanted to collaborate. You know some of them would fall over themselves for a chance at guest performance.”

Eddie shuffles his papers, appreciates what the guys are saying, “can I think about it a minute?”

“Sure,” Gareth smiles big, “you know Chris will support you.”

And considering everything they’ve been through, Eddie knows without a doubt that she will.

Eddie shuffles though the rejects. It’s an affectionate name that he mostly never says aloud. He checks them over, makes sure they’re complete. Thinks about if he’d really like to hear them being performed.

He must do, really, since he’s confidently handed every one of them to the guys at some point to see if they liked them or not. If they'd pass muster, then the next thing along would have been to try performing them. That’s the workshop stage. The part where the guys wade in on the final polish. The listen back.

These never made it, so other than tinkling out on his acoustic, Eddie’s never heard any of them for real.

He could. He could now.

Eddie’s no stranger to bearing his soul in the form of his music.

Without really thinking about it, Eddie realizes he’s organized them into the order he’d like to see them on the back of an album cover.

He wonders what Steve would think of this album, if he ever heard it.

“Okay, yeah, I’m in. For the,” Eddie gestures at his scrappy notes, “you know.”

“Eddie, that’s amazing!” Chrissy gushes a little, and suddenly Eddie realizes that, actually this idea might not have, entirely, come from the guys.

“I have a condition, kind of.”

“Okay?”

Eddie takes a deep breath. Steve’s words echoing, what would Dolly do? “I don’t want to make any money from this. I want to donate. All the profits. My part of the profits. I don’t know where to, but, yeah...somewhere that helps people who are,” Eddie shrugs, “you know. Struggling? With...stuff?”

Chrissy covers her mouth with her hand for a second, her eyes already looking suspiciously wet. She’s hugging him, hard and tight, sniffling, “of course we can do that,” right in Eddie’s ear.

“Me too,” Jeff says, “so, two thirds profit.”

“Obviously I’m in, all profits get donated.”

Eddie watches them over Chrissy’s shoulder, “you guys don’t have to.”

Jeff shrugs, “the fuck else we going to do with it? You seen the houses we already live in, right? Gareth’s got six cars.”

Eddie snorts a laugh.

[slormp]

damn youtube is ugly

[querenciasturniolo]

Can you do a story with Matt where they get into an argument and in the end there’s an happy ending?

sorry ⮕ m.s.

word count: 360

warnings: swearing, arguing, kissing

summary: request

a/n: this is SUPER short but i have such a hard time writing an argument when i can’t think of a reason they argued, but it kind of worked out in my favor 😭 i hope this is okay 🤞🏻💓

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

You glared at the side of his head, anger and frustration flooding your veins.

“God, why are you like this?” You asked, Matt whipping his head to face you.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He asked.

You had your thumbnail between your teeth, trying to keep yourself from saying anything else.

“Oh, how convenient, you’re not talking now.” He grumbled. You scoffed and whipped your head around. You were pissed, but looking into his eyes, you couldn’t remember why. You knew you had a good reason, but looking at his annoyed face, you couldn’t help but shake your head and look down. The frustration was still coursing through you, the annoyed energy from Matt was only fueling your fire.

“No, please, tell me what’s going on. Let’s fix this.” He said. You sighed and looked up at him, your eyes scanning his face. They stopped on his mouth, whipped cream from the breakfast food in front of him resting on his cupid’s bow. You snorted, fighting the smile on your face as you met his eyes.

He blinked, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” He asked, your laughter bubbling out of you as you shook your head and reached your hand up.

“How am I supposed to be mad at you when you look like a dork?” You asked, swiping your thumb over his lip and wiping the whipped cream off of him.

Matt rolled his eyes, the annoyed gesture being completely contradicted by the smile on his face. “Why were we arguing?” He asked, his eyes meeting yours.

You thought for a moment, the tension from before completely gone from your body. You shook your head. “You know, I have no idea. But I’m sorry.” You said, guilt slightly sinking your stomach.

Matt leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and pulled back with a smile. You could taste the syrup and whipped cream, your mouth sticky as you smiled back up at him. He always knew how to distract you from beating yourself up about things, and you loved him for it.

“I’m sorry, too. For whatever it was we argued about.”

tags: @strniolo , @ssturniolo , @thetriplets3 , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @dwntwn-strnlo , @tylerscreat0r , @toyourloves , @lvrsparadise , @tuktuk34 , @angelcake-222 , @20nugs

[dalidahmer]

My trash ass manuscript no one will ever read

Here's my piece of shit story everyone hates that'll never get picked up by fucking anything. Go. I put it up for free cause I can't fucking pay people to read my work.

They had driven for four hours, and Sid still hadn't spoken.

The heat blasted through the car, making Sid sticky and light-headed under his coat.

He drank water instead of taking it off or turning the heat down. He wondered if everyone almost passed out when the temperature rose or if it was a not eating thing.

Cold meant skinny. If he was hot, he was fat—and he fucking deserved it.

Nathan couldn’t take the silence. He turned on music, then one of his 'pretentious' podcasts—the kind Sid hated—just to bait him into complaining. Nothing.

“How ya holding up, baby?” Nathan side-eyed him. 

Sid shrugged without looking at him. He wasn’t... sad? He was just... Was he dreaming?

When Nathan pulled into a gas station, Sid considered stripping naked and robbing it—just to see if he’d snap out of it.

"Dude. You're starting to freak me out." Nathan popped a piece of nicorette as he climbed back into the car. He handed him more water. "Just show me that you can still talk."

Sid blinked and curled his fingers around the bottle, facing forward.

“... I got one of those 0 calorie drinks you like.” Nathan coaxed. “I know… you probably don’t– It’s okay if you do, though! I got jerky. That’s safe, right?” He spoke like he was talking to a toddler. 

"We're in a car right now." Sid said calmly.

Nathan twisted his brows. "Yes..." He said slowly.

"We're driving because... my mom killed someone? That's really what's happening?" Sid spoke slowly.

It just didn't make sense.

Nathan sighed, relieved. He was honestly worried something had snapped in Sid's head…

“It’s a lot, I know…” Nathan said quietly and kissed the back of Sid’s hand. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

"I haven't gone crazy?" Sid's voice wavered. “This is really going on?” 

"Everything’s going to be okay." Nathan rubbed Sid's thigh.

“And I made three hundred dollars?” Sid was pointing at himself, brows furrowed. 

Nathan knew he was being serious but busted out laughing. 

Sid glared.

He grabbed Sid’s hand apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, baby…” Nathan kissed the back of his hand again. “It’s just good to see you back. I was starting to freak out.” He grinned. Sid was funnier when he didn’t mean to be. 

When they were kids being laughed at bothered him. Nathan thinks he only got funny so he could be in on the joke.

"What are we even supposed to do when we get there?" Sid spoke almost hushed and low. He wasn't devastated, he wasn't lost, he wasn't angry. 

Sid picked at the dead skin on his fingers, barely wincing as he tore it off so harshly Nathan heard the snap. It bled. He flexed his fingers—to tug at where it stung and catch the air in his sores. He wanted them to sting all day.

Nathan licked his lips. “I don’t know… I don’t–” He grimaced. “I didn’t know what to do… I don’t like Rachel but I felt like you needed to see her, so…” He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. 

Sid blinked and stared ahead absently.

Nathan frowned. “I wanna be here for you… you know you can tell me anything?”

 Sid ripped a big piece of thumbnail off exposing the painful clear-ish white part. It caught the air, shooting a nasty stinging-hot pain through his hand. Nope. He was here.

"Baby..." Nathan shrugged, swatting at Sid’s hands. "Just come here..." He pulled Sid into a hug.  

Sid accepted but didn’t understand why Nathan seemed sad. He didn’t know how he should feel either. Should he feel bad that he feels nothing?

"I can't... I just-- My mom wasn't like that. She was a lot of things, but she wasn't a murderer." 

"She's... not been herself." Nathan flashed his eyes, shaking his head.

"I half want to brag to all of my friends and half want to throw up." Sid shook his head. "I just... I can't believe it."

Nathan snorted clumsily, trying to suppress his laughter, earning another glare. "I'm so sorry, baby." He winced, sheepishly grinning. "I'm... not even half shocked..." He admitted. Honestly having expected something like this to happen.

Sid sighed. His brows furrowed. Just as soon a snort cracked through his frustration.

"It's like... at least she's not a murderer." Sid's shoulders shook. "Now her boo's all dead." Guilt stabbed at him but he couldn't help himself.

Nathan snorted and almost lost his gum. 

 "I wonder how she even did it... he was twice her size. It had to be in his sleep..." Sid winced. "This is horrible, I'm going to hell." He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"Nah, man." Nathan took his hand, kissed the back, squeezed it. “You didn’t know Henry– your mom treated you like shit, it’s okay if you’re…” He cut himself off. 

“I’m glad.” Sid whispered turning, to face Nathan and wincing. “I’m excited she’s going to jail.”  

Nathan squeezed his hand. 

“I am glad, too.” Nathan widened his eyes, nodding. “Every time we got back from the holidays I’d have a night seething about her drinking and watching old Tex Avery cartoons.”

“She just…” Sid swallowed hard and his face felt tight he shook it off. “She was a bad mom!” 

“Yeah.” Nathan said flatly. 

“I don’t want to hate her, I still love her. I’m glad she’s going away, though. I think I loved her more than she ever loved me.” Sid flinched. 

Nathan folded up the center console and pulled him in another hug. 

“Don’t be faggy!” Sid's voice was muffled in Nathan’s jacket.

“Dude. She’s all of your problems.” Nathan massaged his fingers in Sid’s hair. “She made you starve yourself, she pits us against each other, you against your sister, she’s a wicked evil force of nature you can’t even let your boyfriend hug you because she taught your emotions were wrong!”

“I don’t think it’s going to work that way.” Sid laid his cheek on his chest and sighed. “I fucking hate Dorothy, I hate her so much! Can I talk about what a stupid evil cunt she is now? I still feel ungrateful and like my sister and mom were right to hate me but–” 

Nathan growled. “Dude! That’s not you! I hate that.” He sighed. “I hate how you have to ask permission. You’re the most independent, hard headed person I’ve ever met. You don’t feel insecure about anything unless it’s fucking Dorothy and the shit she put in your head.” 

“I’m angry.” Sid said after a beat of silence. “I’m always angry, I’m so angry I can’t even stand it sometimes. The world I see from inside of my head and the world I talk to people in are so different it just–” 

He cut himself off, shaking his head. 

“It’ll get easier from here on, though.” Nathan said. 

“I’m so mad that I had to spend my whole life trying to make her reality perfect for her.” Sid shook his head tightly and spoke through his teeth. “I put in so much effort and I held so much back.” 

“I know.” Nathan grabbed his hands and held Sid’s fingers stiff before he could start picking them again.

“It was for nothing!” Sid hissed. “I didn’t think she was really evil deep down, I thought she would be on her deathbed and apologize–” Sid’s face crumpled but he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head again. 

“Shh–” Nathan wrapped his arms around him again and pressed his lips on top of his head. “You didn’t waste it if you spend the rest of your life being better than her, baby.” 

“I’m so angry!” Sid buried his face in Nathan’s jacket. “And I feel like a piece of shit for being glad when someone died, though.” Sid winced. “He was someone’s dad… I didn’t even think about it, I’m making myself think about it now, all I ever care about is how it affects me.”

“That’s how you survived with it for so long.” Nathan said gently rubbing circles on his back.

“I thought I just had to outrun being a little kooky and dramatic, I didn’t think I had…” Sid swallowed. “I didn’t think I had a murderer’s genes.”

“Shh, no. Don’t think about it! It’s not your fault.” Nathan let him pull away. “We can go get through this, okay?” He put the console back down and held Sid’s hand. “I’ll be there the whole time.”

Sid swallowed hard and nodded. “Do you think she would have killed me or my sister?” He whispered the thought. 

“If y’all were there.” Nathan’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry someone had to die, too, but…” Nathan shrugged. 

“Am I like her?” Sid winced. 

“Not in all the ways that count, I promise.” Nathan hugged him again. “You’re hard headed and I don’t think we can get the food stuff out of your brain, at least not without a lot of effort.” He kissed the top of his head. 

“Do you think I could do this?” Sid reworded the question. 

“No-No of course not.” Nathan side eyed him, but he kissed the top of his head. 

“Watch your back–” Sid’s shoulders shook. 

Nathan chuckled and squeezed him tighter. His laughter faded and he gave Sid a quick look. 

It was only long enough for Sid to barely catch it.

 “You’d never hurt anyone but yourself, baby.” Nathan nudged him, Sid laid his head on shoulder and sighed.

Sid shook his head burying his face in Nathan’s jacket. He felt foolish somehow. He thought he was smarter than Dorothy but she’s still one step ahead. 

“I haven’t seen you eat today…” Nathan pressed. 

“No.” Sid groaned. “I promise I’m nauseous for the first time in my life I honestly am not even thinking of food, seriously–”

“Dorothy didn’t have an eating disorder.” Nathan shrugged. “She… sure tried, but she loved herself too much. You’re still different.”

“I feel like I don’t have an eating disorder ninety-nine percent of the time.” Sid blurted.

Nathan sighed. “Let’s go see your sister, okay?” 

Sid nodded. He pulled away rubbing his eyes. His face kept feeling tight like he was going to cry but nothing ever came.

“Sure you don’t want any jerky?” Nathan cracked open the bag. 

“It’s too much sodium.” Sid was calculating a new diet plan. Now he really had to make sure he never turned into Dorothy. 

“Do you think she just did it because of her blood sugar? The doctors think that’s why she went DEFCON 1…” Sid started picking his skin again.  

Nathan frowned listening to Sid’s stomach growl and identified the line being drawn between hot-sick and sick-sick. But he decided not to push it right now.

“Baby, she popped pills like candy.”  He squeezed Sid’s shoulder and rubbed it up and down and kissed him. “I think you’re going to torture yourself for the rest of eternity if you keep asking why.” 

Sid nodded. Dorothy was obsessive like that, too.

Have my whole fucking manuscript for free I don't fucking care. I can't get anyone to read shit anyway. I can say whatever I want about my trash ass story cause no one fucking reads this shit:

LOL FUCKING STEAL IT LOLOLOL NO ONE WILL READ

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1fyj_bDczl4ulFiEsxL7AJ4qaiLQn0HPjUr1cPru3iEs/edit?tab=t.0

[hawkinsmafia]

𝒔𝒆𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔

featuring Gareth Emerson x oc Fox Buckley

summary: quiet little slice-of-life moment of boyfriends peeling oranges on a rooftop

rating: general (mild suggestiveness)

wc: 622

cw: just queer boys being cute :3

an: as a refresher, Fox is a trans boy with congenital hearing loss, he and Gareth have been lifelong besties, and they’re secretly dating each other in a conservative Midwestern small town in the 80s. I write Gareth as gay, and Fox would call himself pan if he had access to that terminology. YMMV, and that’s the fun of fanfic!

Gareth pressed his thumb right into the navel of the orange, punching through the peel and into the center of the pithy segments. He was carefully skinning the fruit, trying to remove the peel in one piece, when he heard the sound of an approaching skateboard coming up his driveway; a few moments later, he swore as his careful dissection skewed wildly to the left and tore off a strip of leathery peel, while sneakered feet scrabbled up the siding of the garage. He didn’t have to look up to know who was coming to join him on the roof.

“Hey, Fox,” he said aloud, giving a quick wave in his boyfriend’s direction. “How’d it go?”

Fox dropped lightly onto the asphalt shingles beside Gareth. “S’fine,” he said, shrugging. “Still kinda deaf.”

“But only kinda.”

“Only kinda. Lots of ‘raise your hand when you hear a beep’. I missed nine and heard three that weren’t there.”

“Maybe they were there but you’re the only one who can hear sounds in that register, they ever think about that?”

That made Fox chuckle, and he leaned over to rest his chin on Gareth’s shoulder, looking at his snack. “The hell are you doing to that orange, pretty boy?”

Huffing with frustration, Gareth held up the orange, slightly mutilated, and the handful of pith and peel he’d managed to pry off it. “How do you do this?!” he asked, irritated, and hurled his peels out into the air and to the grass below. “How are yours always so clean and pretty?!”

“I don’t rip into it like the orange fucked my wife, for starters.” He held out his hand, and Gareth dropped the mangled orange into his palm. “Go slow. Take your time. Be gentle.” He demonstrated as he spoke, easing up the edge of the peel that hadn’t wanted to yield to Gareth’s thumbnail, separating the clinging pith from the segment membrane without difficulty.

Gareth huffed again, and now he was the one resting on Fox’s shoulder. “So you’re saying I gotta work on my fingering game.”

A slow smile spread across Fox’s face, a petal-pink blush tinging his cheeks. “No, there’s nothing wrong with your fingering game,” he said quietly, keeping his focus on stripping Gareth’s orange and steadfastly not meeting his boyfriend’s mischievous gaze. “Your orange-peeling game is a little rough, though.”

It took no time at all and seemingly little effort before Fox held up a perfectly naked orange. Everything that had still been attached to the fruit’s flesh when it had been handed to him had come away in one solid piece, pith and all.

“Show off.” Gareth snatched the orange back and broke it into two halves, handing one to Fox. A glint of blue behind Fox’s ear caught his eye, and he used his pinkie—the only finger not yet sticky with orange guts—to tuck Fox’s brown hair out of the way. “Hey, those are new.”

“Oh, yeah, I also got another cybernetic upgrade,” Fox said before popping an orange segment into his mouth and pulling a hearing aid out from around his ear to show Gareth. It was brand new, the plastic tube still clear-ish white and the receiver a shade of pink that didn’t quite hit the mark for replicating anyone’s skin tone, and the casing for the piece that fit behind Fox’s ear was a bright, metallic blue. “The mold on the old ones didn’t fit right anymore, that’s why they were giving me so much feedback,” he explained, and began wiring himself for sound again.

“So you can hear a bird fart now, huh?”

“Yup, and you sound like you’re getting a cold, by the way.”

“What do you think the orange is for, dummy?”

[kaistarus]

Just A Line Without A Hook

Pairing: Hinata X Reader

Words: 5.9K

Summary: You and Hinata share your point-of-views during important milestones throughout your relationship.

A/N: This is a full relationship development and I’m very proud lol hopefully you can find some joy in it :3

Masterlist // Ko-Fi

Hinata was weird.

That lurked in your mind as you leaned on a conspicuously sticky bar table listening to him tell you his entire life’s story. Your original intent for the night had been to quickly pop into Yachi’s birthday party since you worked at the butt crack of dawn. Give her the present and maybe have a drink. Whatever you did it was meant to be fast.

Too bad you had never been good at sticking to plans.

“I moved to Brazil right after high school to learn beach volleyball,” Hinata said, his smile soft as he looked longingly in the distance. “But I didn’t explore as much as I should have. I really want to go back.”

“Out of high school?” You cocked your head to the side, “that’s wild. I moved to Tokyo and still felt completely out of place.”

“Well, it didn’t go too hot at first.” He scratched his cheek. “I actually got my wallet stolen my first week there…”

You fought to keep lips from pulling into a smile.

There was something in the carefree way he carried himself that made it hard to turn away. The moment Yachi introduced you there was an odd sense of comfort that washed over you. Which made no sense because you had known absolutely nothing about the guy-aside from him being a professional volleyball player and attending high school with Yachi.

Still, it was no reason to let your guard down.

“Sounds like they took advantage of the clueless foreigner,” you teased, curious butterflies tickling your abdomen when he pouted. “I’ve always thought Italy looked cool. If I could travel somewhere.”

Hinata’s lips mindlessly curved into a relaxed smile as you spoke, as if that was their default expression when not preoccupied. And it made conversation with him easy. It dissipated your usual anxieties about overthinking every action or word. You truly felt like you could be yourself and just exist within his presence.

“I have a friend in Italy!” Hinata said, elation lighting up his amber eyes. He began drawing circles in the condensation of his glass with an awkward laugh. “I think anyway. He travels all over the place, but he was in Italy last I knew.”

“That’s so cool,” your jaw went a little slack. You didn’t know people actually did stuff like that.

“Yeah Noya’s the best,” Hinata nodded resolutely. “He visited me for a while in Brazil. I taught him some Portugese and we played beach volleyball. He was so jealous everyone called me Ninja Shoyo. It was awesome.”

Hinata could speak Portugese? Ninja Shoyo?

So many questions…

“What’s a Ninja Sho-” You began until your phone lit up after receiving a message and you realized just how late it was. “Oh my god, I have to go.”

“Wait,” Hinata interrupted you mid-frantic scrabble to zip your jacket. You furrowed your brow at the smartphone he placed unlocked on the table between you. “Could I-uh-you know… talk to you again sometime?”

You blinked a few times before swiping the device off the bar’s gross table. “Yeah,” you said, a warmth you didn’t recognize filling your chest as you created your contact. “I’d like that.”

An absentminded smile painted Hinata’s face after you waved good-bye and when you stepped outside beneath the light snowfall you realized your lips were curved to match. But there was still too wide a gap between how little you knew about Hinata and how much you desired to be close to him. That new part of you burned too bright in your chest to be ignored.

And you would simply have to change that.

*******************************************************************************************

Hinata huddled in the corner of the gymnasium over his duffle bag, staring at his cellphone in case he received a last second message. His eyes flickered between the ticking clock above the bleachers and his phone’s black screen, stomach sinking as the seconds passed. He anxiously unlocked his phone to scroll through and analyze his last conversation.

Had he said something wrong? He supposed he’d never actively tried to flirt before, so it wasn’t unlikely he offended you somehow. He furrowed his brow and chewed on his thumbnail, rereading his last message. Maybe he overdid it with the emojis?

Wait, were you at work? You could also just be busy. Maybe he was just overthinking everything…

“Why are you crouched in the corner like a creep?” Atsumu crept up behind him, eyeing him suspiciously.

Hinata jumped, shoving his phone back into his duffle bag. “Nothing.”

“Bull shit. You’ve been acting off for weeks,” Atsumu squatted to Hinata’s eye-level and leaned forward with a sly grin. “Someone’s keeping secrets.”

A warmth rushed to Hinata’s face. He was a terrible liar if questioned directly. “I wouldn’t keep secrets from you guys. I mean, we’re practically family now.” he chuckled unconvincingly.

“Right,” Atsumu gave him a once-over before standing. Hinata let out a relieved sigh that he’d been spared for now.

“What’s happening over here?” Bakuto boisterously called out while skipping over to the boys. Sakusa trailed behind him with his hands shoved deep into his sweatpant’s pockets.

“Hinata’s lying out his ass.”

Hinata whipped around toward Atsumu with his jaw slack. The audacity of this guy. “I am not!”

“The guy’s zoning out at practice, making heart eyes at his phone, and fucking notre daming over his duffle?” Atsume raised his brows at Hinata. “Either he’s getting scouted for a different team or he’s dating someone.”

“You’re leaving the team?” Sakusa asked monotone, as if he couldn’t care either way. If Hinata wasn’t used to the constant monotone he’d be offended.

“No,” he denied, qualming Bokuto’s prepared puppy-dog eyes. “And I’m not dating anyone.”

Which wasn’t a lie. You were nothing more than a friend at this point. Even if his heart ignited a flame anytime your name crossed his mind.

“A crush then,” Atsumu waved him off. “Either way a massive Hinata life development you lied to us about.”

“I didn’t lie, I just,” Hinata wrinkled his nose while thinking of ways out of the predicament. “I think Shugo is calling to start practice. We should probably-”

“You’ve got a crush?” Bokuto’s eyes appeared to sparkle when he flung an arm around Hinata’s shoulder. “Who is it? Do we know them? You don’t need to sweat Hinata I’m an excellent wingman.”

Hinata waved his hands in front of him. “You don’t know them and it’s okay. You really don’t have to-”

“Oh, don’t be so considerate. We’re offering our services Hinata.” Atsumu said smugly while Bokuto nodded excitedly.

Hinata forced a half-smile. This had been exactly what he wanted to avoid. If his feelings were just a measly crush he would have gladly brought them up to the guys, but they were way more extreme then that.

“I’m not offering anything,” Sakusa raised his brows slightly in Hinata’s direction before walking off. “Good luck.”

“Buzz kill.” Atsumu pouted.

“Look, this is more complicated than you guys realize,” Hinata brushed Bokuto’s arm off his shoulders. “I can’t really explain it, but I don’t think you guys can help me.”

“Hinata, it’s okay. We all have our faults. Some more than others, but we’re here for you.” Atsumu patted his shoulder understandably and Hinata shot him a glare.

“Akaashi always tells me to ‘just be yourself’.” Bokuto nodded proudly, clasping his fist with determination. “Then you’ll attract the people who are meant to be in your life.”

Hinata blinked a few times. That… was really good advice.

“That’s stupid,” Atsumu scoffed. “You gotta stalk them on all social media. Analyze their personality and figure out exactly what they're into. Learn their ins and outs and become their type.”

That… was the dumbest thing he had ever heard.

“I don’t know Atsumu, that sounds kind of wrong,” Bokuto tapped his chin and Atsumu pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed deeply.

“Okay, but numbers don’t lie and I have the highest success rate.”

Bokuto and Hinata tilted their heads mulling that one over. No. It still seemed dumb.

Hinata zoned off as Bokuto and Atsumu began debating the morals of online stalking and the value of Akaashi’s opinions. He already knew that if he wanted real help picking apart the fire in his chest he’d have to talk to someone who’d take him seriously like Yamaguchi. Then he’d actually get to dissect the confusing emotions in his heart-look at them from all angles.

Learn to understand them and tend to them properly. Help them grow.

He watched Atsumu chase a cackling Bokuto around the gym until their captain Shugo scolded them. Hinata smirked. Even if they weren’t the most helpful he still appreciated knowing he had people willing to help him... in their own way.

*******************************************************************************************

You and Hinata spent the majority of your free time together, but even after several months it was nothing more than two friends placing comfort in each other’s company. Most Thursdays it was normal to find Hinata lounging on your living room sofa. He watched some volleyball commentary video on his cellphone, legs propped lazily on the armrest, while you answered work emails at your coffee table.

On a normal Thursday night you would continue whatever show you’d been watching-currently Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood-but tonight you were stuck finishing last minute work. You heaved a sigh and glanced over your shoulder at Hinata, his breathing relaxed while his eyes flickered across his phone’s screen.

You weren’t oblivious to your feelings. Maybe at first you were able to brush them off as excitement about a new friend, but they had shifted into something intense. Always festering in the forefront of your mind throughout your daily routine.

It became obvious when you noticed you spent more time counting the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose than focusing on conversations. When you realized you spent more time at work trying to pin-point the exact shade to call his hair than getting actual work done. Even more so when your heart would do acrobatics at the sound of his voice whenever you talked on the phone.

No matter how you looked at it, it became impossible to deny.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You looked back again and Hinata’s eyebrows were furrowed with concern, his earbuds pulled out and phone placed on his stomach. 

“Yeah,” you half-smiled and he raised his brows to show he clearly didn’t believe you. You let out a breathy laugh, breaking the eye-contact to lean back against the couch and place your head on his bicep. “I’m just thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he teased, a hand gently placed on the crown of your head.

“Shut up,” you said with no bite behind your words.

He snorted, rubbing his thumb against the top of your head. “...what if I was also thinking?”

“That’s probably more dangerous than me thinking,” you laughed, rubbing your socked toes together with a soft smile. When he didn’t respond you twisted around to check on him, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Hinata?”

“Nevermind.”

You gripped the couch cushion for support as you leaned in slightly. There was no way for you to be sure, but you could have sworn Hinata was blushing.

“What were you thinking about?” You questioned. Your heart was beating a million times a second in your chest and there was something akin to hope burning beside it.

Hinata looked in your eyes challengingly, “what were you thinking about?”

“You.”

He seemed taken aback by your bluntness, but brushed it off quickly. “I want to kiss you.”

Your eyes widened. It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room as you stared into his hopeful amber eyes.

“Well, do it then.” You responded, barely above a whisper. Hinata took a while to process, but once he had his face lit up crimson.

His hand cradled the side of your face and you watched him carefully, allowing him to make the moves. You kept your mind blank so as not to overthink the situation, but you hoped at least one brain cell was functioning enough to get you through it.

The kiss Hinata pressed against your lips was a little too hesitant, too off-center, and too brief. Yet the beaming smile he gave you afterward sent your heart into a frenzy unlike anything you’d ever experienced. The dopey smile on your lips felt too embarrassing and you buried your face against Hinata’s chest.

After a little coaxing with promises of television and snacks you peeked back up, happily met with Hinata’s dazed smile. The rest of the night was spent wrapped in each other’s arms and supplying random kisses because ‘they definitely needed practice’; ending with Hinata falling asleep in your bed for the first, but definitely not last, time.

*******************************************************************************************

Hinata hated being sick.

He hated fighting through a thick fog to collect words when stringing together sentences was usually effortless. He hated the pounding headaches following any light reaching his unfocused eyes. And Hinata especially hated his fit lungs struggling through breaths that came out raspy and weak through his aching throat.

Nothing good came from being sick. It was a lesson he learned long ago.

“You need to sleep,” you whispered against the crown of his head, your fingers carding gently through his sweaty locks. He nuzzled the tip of his nose against the cool skin at your collarbone while gripping your shirt at your shoulder.

Unfortunately, you were making it really hard for him to hate anything anymore.

“You’re going to get sick,” he pointed out, voice scratchy from his throat’s soreness.

You hummed dismissively, planting a small kiss on the top of his head. “My immune system’s pretty strong.”

Hinata knew it didn’t work that way, but was too selfish to argue your flawed logic. The bare skin of your neck helped chill his overheated forehead and he cuddled ever closer into you, twining your legs together. He wrinkled his nose when he realized how gross his fever was probably making him.

He’d have to wash your sheets and stuff when he was feeling better.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he pouted.

“That one’s gonna have to wait,” you chuckled lightly, beginning to rub soothing circles into his lower back. The vibrations from your voice sent a pleasant shiver down Hinata’s spine and the corners of his lips lifted. “You know, you’ll get better faster if you sleep.”

“But I wanna stay awake with you,” Hinata whined, lazily beginning to trace designs on your shoulder. The world was so cruel.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” you said, barely above a whisper. Hinata grumbled a nonsense of a response and you chuckled lightly. You fell silent for a long enough period that Hinata began believing you fell asleep before him until you asked, “can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah,” Hinata yawned, snuggling against your chest. “I love secrets.”

Silence enveloped his apartment again and Hinata almost dozed off.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

He blinked himself back to consciousness while the words rolled over in his mind. He froze. The fast paced rhythm of your heart was the only source available to keep him grounded as his foggy brain worked to unpack your words.

Love?

He glanced up to meet your nervous eyes paired with flushed cheeks. He stared in disbelief while you continued to patiently wait for his reaction. This better not be some sort of fever induced hallucination.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” he said, eyebrows creased. Aside from his mom and Natsu, obviously, but he figured you’d know what he meant.

The corner of your mouth lifted into a hopeful half-smile. “Well, I’m honored.” Your touch was gentle as you brushed the hair back from his forehead. He subconsciously leaned into your touch with a wondrous stare and his eyes scoured your face for his answer.

Except you were the answer.

“I’ve never been in love before, but…” He struggled for the right words-any words-settling on what he could piece together at the moment. “I feel like things are better when you’re here. Like, I can do anything I hope to and more. I just feel happier when I’m with you and it’s easier and everything makes sense…” He wrinkled his nose. “Is… is that love?”

You cradled his fevered cheeks tenderly. “I think that’s for you to decide Hinata.”

He nodded to himself. “Okay,” he said determinedly. “Then yeah. It is, I love you, (Y/N).”

“I’m glad,” you smiled, looking at him with an affectionate stare that set his heart ablaze. He took a deep breath before disappointedly letting his forehead drop to your chest.

“Fuck, I want to kiss you so bad.”

You let out a bubble of laughter, rubbing your thumbs tenderly against his cheeks. “We’ll make up for it plenty when you’re feeling better.”

He tried to hold back a smirk, but failed. “Fine.”

“Now go to sleep,” You ordered, planting a quick peck to the top of his head.

He grumbled half-assed as he situated himself more comfortably, but Hinata was all talk at this point. His eyelids were heavy with sleep and his heart hummed with contentment. He was in love. A smile dusted his lips as he began drifting off.

Maybe being sick wasn’t so bad after all.

*******************************************************************************************

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at your boyfriend across the couch chowing down on take-out sushi. Hinata’s eyes were glued to the television’s screen, his hand alternating between shoveling food into his mouth and rubbing mindless circles on your shin across his lap. Things were comfortable, easy, perfect some might even say.

Too perfect.

“Why aren’t we fighting?”

Hinata turned, cheeks stuffed with food and eyebrows raised with surprise. Under normal circumstances you’d consider it adorable, but you wanted to be serious.

He swallowed with a wince before raising an eyebrow. “Did something happen?”

“No, but we’ve been dating for a while and we haven’t had the big fight.”

“We fight all the time,” he placed his plate on the coffee table with a roll of his eyes. You huffed because he clearly wasn’t on the same page. “Just yesterday I was pissed because you left an empty container of milk in my fridge.”

“It wasn’t empty.”

“There was a dribble. That’s not enough for-” He put up a hand and took a breath. “Not the point. Point is: we fought right?”

“That was hardly a discussion.” You waved him off. He had angrily brought it up, you kissed him sorry, and he forgave you. Hinata didn’t know how to hold a grudge and all you had to do was buy him more milk.

“Okay, a few weeks ago then. You fell in the toilet because I forgot to put the seat down.” He nodded confidently. “You woke me up in the middle of the night for that one.”

You shuddered at the memory of being shocked into full consciousness by falling into a pool of your own piss. In your shocked state you may have chosen violence and decided to pick a fight with Hinata at three in the morning, but it was well deserved.

“Okay, but that’s not what I mean.”

“Are you sure?” He raised a brow. “Waking up with my girlfriend on top of me and slowly realizing she’s threatening to end my bloodline kind of feels like a fight.”

“Okay, that’s-” You pinched the bridge of your nose and ignored his amused smirk. “I’m talking about relationship ruining fights.”

He tilted his head, clearly not following you.

“Like, you insult me using some secret I’ve only divulged to you and I leave crying with no self-esteem.” You explained with exaggerated hand gestures and his nose wrinkled. “Or I walk in on you having an explicit affair with Kageyama, or maybe you get drunk and I over hear you talking with-”

He put both his hands up, “back it up. What the hell was that last one?”

“An explicit affair?” You blinked a few times and cocked your head to the side. “With… Kageyama?”

“Yeah that’s what I-we’re gonna unpack that later.” He palmed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Anyway, why would any of this happen?”

“Because that’s what always happens.” You answered honestly. Maybe you sounded like a pessimist, but that was just the reality of the world. At least, you had never seen it work any other way. “So just… tell me how it’s going to happen.”

Hinata looked crestfallen at your statement and the dejected look in his eyes made your heart sink to your stomach. You closed your eyes, waiting for him to question your sanity, but was taken back when he crawled forward to rest his head on your chest.

“If I ever hurt you like that,” he mouthed against your collarbone. “I would never forgive myself.”

Your heart raced and you brought a hand to card through his unruly locks, nodding to acknowledge his words.

“Don’t overthink,” he said, kissing your neck softly. “If we’re good then we’re good. Maybe that’s just how it’s meant to be.”

Your lips curved into a small smile and you nodded again. You let yourselves just exist with him for a while. Heart’s beating in unison while you twirled tufts of autumn through your fingers. His lips dusting across your neck as he whispered loving affirmations against you. And maybe he was right.

Maybe it was just meant to be.

*******************************************************************************************

Hinata moved expertly around his kitchen preparing breakfast, sneaking glancing at you perched drowsily beside the stove adorning one of his larger shirts. Obviously it wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like that-hair mussed, eyes heavy with sleep, in only his clothes-but it still warmed his heart when you existed so casually in space. Like you belonged there.

His lips curved into a smile as he cracked several eggs into a heated frying pan. The dull thudding of your heels hitting a cupboard mixed with the sizzling on the pan for the background of your comfortable silence. Even without conversation his life felt brighter in your presence and he was thankful his apartment was such a convenient location for the both of you.

You yawned deeply, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and finally focusing on him. Hinata selfishly wished you could be with him more often. The days he woke up without you were the coldest.

“What are you staring at?” You slurred with another yawn.

Hinata shot you a lopsided grin, “my beautiful girlfriend.”

You side-eyed him with an amused smirk, “kiss ass.”

Hinata slid the eggs onto a couple plates before going to stand in front of you. You raised a curious brow, but weren’t given enough time to voice a question before he pressed his lips to yours. His mouth curved into a smile against yours-another reason he loved you being here so often was it meant more of this.

Your hands cradled his face as he appreciated that you still tasted like mint from his borrowed toothpaste this morning. Another subtle way he’d nudged himself into your life he realized, toying with the bottom of his shirt you were wearing.

“What’s this for?” You asked, sliding your hands over his shoulders and hooking them behind his neck.

“I just love you,” he replied earnestly. Your fingers laid a scorching touch as they teased the baby hairs on his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. Hinata took his time with languid kisses-he could kiss you a million times and the hunger for more would always linger.

Your breaths were heavy when you pulled back to place your forehead against his, eyeing him with pure affection that set his heart ablaze. “I love you too, Shoyo.”

He trailed his knuckles down your cheek and relished in the way you leaned into his touch. How had he gotten this luck? Hinata placed a tender kiss on your forehead, temple, cheekbone, tip of your nose, and finally on your lips.

“You should move in.”

Hinata’s eyes widened in shock at his own question because that had been the last thing he’d planned on doing this morning. Well, the suggestion was out there and it’s not like he wanted to take it back...

You blinked several times as you processed. “With you?”

“Ideally.”

You furrowed your brow while mulling it over and Hinata counted his heartbeats to stay grounded. Worst case scenario you say no and things are awkward for a bit. Best case scenario he takes a large step forward with the love of his life.

Oh god, he should’ve planned this better.

“Okay.”

“I understand,” Hinata sighed. “It was totally random and I shouldn’t have expected-did you say yes?”

“Yeah,” your cheeks flushed and you bit your bottom lip to fight down a smile. “I mean, I’m here most of the time anyway, right?”

Hinata nodded mindlessly before a face splitting grin covered his features and he scooped you off the corner. You squealed while he spun you around with a bright laugh, interrupting any of your comments with a passionate kiss. While you were busy tangling your fingers into his unruly hair he glanced toward his bedroom’s door.

There was probably enough time to celebrate.

*******************************************************************************************

“She’s beautiful,” you said in awe, cradling the swaddled newborn in your arms. She was sleeping soundly, tiny breaths leaving her partly open mouth. The baby looked too fragile for this world, features too small and delicate to be realistic.

She was amazing.

“Well, she’s our daughter,” Tanaka’s chest puffed up proudly. He sat beside Shimizu on her hospital bed with an arm hung loosely around her. “Obviously she’s going to be perfect.”

You wouldn’t fight his dramatics; he deserved to be happy today.

“What’s her name?” Hinata breathed. Seated beside you he leaned heavily against your side to observe the baby.

“Sayori,” Shimizu yawned. She and Tanaka had deep bruises under their eyes, and you smirked knowingly down at the sleeping demon in disguise.

Hinata hesitantly moved his hand toward Sayori before planting it back on his lap. You raised a brow, reaching over with the hand not helping cradle Sayori’s head and grabbed his forefinger. Hinata looked at you panicked, but relaxed as you guided him toward Sayori’s small fist that pressed gently against her pink cheeks.

When she instinctively wrapped her fingers around his forefinger his eyes widened and he whipped his gaze to you. “She grabbed my finger,” he whispered.

“They do that,” you smirked, a frenzy of butterflies attacking your stomach as he stared at Sayori wondrously.

“That’s amazing.”

“Okay, stop using my kid as a way to feed your baby fever.” Tanaka huffed. Shimizu elbowed him in the stomach and a warmth trickled up your face when his words hit you.

“What’s a baby fever?” Hinata asked, raising an eyebrow at you. “Is it dangerous?”

“No,” you stumbled over a reply that wouldn’t make the situation incredibly awkward. “It’s when you, uh, want kids.��

“Oh,” Hinata shrugged, bouncing his finger to play with Sayori’s hand. “What’s wrong with eventually wanting kids?”

“That’s not-”

“No, it means you want a kid now.” Tanaka emphasized by smacking the hospital bed. “Like, go home immediately and make a baby level now.”

Hinata blinked a few times before his face lit up red, “oh.”

You nodded awkwardly and both of you remained quiet while Shimizu chastised Tanaka in the background. One of you should probably deny the baby fever thing… right? You glanced over to Hinata, but his eyebrows were furrowed as he stared intently at Sayori.

“Okay, Sayori needs to eat soon, so I’m kicking Hinata out.” Tanaka announced.

Hinata didn’t put up any fights and you passed Sayori back to Shimizu, making plans to see each other again soon. You offered your services for future babysitting with Hinata’s vigorous agreeing behind you and they were more than grateful for it. Regardless Tanaka shooed you out when Sayori began wriggling in Shimizu’s arms.

As you and Hinata made your way to the metro that would bring you to your apartment complex the air between you was heavy. An obvious awkwardness that was harder to ignore the longer you walked together.

“I’m not surprised their baby ended up looking so cute,” you laughed, filling the space with nervous chatter. “Shimizu is really pretty.”

He nodded, looking up at the cloudless sky thoughtfully. “Do you think our baby would be cute?”

Your heart rate quickened at the idea. It wasn’t like you’d never thought of it, but talking about it outloud was a completely different monster. “I think it would have pretty great genes.”

He nodded, furrowing his brow at the sidewalk ahead.

Hinata wasn’t an idiot. Neither of you were ready for something like that. Several nights ago you’d decided to get drunk and attempt making meat buns-you’d nearly set the kitchen on fire. That doesn’t scream parent material.

On a larger scale, Hinata had just been selected for Japan’s Olympic team. There just wasn’t time for something like that. No, a baby wasn’t realistic.

However...

“What’s our apartment’s pet policy?”

He turned to you with a raised brow, “probably an extra fee and a weight limit. Why?”

You smirked mischievously at him, “want to get a dog?”

His jaw dropped. “Oh my fu-can I name it?”

“Only if I get to pick the breed.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Hinata grasped your hand and yanked you toward the closest metro station. “Look up the closest pet store and let’s go!”

You chuckled, allowing him to pull you toward a random station that probably wouldn’t lead you where you needed. It would work out in the end. Things always seemed to fall perfectly into place with HInata.

*******************************************************************************************

Hinata glared across the roll of wrapping paper at the small puppy crushing the end of the tube, tearing edges of red and white striped paper with its sharp teeth. Hinata tugged it out of the pup’s mouth, but that only encouraged the behavior as it leapt forward to chew with more vigor.

“Can you grab your son?” Hinata waved the roll around, letting the Shiba Inu chase the end that Hinata held just out of reach. “He’s making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

You paused your typing at the dining table and giggled at Hinata’s antics. After closing the laptop you jogged over to scoop the puppy up, flipping him over in your arms to rub its belly. The puppy let its tongue hang out and wagged its tail vigorously at the attention.

“Oh, Deku, are you giving your dad a hard time,” you cooed down at the puppy, lifting him to look him in the eyes with a furrowed brow. “That’s not very nice.”

Hinata rolled his eyes fondly at your pathetic attempt of scolding while Deku licked you on the nose. Just several months old and he already knew how to manipulate people with his cuteness.

“I bought our bullet train tickets,” you said while nudging him the roll of tape he’d started looking around for. “Natsu called me earlier. We decided that you and I should get there around 3.”

Hinata tore a piece of tape off with his teeth while he held the wrapping paper still around the boxed pair of rollerskates with his foot.

“We have to stop by Tanaka’s place before we head out,” Hinata wrinkled his nose at his poor wrapping job. “Noya’s visiting for a while and he wants to meet Deku.”

“Of course,” you smiled as you held a chew toy above Deku’s face so he could nibble on it in your lap. “We have some presents for Sayori, anyway.”

Oh yeah. You had split the present wrapping in terms of difficulty, so you had the pleasure of wrapping weirdly shaped toys while he was left with boxes. Somehow, his still turned out to be a disaster.

He could hear Natsu’s complaints already.

“The train doesn’t leave till one, so we should have plenty of time.” You stated once Hinata taped the final present, completing his small present tower. Deku wriggled himself free from your grip and immediately attacked the empty wrapping paper roll.

Hinata smiled absentmindedly as he watched Deku hold the tube still with his small paws as he gnawed the cardboard. He felt you crawl over, lying your head onto his lap as your eyes followed his to watch your dog-son together. He felt at peace, running his fingers through your hair while Deku wreaked mischief nearby.

He felt like he could never get happier than this, and he never wanted it to end.

“He really is a troublemaker,” you snorted as Deku dragged the tube across the living room proudly. “Gets it from you.”

Hinata rolled his eyes and pinched your cheek. “It’s because you let him do whatever he wants.”

“Do not!”

He chuckled, taking his time tracing your features. The curve of your cheekbones, the dip of your lips, the bridge of your nose-everything he’d kissed into his memory by now but still couldn’t get enough of.

Hinata’s heart burned bright as he ran his knuckles along your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You smiled softly, leaning subconsciously into his touch.

“I mean… I really love you, (Y/N).” Hinata grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips. “I think this is it.”

You met his stare for several moments before your cheeks reddened. “Oh.”

Hinata nodded, pressing a loving kiss to the back of your hand. “I just-I always want you with me and if it’s not you in the end then… then what’s the point?”

Your mouth fell slightly open and he felt your hand flex in his grasp. He assumed he made a mistake-said too much too fast-but his chest was so warm and full and it was hard to reign in his emotions when he got that way.

A smile blossomed across your face and it eased his anxieties when you held his cheek. “You’re it for me too, Sho.”

He blinked several times as the words rolled over in his mind. “Wha-really?” He twisted himself so he could look you in the eyes, begging for you to be telling the truth.

You nodded shyly, your face crimson. “Yeah. You have been. I’m not… I don’t think I’d be able to love anyone else ever again.”

It felt like he’d been hit by a train at your confession and he pressed his mouth against yours before he’d even processed the statement. Your content hum against his lips was enough to drive him insane.

“Well, I’m going to love you forever.” Hinata promised with a dopey smile. “So don’t even think about that.”

You snorted, but nodded anyway. Hinata glanced down at your lips again with hooded eyes and started leaning forward, but was rudely interrupted by a damp cardboard tube hitting his forehead.

He glanced up exhaustedly at the Shiba Inu puppy panting obliviously at the both of you, waiting patiently for the love and attention he knew he deserved. You pushed Hinata off to grab Deku, but he jumped into a play bow and jolted back when you reached for him.

Hinata smiled dazedly as you chased Deku around the apartment, juking around furniture to attempt to throw the puppy off-course. He had never felt so complete than he had in that moment because he realized that this was it for him.

It was you. It was him. It was a troublemaker dog. And it was a promise that you’d be together forever.

And that was pretty damn perfect.

[reynie-muldoons]

'Big Day Today' liveblog!

Good morning!!

Happy finale day babes ❤ I've already heard that this episode is excellent, but I still want to say that no matter what happens, I love y'all, I love this community, and being here experiencing the season together has been such a treasure. Thank you for letting me be a part of it.

And so, without further ado... spoilers below :)

0:00 THE THUMBNAIL IS CONSTANCE IN THE WHISPERER IM ALREADY SCREAMING AND I HAVENT EVEN STARTED IT

0:08 OH HELLO THE INTRO MENTIONED HIS NARCOLEPSY????? IT HAS RELEVANCE AGAIN????

0:15 MILLIGANNNNNN

1:01 yeah, that's about the landing I thought they'd have 😂😂

1:14 oh hello, it's Dr. Garrison's turn to have lunch in his office

1:14 also, how does one make vegan prime rib?? Is beyond meat a thing in this universe???

1:19 "it's...very thoughtful." "No. Only the best." That's one way of telling us he didn't care about meeting her needs and only cared about being a fancy little shit

1:31 here we go again, Dr. Curtain is back on his bullshit

1:34 "I intend to share the stage" liar

1:52 I think he meant for that to be a polite nod, but DAMN did that come across as patronizing

2:00 "it does help. We are helping." Are you just telling yourself that so you can keep your conscience clear, or.....?

2:12 THE SUBTITLES SAID THAT WAS MARTINA

2:12 NO FUCKING WAY

2:12 PLEASE let that thudding be her in the vents, PLEASE

2:30 I was gonna say... he wouldn't know any significance in a homemade tetherball charm lol

2:32 BUMPIN INTRO TIMEEEE

2:54 just thinkin bout the blow darts in Milligan's intro card.....👀

3:37 I really hope Kate gets her moment to climb the tower

4:09 hydrochlor.... I mean I guess? that could work??? 😂😂😂

4:06 "I'll get the acid," she said smugly. HAHAHAHA WHAT IS THIS LINE DOING

4:13 "We pour the acid on his feet." Why is that actually a solid plan HAHA

4:23 DAMNIT WHY ARE THEY JUST ADDING THE CURTAIN NARCOLEPSY PLOT *NOW*

4:29 ohhhh buddy there's no way laughter does it for Curtain, but you'll find that out, won't you?

4:49 *group pause* Kate: "you're not funny." AJFJDSJSONDNDH HAHAHAHAH

4:55 STICKY AVERTING HIS EYES HAHAHAHA

5:05 oh so that's why they all shoot down his plan 😂😂😂

5:27 OH HELLO MILLIGAN BACKSTORY????

5:33 "I have to dine with my family :)" why did he say that so weird lol

5:45 yeahhh I'd be pretty shocked to if I suddenly had a lost memory return like it was nothing

5:49 Isaac? Who tf is Isaac?

5:58 .......why is he doing this

7:00 "there's no such thing as coincidences. Oh my god." THE DELIVERY

7:19 I know she's being condescending but Kate leaning down to get on Constance's level is really cute 🥺🥺🥺

7:27 "I will learn....but only for you." STOP STOP STOP STOP MY FEEELINGSSSSS

7:33 "But I want my own acid. For his feet." LEAVE IT TO CONSTANCE

7:37 "okay. I trust you." GOOD JOB KATE OMFGDJDJSKSH TRUST YOUR FRIENDS

7:44 "Kate Wetherall?" "NYYOPE" LMAOO WHAT WAS THAT

8:10 "says WHO?" "a lot of people, people in the know" not gonna lie, when I first saw this exchange in the trailer I was like ".....why is Sticky wearing a pink hat, and where are his glasses?" 😂😂😂

8:20 "...and more than likely concussed" PFFFFT WHAT that's not a detail you just THROW OUT THERE

8:29 "we are a fearsome yet empathetic Cerberus" Mr. Benedict is nothing if not poetic

8:59 .......the fuck is a gorp

9:16 rollll credits but also that was creepy as shit

9:33 oh god they're BOTH in the Waiting Room?????

9:38 ....if they know she's a traitor, why let her keep her bucket....

9:45 "Judas."

And I've brought you *friend*. *TRAITOR FRIEND*!! Judas! No-

10:03 oh shit's getting REAL

10:13 this is the part from the preview, with the shit in his hand!! So if one part's the Mr. Benedict figurine, he probably has something for Martina too?

10:24 oh shit just kidding, guess we're not there yet

10:32 OH HI WHY DOES HE HAVE THOSE

10:44 OHHH THERE IT IS

11:19 oh shit Kate standing up for Martina with NO hesitation?????

11:27 Martina legit looks like she's about to cry

11:39 "one mistake should not define you" bro WHAT mistake she was FRAMED

11:47 SHE LOOKS SO SAD

12:11 "prepare her for the Brainsweeper" OH SO WE'RE GETTING RIGHT INTO IT HUH

12:15 "check your bucket" WHAT RHE FUCK IS IN THERE

12:30 ......idk what I expected

12:47 okay psychopath what the fuck

12:55 OH DEAR GOD MILLIGAN

13:13 "You look very familiar to me" WHO'S GONNA TELL HIM

13:26 CAN YOU STOP BEING AN ASSHOLE FOR TWO WHOLE SECONDS

13:53 "Spare the girl." DOES HE KNOW??!?@*@?#^#(#?

14:05 "Spare her, and I'll tell you when and where Benedict is coming for you." I don't think he knows that information, but he's pretty dang convincing that he does lol

14:27 babygirl I know your bucket means a lot but maybe you should be worried about *yourself* for a sec

15:41 "including the man whose brain I swept years ago." AND THERE IT IS

15:48 why is this so ominous

15:48 "a chemist with a conscience" 🥺🥺

16:00 "sweep him again" the PURE FEAR HAPPENING IN HIS EYES

16:04 MILLIGAN NO

16:10 do I see a lockpick made out of fingernails?? 👀

16:19 good lord that's horrifying

16:31 LMAOO WHY WOULD THEY LEAVE HER OUT OF RESTRAINTS WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT

16:57 why is she getting back on the bed WHY IS SHE DOING THAT

17:05 "well, Wetherall... it's been a good run." STOP IT STOP SAYING GOODBYE

17:05 cue Milligan or Martina busting in to save her

17:15 "you made some good friends...good memories." WOWOWOW STOP

17:35 CONSTAAAAAANCE

17:42 "The Mysterious Constance Society" that's fucking funny as hell because she literally legally becomes Constance Benedict

17:45 "...with Kate." K + C RIGHTS

17:55 "you are a quality person." STOP MAKING ME CRY

18:36 yeaahhhhh fuck em up Number Two

19:15 egg

19:33 so much for holding off

19:36 tell me why Miss Perumal looks so cute in everything she wears

20:04 ohhhh just kidding he's doing the things

20:35 why does "fighting the process" sound really sinister coming from him

20:59 since when does the Messenger have to want it to work, the fuck is that

21:09 IT'S TIME TO CLIMB THE TOWER BITCHES

21:47 KATE WETHERALL SUPREMACY

21:50 but Constance on the ground????

21:54 OH HEY JACKSON AND JILLSON

22:10 WAIT IS SHE FLINGING CONSTANCE UP LIKE THE BOOK IS THAT WHAT'S HAPPENING

22:14 SHE'S SOOOOARIN, FLYYYYYIN

22:21 aaaand here comes Kate, ready to brawl

22:36 THE GANGS ALL HERE

22:39 I like how Sticky carefully set down the Whisperer helmet as if it *matters* at this point

22:48 "Acid?? Oh, you're kidding me" way to show your hand early Sticky

23:12 WAIT HE'S ACTUALLY TELLING A JOKE?? NOW????? HAHSYSJSJDU

23:19 "....what?" YEAH ME TOO BUD AGIABSKSMD

23:30 HOW MANY TIMES CAN 100 OF ONE THING WALK INTO A BAR

23:30 STICKY MADE A NOISE HE'S MAKING PROGRESS

23:51 I dont know whether to be happy or horrified that he's laughing

24:07 so we've established at this point that laughing doesn't put him to sleep, yeah?

24:20 "okay, that was a good one" HAHSHSH WHAT

24:27 "I was always told you were devoid of wit" WHO IS TELLING YOU THESE THINGS

24:39 OH HELLO NARCOLEPTIC SEIZURE

24:46 "the narcolepsy I conquered years ago through sheer force of will" ....that's not how narcolepsy works

24:52 "they had nothing to do with humor or emotion" what the fuck no I dont believe you

24:55 "nothing at all" okay so he's just trying to make himself look big, got it

25:28 they're taking care of their dad 🥺

25:37 oh so they BOTH have beat-em sticks

25:43 "it's been the honor of my life to serve with you." "mine as well." THEYRE SISTERS YOUR HONOR

26:00 the fact that no one's come yet makes me think there's another way up

26:03 "I feel seen in this moment now" ASHDJDJD HAHHAHAHA

26:25 "stay back," she said, holding one fist up in a sorta menacing way

26:31 I didn't realize how biting Jackson and Jillson could sound 😳

26:39 MILLIGAN?????

26:39 IS IT TIME?????????

26:44 WINKIES

26:52 I really like how they're showing this through Kate, her eyes darting around and slowly starting to smile.. it translates 😂

26:56 "Mr. Washington, get in the Whisperer" do you really think he's going to do that

27:00 "I won't." THAT'S OUR BOY

27:16 "I want this for you. You have no idea how gifted you are, and you deserve to be a part of this." Please stop omfg this is SO MANIPULATIVE

27:45 "I dont think you're a bad person." "I dont think I'm a bad person either. Who thinks that?" LMAOOOO THIS EXCHANGE

27:53 "okay this is embarassing" HAHHAHAHA IS DR. GARRISON STILL WATCHING

28:23 "I'm not sad," he said, probably sadly

28:37 he is literally shaking with rage wtf

28:37 ALSO I PAUSED IT AT A THE BEST TIME HIS EYES ARE POPPING OUT OF HIS HEAD AIDHSKDJJSD HOLD UP ILL TSKE A PICTURE

LOOK AT THIS SHIT LMAO

28:5O THERE IT IS

29:08 "it's anger." NOOOW HE GETS IT

29:15 "no.. it's being vulnerable." Reynie honey that makes him angry

29:22 Constance honey I love you so much

29:33 I'm sorry did he just use Kate as a battering ram 😂😂😂

29:47 WHY ARE THERE SCREAMING KIDS HAHAHAHAH

29:48 THE TETHERBALL TEAM???? MARTINA???????

29:54 "this...is my friend" MARTINA WHAT

29:58 "my BEST friend! A person who believes in HONOR!" 1. Alright Zuko 2. HER BEST FRIEND AHAKJSHDKD

30:02 I think this is our first time seeing the tetherball team LMAO

30:10 THE TONGUE SCREAM HAHAHSHSH WHAT

30:15 HE IS SO TENDER WITH HER STOPPPP

30:20 THE LEG UP 😭😭😭😭

30:30 GO KATIE-CAT

IM CRYING

IM REALLY CRYING

30:39 OH MY GOD HIS FAAAAACE

30:45 IS SHE REALLY JUST GONNA SMILE AND GO UP HAHAHSHDHDJ JUST DONT ACKNOWLEDGE IT I GUESS?????

31:13 "where's the acid?" "There's no acid." "We need the acid!" MOVE ON FROM THE ACID GUYS 😂😭

31:33 ohhh guys get ready for Constance supremacy hours

31:50 "all that's left is to break its will." SHE'S NOT WRONG

32:05 but it needs Curtain to work...?

32:38 "what is your favorite color?" "No." HEHEKHSSKJS

33:24 they are illustrating how much effort she's putting in REALLY WELL

33:44 the organ music in the background makes this sequence like 20 times cooler

33:47 "disagreeable." "YEEEEES!" finally something she can agree to LMAO

34:12 CONSTANCE CONTRAIRE EVERYBODY

34:31 and in comes Mr. Benedict!!!

34:33 HIS LITTLE LAUGH STOPPP HE'S SO CUTE

34:37 AWWWW HIM HUGGING THE OLDER THREE

34:37 please don't forget about Constance 🥺

34:41 *looks over* *shakes her head* "oh, I know" THEY'RE SO CUTE

35:07 OH HE'S SO SMART HE'S POSING AS CURTAIN

35:30 them all shuffling away in sync 😂😂

35:59 "are you sure you're okay? We could stay." Kate my love, my little cutie, I love you SO much

36:19 oh hello he's coming to

36:48 THE FACT THAT THEY IMMEDIATELY START CHARGING EACH OTHER AND ARGUING

37:12 "that little girl is psychic, isn't she?" Nooooot quite

37:26 "attempting to kidnap me is not trying to reach me." *nods* LMAOOOO

38:11 "I'm not here to judge you, Nathaniel." "Oh. Thank you for that. That's so kind and generous of you." The PURE VENOM

38:33 "AND CONTROLLING PEOPLE IS WRONG!" damn, he's really feeling strongly about this

38:49 "it's just like Tommy Jacobs." Who the fuck is Tommy Jacobs

39:29 "I was literally terrified he would infect us with his incompetence." Jeez hello wow

40:03 "he stpped on that stage with a smile. And delivered they worst performance in recorded history." PFFFFT AHHAHAHS

40:06 LMAOOO IF HE FELL ASLEEP JUST THINKING ABOUT IT HOW BAD WAS IT 😂😂😂

40:33 byeeeeee

40:55 "do you feel that? A weight has been lifted." 🥺🥺😔

41:10 wait they already started returning the Helpers' memories??? Broooooo

41:18 LMAOO the blue berets absolutely FILLING the trash

41:22 RHONDAAAAA

41:27 he's home 🥺

41:30 "it's good to be home." AWWWWW HAJSYDHDJDKDKDK

41:34 MADGEEEEE

41:39 STARING CONTEST WITH KATE

41:47 SHE WONNNNN

41:52 "she likes you." KATE AND MADGE FOR THE WINNN

41:56 OH HI MILLIGAN YSJSHDKDHDS

42:05 OHHH MY GOSH THE LITTLE HAND!!!! "Hello, Zuko here" vibes!!!!

42:14 DAD! DAD! DAD! DAD!

42:33 "it gets kinda political" baby girl *how* 😂😂

42:45 "what does it feel like? Having no memory?" Oh I'm EMOTIONAL

42:52 "It felt like... searching" oh hello past tense

43:12 oh now I'm *really* crying

43:24 "I couldn't give up though. I knew that what I was looking for was special. Incredibly special." NO WORDS ONLY TEARS

43:32 "it was you, Kate." I PHYSICALLY SCREAMED

43:37 AWWW HE'S CRYINGGGG

44:03 OHHHH MY GOD THEYRE HUGGING STOP STPP ATOP MY HEART CAN ONLY TAKE SO MUCH

44:22 AMMA?????

44:26 "Hi." You can *feel* the warmth in her voice 🥺🥺

44:50 "you can ask me anything" is he about to ask her to adopt him 😭😭😭😭

44:53 SPEAR IN THE HEART

45:25 wait they're just casually bringing up his aunt

45:50 wait he's actually going to the Boatwright Academy 😂😂😂

45:49 "I've heard the science lab is..." "amazing." THROWBACK TO EPISODE 1

46:09 "the idea of family is one that should be expansive, and not reductive." PLEASE LET THAT BE ADOPTION PAPERS

46:16 "I see where this is going." HELLO CONSTANCE HELLO BABY

46:17 HIS SMILLEEEEEE

46:21 AHAT DOES "RESPECTFULLY DECLINE" MEANNNN

46:26 OH OH OH OH

46:33 "I will stay here, but let's not paper this." What.....what does that mean

46:39 ARE THOSE BIRTHDAY BALLOONS

46:42 DAMNIT THEY WERE ADOPTION BALLOONS

46:47 why is she leavingggg

47:12 THEYRE 👏🏻 SISTERS 👏🏻 YOUR 👏🏻 HONOR 👏🏻

47:22 "if you have interest-" "I DO" I love them so much

47:50 "let's just live in this moment for as long as we can, shall we?" 🥺

47:58 ohhhhh hellooooo please be safe baby boy

48:07 "life has equipped your for disappointment." AND WHO'S FAULT IS THAT

48:15 "no, don't touch them," he said, waving the man off with nothing less than open disgust

48:32 "whisperer's just a souvenir" "oh, well that's consoling" ....how did they pack that giant thing

48:40 two things: 1. Don't like how openly he's glaring at SQ, cut that shit out. 2. What the fuck are these blueprints Garrison

49:02 don't you dare end it there DON'T YOU DARE

49:24 DAMN IT

49:34 part of me was hoping to see a teaser in the credits like the episode previews but I got a recommendation to watch another show 🙃🙃

----

And that's that on that!! Honestly I'm really pleased with the finale. There are some things I could change, but overall.. what an experience.

I'm so glad we could experience this together. Thanks for being such a great community. I'll still be here during hiatus!! My queue is currently stocked for like a month and a half lmfao, and I'll still be in the tag all the gd time.

Love you :)

[masterkief]

hiii this is really gross and I’m ashamed...pls forgive me and hopefully u enjoy. Also I did this from ryan’s pov so like idk?

- -

Heaven. I never really thought it existed, until tonight that is. Call me a weeb, corny, lame, whatever you want but when she walked into the room every once and a while and she danced with herself as she chatted up friends it felt as if the earth stood still and I was in the presence of a goddess. It was Saturday and some friends and I had gone to a party for the night. She was dressed in tight light blue dress that was decorated in various Animal Crossing characters, gripping at her curves in all the right ways.  Her hair was twisted in loose curls that fell just below her breasts and her smooth skin gleamed just as bright as her eyes.

“Aye ya big goof, just go talk to her!”

Although Matt was sitting right next to me his voice had gone distant as soon as my mystery girl had entered my vision. A sudden hand waved in front of my face attempting to draw my attention back to reality. I blinked slowly and reluctantly looked in his direction, my mind refusing to draw away from her. “Her” I didn’t even know “her” name, I didn’t know anything about her but still I was instantly infatuated.

“What?” I half growled, irritated that he took my attention from her.

He raised his eyebrows shocked at my irritable reaction, and then smirked when he realized why I was so mad.

“Go talk to her.” He suggested pointing his head her way.

I slowly turned my head back towards where she last stood and felt my stomach fall when I realized that she had vanished again. My eyebrows furrowed with slight annoyance that I had missed my chance because Matt needed me to look at him. I forced myself up but not before pounding my fist into his shoulder. The slight buzz from the alcohol I had gulped down was beginning to take over and I could feel my vision growing blurry. I searched the house up and down trying to find the girl who flooded my thoughts since the beginning of the night but found no luck.

“Fuck.” I grumbled to myself stopping in front of the table full of alcohol.

Drinking probably wasn’t the best idea if I was going to talk to this girl but my nerves were shot already and I hadn’t even spoken to her yet. As I was pouring the whiskey into my glass I glanced up and noticed the girl from before standing right dead in front of me, her eyes examining my entire existence intently as if she were reading right through to my soul. A hidden fiery lust began to burn through my veins and I wasn’t paying attention to my glass that was now overflowing with Jack.

“Shit!” I cried as the sticky substance soaked my hand and the table.

The girl giggled timidly to herself as she watched me flail and panic to quickly clean up my mess. When I had gotten it under control I looked up to see her smiling at me from behind her hair, her alcohol glossed eyes gleaming beautifully under the dimly lit kitchen light.

“Am I funny to you yeah?”

I guess they don’t call alcohol life’s “liquid confidence” for nothing because the confidence that suddenly filled my mouth shocked even myself. The girl chuckled again and raised an eyebrow seductively.

“In fact,” She started, leaning closer to me.

My eyes tried not to avert to her cleavage that was protruding from the top of her dress but I failed which caused her to laugh again and my cheeks to burn a deep shade of embarrassment.

“You are quite funny.” She finished slowly standing straight up again.

She put her cup to her mouth and took a sip. A droplet of the drink sat dormant on her bottom lip, her tongue soon traced the plump pink flesh to clean it off and she made sure her eyes never left mine. Hunger filled her brilliant eyes and I could feel a hunger of my own pressing firmly against the inside of my basketball shorts. My head began to spin quickly as the burst of confidence from before began to drain quickly, nervousness filling its place.

“So…” She began again placing her cup down. “What’s your name Mr. Funny?”

Words trapped themselves in my throat as I picked my brain for what my own name was.

“R-Ry…Ryan…Ryan my friends call me Ryan.” I stammered from both nerves and the liquor that swam through my veins.

The girl smiled again and shifted in place so that she was putting all her weight on her right leg and the table.

“Well R-Ry-Ryan,” She mimicked playfully. “I’m Y/N.”

‘Y/N’…her name floated through my head rapidly. I thought of beautiful things, like sunshine and rain and fields and fucking her mercilessly right here for everyone to see. A harsh throbbing erupted through my groin at the thought and my breath hitched in my throat.  Y/N’s eyes slowly moved from mine down to my hips and she absentmindedly licked her lips again.

“Ryan.” She stated knocking me from my inappropriate thoughts.

My eyes met with hers again as words escaped me. She tilted her head upward and eyebrow rose.

“Follow me.” She demanded with another radiant smile.

Without a word or even a thought of detesting I made my way to her side. She put her hand in mine causing a shot of electricity to ravage my spine as she led me throughthe living room where the music was the loudest. My head was spinning more rapidly now and I felt as if I might explode. 

We ended up on the patio, a cool breeze sending a chill down my spine.

“You smoke?” Y/N asked as she plopped down at the little glass table.

I watched as she pulled a blunt from her purse and cracked it open with her thumbnail, spilling the tabacco guts into the bush behind her. Without a word I sat down across from her, watching as if she might disappear.

“What?” She asked, looking up at me from beneath her eyelashes, “Never seen the devil’s lettuce before?”

She finished packing the blunt with the all too familiar green substance and I couldn’t help but watch her run her tongue across the end to seal it. She knew exactly what she was doing to me.

Lighting it, she took a few hits then passed it in my direction. It was as if I never smoked before and I smoked every fucking day. Trying to keep my hand from shaking as best I could, I took it from her.

“First time?” She teased with a playful laugh, exhaling the smoke.

I couldn’t help but snicker as I passed it back to her, “I wish.”

We sat outside for what seemed like forever. My brain was finally able to comprehend sentences and by the time we finished the blunt it felt like we were long lost friends just catching up.

“You’re really cute.”

Her sudden compliment caught me off guard, causing me to choke on my cigarette. She giggled into her cup as she took a sip of her drink.

“I’m sorry.” She started, “That was really weird.”

Ha...weird? I’ve been obsessing over her the entire night and she felt weird?

“You’re joking right?” I blurted out, sounding more harsh than intended.

Her eyebrows pulled together with confusion and offense. Way to go Magee..

“Sorry.” I apologized quickly, throwing my cigarette butt. “It’s just you’re a fucking babe.”

She bit her bottom lip and stood up from her chair.

“Come with me.” She whispered, leaning into my ear as she passed me.

I obeyed silently as she led me back into the house and eventually down a darkened hallway. She didn’t even give me a chance to make a move as she suddenly threw me up against the wall towards the end of the hall, her mouth destroying mine. She bit at my bottom lip causing a throaty moan to escape from my mouth.

“Fuck me Ryan.” She ordered in a harsh whisper against my neck.

My hands grabbed and squeezed eagerly at every inch of her as we backed towards a door still attached to each other. We busted through not even checking if anyone was already occupying it and closed the door quickly behind us. I threw Y/N to the bed roughly, our bodies only parting briefly so that I could eye her up as she laid on her back, her breasts coming out of the top of her dress even more. I licked my lips and quickly put them on hers again. Soon they traveled to her jaw…then her neck…and then her collarbone as I left sloppy kisses and bites against her skin. I tore her dress down to her waist violently not being able to hold back any longer.

“Ryan.” She moaned as my mouth planted itself onto her right breast.

I bit and nipped at the skin making sure to let my tongue trace her perfectly hardened nipple. Slowly but surely I moved downward gliding my tongue down the valley of her stomach, stopping right at her hips. I heard her breath lodge itself in her throat as I got dangerously close to her core. My hands gripped her thighs, my thumbs digging into the inside of each one causing her to buck her hips upward. I moved back up to her face and her hands tugged at the top of my shorts. Our lips crashed together fiercely as I ground my hips into hers causing a more audible moan to come from her mouth. My shorts soon found their way to my ankles and I kicked them off, then sliding Y/N’s panties off from under her dress. We reconnected once again as I readied myself at her entrance.

“Come on funny guy.” She groaned eagerly, wanting me to enter her. “Show me what you’ve got.”

I smirked and raised an eyebrow, the tip of my cock now right against her slit. Her eyes widened, in complete disbelief that I was teasing her. She forced herself upward trying to push it in for me but I pulled away every time knowing it was driving her crazy.

“Please.” She begged. “Please Ryan just fuck me.”

Her begging set me off and with her least expecting it I plunged deep into her warm, and wet center. As her noises of pleasure grew louder and louder I pumped harder and harder into her, the headboard of the strangers bed surely putting dents in the wall.

“Ryan.” She cried, her walls getting tighter around me. “Ryan I-...I’m close already.”

I smiled against her neck and thrust into her as hard as I possibly could, surely about to break her. 

“Not until I tell you to.” I ordered, my voice shaking as I got close to my own explosion.

I pulled away from her neck and placed my hand over her mouth to keep any outside audience on the edge of their seats. Wrecking into her I felt her breath on the palm of my hand grow faster, indicating that she was right at the edge and unable to take anymore.

“Cum for me Y/N, cum!” I growled against her ear.

Soon enough she screamed my name into my hand, her muffled cry of ecstasy setting me off as well. I collapsed next to her, both of us breathing heavily.

“Christ.” She breathed heavily her legs trembling.

“I’m not just good at being funny.” I teased, my hand now resting on her thigh.

Y/N laughed her lovely laugh, which made my head continue to spin.

“I see that…”

[whumpiary]

whumptober 2020 | day 2: collars (in the hands of the enemy)

 i wasn’t originally going to post this because it doesn’t quite fit with the day’s theme, but now it’s three days later, and i still liked it on the edit so i’m posting it dammit and fuck you to the little anxiety monster.

set in the future. the vaguest of references to the characters of @evermetnotforgotten and @card-games-and-pain

content warnings: referenced captivity, panic attack, mild d!ssociat!on, mild flashbacks, semi-unresolved sticky feelings

-

It’s the strangest thing. He hasn’t thought about it in so long. In years. It’s easy not to think about it. It’s easy to lock parts of what happened to him up. He has to a lot of the days. But that’s easing. 

Thalia is helping. The therapist. He doesn’t call her the therapist and she doesn’t call herself the therapist but that’s what she is and they both know it. Either way, she does help. Is helping. 

But they’re in a pet store. Mal and him. Just stopped by to get some litter and food for Mal and Lou’s cats on the way by, and Cass sees the collars and he reaches out his hand…

He closes his eyes and for a moment he’s not in a pet store. He’s not anywhere at all. He opens them again and he’s in a pet store but his is heart racing and there are memories in his head he doesn’t want and fear in his legs that he doesn’t need and disgust on his tongue that he can’t shift and —

He reminds himself to breathe. He reminds himself of the things Thalia says. He reminds himself to ground his feet, he reminds himself to let his shoulders relax so he can breathe, he can breathe, he can breathe. He reminds himself to find Mal, even though he can’t find the other man’s eyes and then –

“I’m just gonna meet you at the car, is that okay?”

Mal looks at him and something in him changes and Cass knows he’s been seen. Mal gets this softness about him that used to prickle, used to burn, but right now it just… washes Cass clean. It helps him breathe, feels like protection. Thalia’s been helping.

Mal nods. “Yeah, mate. Of course.”

He ends up taking a walk. He walks around the back of the building and he keeps walking along the wall of the shopping complex and every time he blinks too long he’s not anywhere at all so instead he just keeps taking stock of what’s around him.

Grass, concrete, dandelions. Sunlight, shadow, sky.

By the time he gets back to the car, Mal’s already there with bubble tea, squinting against the sun and leaning against the hood. He smiles easy and offers out Cass’ drink. Like he hasn’t been waiting for ten minutes. Like Cass didn’t disappear with no explanation. 

They get into the car in silence, strapping up their seat-belts, and Mal doesn’t turn on the car for a bit, pretending to fiddle with something on his phone. He’s good like that. Doesn’t ask, but always leaves space. 

“There were other boys,” Cass says eventually, staring out the windscreen, biting at his thumbnail. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Mal shift a little in his seat, kinda turning to face him. 

“Yeah?”

Mal says it like it’s something he doesn’t already know. He doesn’t already know it, not this, but he thinks he does, and so it’s nice anway. Mal thinks Cass is talking about the other boys at the Estate, who he knows about just fine, but he still says yeah? like it’s some new information and even though he’s misunderstood, Cass appreciates the gesture.

Cass takes a breath, in and out, and remembers what Tahlia says about releasing his jaw, letting the muscles in his shoulders relax. It helps and he doesn’t know why but he doesn’t need to know why because it does. 

“I don’t mean Christopher’s boys,” he clarifies, after a heavy beat. “I mean there were other... there were other men. Men who, um... who kept... other boys. The same way Christopher kept me.”

There’s a long, still silence.  If Cass listens he can hear Mal’s breath hitch. Internally, he flinches.

“Sorry. I don’t want to-”

“No, you’re fine,” Mal assures, stopping him before the run-away train starts. “Keep going if you want to. Or stop. Both are fine.”

Cass nods, squeezing his eyes shut for a sec, hands gripping his seat belt like it’s a lifeline. Maybe it is today.

“They, um,” he has to stop and take another breath. “They had it worse than me. I think. I mean, I know–”

“Mate, you know that’s not something you can-”

“No, I mean it,” he says, turning to look Mal in the eye. “I really mean it. They were treated like… They wore, um. They had to wear…” he makes a gesture around his throat when he thinks words are gonna fail him and then- “Like dogs.”

Mal takes a big, deep breath in and for a second, Cass doesn’t think he’s gonna exhale ever again. But then he does. “Did seeing the collars in the store make you remember?”

“Yeah,” Cass says, frowning and wiping at his brow with the back of his hand. “Not that I forget really. Ever. But it’s usually kinda…”

He trails off and his eyes flutter closed, makes another gesture.

“In the backwaters?” Mal offers up. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, and it’s-”

He can feel something welling up. Feels his breath starting to pick up and he closes his eyes and lets his body take over. Sometimes it's better to just let the feelings come. Let his body sort it out. It helps, somehow, to just feel the panic run him through instead of trying to squash it or push it away. It stops the numbness from setting in.

“M’fine,” he mumbles as reassurance though it comes out high and squeaking. He presses his hand to his eyes, elbow resting on the sill of the car window, and the breathing switches from steady to laboured. From even to quick.

“I know you are, mate,” Mal says, voice soft. Cass is certain that if he were to open his eyes and look down, the man’s hand would be offered out on the console, to grab hold of if he wanted, to leave if he needed. He doesn’t know when it started being a thing they all did for him — Mal, Josiah, Lou, whoever – but it nearly brings him to tears every fucking time. Today he leaves it. 

The breathing evens itself out in a minute or so, and Mal’s there waiting for him as it does. Cass feels tears on his cheek before he feels much else, and the headache starting quick behind his eyes. “What am I meant to do with that? What am I… how am I meant to deal with that?”

“We’ll figure it out,” is all Mal says. 

Cass sniffs, swipes his cheeks dry. More tears come and he lets them. He takes Mal’s hands and closes his eyes again as he feels the other man squeeze it. He cries, breath quiet and hitching in little bursts, and when that finally evens out, “Do you think any of them are still alive?”

There’s a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, mate.”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

And Mal never does anyway. He’s good like that. He shrugs. “Best guess? Probably not, no. But you’re here. And that wouldn’t have been my best guess either.”

Cass kinda laughs. The best way you can when you’re already halfway through crying, anyway. “Yeah. And you’re here too, I guess.”

Mal closes his eyes with a smile and a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. And I’m here too.”

“Sorry, I’m not saying-”

“I know you’re not saying,” he says. “You’re all good.”

Cass stares out the windscreen for a long while, chewing his lip. His head feels waterlogged and heavy, like he’s just been drowned. Or not quite. It aches more when you’ve been drowned. And your throat and nose burn more.

“I hope they’re not alive,” he says, watching a pair of birds hop along the roof of the shopping complex. His voice comes out clearer than he’d expected it to.  “I hope they’re— I mean, I don’t… I don’t want them to be dead, but I don’t want… If they’re still... I hope they’re not-”

“Yeah,” Mal says. Righting the run-away train again with a word. Another sigh. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Me too.”

There’s a long, heavy silence that settles over them that lasts maybe a full minute.

Cass watches a mum walk by with her kids, one sitting in the front of the trolley she’s pushing while the other one skips backwards, walking beside. He can just barely hear the bubbling of her voice. She sounds happy. Excited. It makes him smile just a little, corner of his mouth twitching up even though he still kinda feels wrung dry. Up on the roof, another pair of birds join the first. 

Mal gives his hand a departing squeeze and then lets it go, turning on the engine and sticking the car in gear. He pulls out of the lot and reaches across to hand Cass his phone as they turn onto the freeway, AUX cord already plugged in, ready to go. “You wanna put the music on?”

“Yeah,” he says. He scrolls through and picks a playlist that looks like an easy mix of not too heavy and not too happy and sets it to play. “Hey, I’m, um… I’m s-”

“Don’t be,” Mal says, with a quick little glance across at him. “Thank you for telling me.”

The guitar riff of the song filters out the speakers and Mal turns it up just a little, humming a long with the melody. And then –

“Thalia tomorrow?”

Cass nods. “Yeah.”

“Wanna order in lunch after you get home?”

“Yeah,” he says. He dares to let himself feel comforted. “Yeah, I reckon that’d be good.”

[magioftheseas]

Kazuichi & Yasuke

Summary: Souda Kazuichi’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. It’s also half and half but for more unfortunate reasons.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and references to violence.

Notes: For REASONS, I ended up writing Souda’s FTEs when I initially intended to write Sonia’s. I’m disappointed in myself too, but...hm. I enjoyed writing these. I think it’s fun (?) to write social events where the two parties just don’t get along and that doesn’t change by the end. It’s played seriously, and I’m curious how people will take it. But I wrote these close to the heart!

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

“Blue skies! Beautiful beaches! Babes! By all accounts, this should be a dream come true! So, why—why, why, why, why, WHY does a guy like YOU gotta be here?!”

“That’s fucking rude,” Matsuda scoffed. “All I’m doing is reading.”

“You keep staring!” Souda accused, shaking his fist in frustration. “And I can feel ya judging, too!! Are you EVER in a good mood?!”

In reality, Souda had been the one to constantly steal glances instead of looking at his own damn magazine. Matsuda, subsequently, had gotten annoyed by it. He really had thought if he focused on his own manga, it’d be fine even with the dipshit mechanic present, but he was a fool. He was a real fucking fool.

Although not as much an idiot as this guy...

“You’re judging!” Souda screeched. “I know you are! Why do you have it out for me?!”

“I don’t,” Matsuda grumbled. “I barely consider you at all.”

“T-That’s hurtful, man! Real hurtful!” Souda even sniffled, he was so hurt by it. “This is why you don’t have any friends!”

...I could leave. I could just...leave. He’s not going to follow me. I could just leave and go someplace quiet.

But, because there wouldn’t be any events if he just left, he was stuck.

Great...

Souda was still glaring at him. He was glaring pretty hard, but also pretty...desperately.

“Even if your face freezes like that, it won’t make you more intimidating,” Matsuda muttered. “Actually no matter what you do, you can’t change that.”

Souda froze immediately. Matsuda gives him a look, but before he can say anything more, the guy flees the scene.

Had the line being broken?

Guess I hit a nerve.

Souda had even abandoned his magazine. Matsuda doubted the guy had the brain capacity to retrieve it later, although he himself hesitates before plucking it off the ground. Thankfully, while it was a little crumbled, it wasn’t sticky. Or oily.

Hm.

He should probably return it.

--

The first thing Souda did upon opening the door was let out a shriek. The second thing he did was slam it in Matsuda’s face.

This fucking guy...

Matsuda took a deep breath and knocked once more on the door.

“Nobody’s here!” Souda’s voice came through muffled. “A-And even if there were somebody—you’re not welcome!”

“For fuck’s sake—I’m just here to give you back your magazine, not because I...” Matsuda bit his tongue, kneeling down. “You know what, I’ll just shove it under...”

“Wait-wait-wait!”

The door was almost flung open, Souda now looking frantic.

“Don’t do that!” he exclaims. “You’ll wrinkle it! You’ll mess with the illustrations! Hasn’t anyone taught you how to treat a magazine?!”

Matsuda straightened up, handing it over without much more fanfare. Souda does take it, but he continues to grumble.

“Seriously, you’re such a slob. That’s like, super unsexy to women. H-Haven’t you heard?”

Matsuda wordlessly glances past into the mechanic’s cottage. There are some miscellaneous gears and gizmos scattered across the floor. Some bottles of what looked to be motor oil. It certainly stank of motor oil.

“Oh, this old thing?” Souda asked, mistaking his staring for interest. He grins suddenly and it might’ve been the first time he’s smile like that at Matsuda. “It’s a lil vroom-vroom I’m working on! Pretty spiffy, huh?”

...spiffy? That’s...something only elderlies would use... Not to mention that’s not even the correct usage?

“I guess you mean it’s neat,” Matsuda muttered.

“I know right?!” Souda exclaimed excitedly. “It’s real neat! It’s gonna be a real wham bam when I’m finished!”

“Right...”

“Right, right!” Souda agreed, nodding frantically now. “You get it, you get it! I guess even a jackass like you still has a right eye for this kinda thing, Matsuda. Just this once, I’ll let you have a closer look! Come in! Don’t be a priss!”

He worked himself up as usual, but I guess this time he at least did so positively.

Mortifyingly curious as to how far this could go, Matsuda does step inside. Souda eagerly gestures to the lump of metal on the ground. Matsuda looks at it closely and—yet.

It’s a lump...of metal. Incredible.

“This baby is gonna go places when it’s done,” Souda sighs happily. “I won’t be able to test it—but I’m sure of it. It’s gonna go far, kid!”

Show him how to lie. You’re getting better all the time.

“I’m sure it will,” Matsuda replied, doing his best to give a decent nod of approval. Souda does preen, but just like that—Souda realizes himself. And he realizes Matsuda.

Specifically, he re-realizes that he and Matsuda don’t have the best relationship.

“You’re not just saying that to make fun of me, right?! You almost got me going, too!”

Although he still seems confused about the intricacies of said relationship.

“It’s nothing like that,” Matsuda waved his hand, shaking his head for good measure. Souda seemed unconvinced, much to his annoyance. “I was just curious.”

Except he really wasn’t. He was the kind of guy who had about as much interest in cars as he did in answering surveys. Souda’s eyes narrowed sharply in suspicion and, seriously, where did this guy get off on presuming so much shit about him?

Matsuda sighed.

Whatever. I delivered the magazine back.

“If I’m not welcome here, I’ll leave.”

He’s not sure what he expected when he turned on his heel. He might not have expected anything, and indeed nothing really happened. He walked out of the cottage, shutting the door behind him, and walked the rest of the way back in silence.

Pretty uneventful overall, but it was still something.

--

“H-H-Hey! Matsuda!”

He supposed he wasn’t really expecting to be called out. When he turned, however, he was already prepared.

“What is it? You better clarify because you’re on a different frequency than I am.”

“Eh? Come on, dude, it’s not like we’re speaking different languages here!” Souda huffed, shoving his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. “I’m just...trying to get yer attention. It’s...like...”

He’s slurring his words a bit.

“You made me feel bad, y’know,” Souda grumbled. “With the way you left. I’m just checking because the last thing I need is you having another reason to...”

“You really are convinced I have something against you, huh,” Matsuda droned, unimpressed. “Would you believe me if I told you that I really don’t care?”

Souda groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Of course you don’t care. You’re a jackass.”

He’s not wrong...but he’s also not right. Not caring goes both ways.

“Hm.” They’d just go in circles at this rate, so it was best to change tactics. “You’re...”

Aah, what to say? Not my type? Not really understanding? This guy...

“You’re here because you say you felt bad.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius or something,” Souda huffed. “Like...a brain guy, right?”

“Right.” That doesn’t mean I understand every irrational, idiotic choice a person makes. “I understand the physical sciences. Psychology, however, is its own thing.”

“I mean, I know that,” Souda said, sounding completely unconvincing. “It’s like—the difference between fixing and programming. I can fix a computer, but when it comes to all the typing, clicking, and trouble...finding... I don’t get that stuff.”

“Troubleshooting,” Matsuda corrected.

“Computers aren’t my thing anyway,” Souda went on, unbothered. “I’m more of a vehicle guy!” He lit up so easily. “Like! Vroom, vroom! Wham bam!”

He made other engine noises for that matter.

Matsuda would lie if he said he didn’t find it mildly amusing.

Any moment the two could have had was quickly ruined, however.

“Anyway! There! I spoke to ya!” Souda twisted away. “We’re good, then!”

...it’s not like I’m expecting an apology, but what a shitty fucking thing to just say. And to say loudly, at that.

“Argh! Not good?!” Souda flinched, cowering. “You’re giving me that awful judge-y look again! What is your PROBLEM?!”

For once, the glare was intentional and only intensified, making Souda crumble and whimper.

“C-Cut it out, seriously...! You’re going to make me cry!”

“Is that really my problem?” Matsuda asked coolly. “This is just how my face looks a lot of the time. I can’t control that but you could be less of a fucking coward.”

“I’m not...a coward,” Souda muttered, pulling down his beanie. “I-I’m not! You’re just... You’re such an ass! Seriously! Seriously! How the hell is someone like you—?!”

“Someone like me?” he prodded, eyes half-lidded. Souda recoils whenever he makes any attempt at coming closer. Sure, this dipshit is easily spooked and intimidated, but...

Is there more to it?

“Q-Quit it,” Souda squeaked. “S-Stooooop...”

It’s not...my appearance, is it?

Matsuda backed off anyway, playing with his hair to stave off the irritation. Fidgeting could only do so much.

“I really don’t get it,” Souda said, then, and it sounded almost morose. “It pisses me off so much that you’re the kind of guy that’s just...popular with girls.”

Matsuda pinched a lock of hair hard enough to dig his thumbnail into his finger pad. The pinch did little to soothe his nerves.

I’m more or less hopeless when it comes to tech. A wrench in my hand would only ever be used as a weapon. But, this guy...

“That’s definitely not my problem.”

He’s incredibly basic.

“Maybe you should just take more showers?”

“LIKE YOU’RE ONE TO TALK?!”

A basic bitch for sure.

“Hmm.”

“NO COMEBACK?!”

Matsuda stuck his tongue out, Souda screamed in frustration.

The rest went about as well as anyone could expect.

--

“This really is just the wooooorst,” Souda laments, sounding dangerously close to a sob. “For my first field trip ever, to have it be such a bust is just the woooorst.”

“First time?” Matsuda asked, only feigning curiosity as he flipped the page. He didn’t care, but any conversation was better than listening to more whining. All Matsuda did was sit down to read and he was too spiteful and stubborn to leave when he hadn’t done anything. “Skipped the one in middle school?”

The reason I didn’t go was to study, but for a guy like this...

“Huh? Oh, yeah...” Souda shrugged. “I uh, faked being sick and stayed home instead. Not like I could go with how poor my folks were—not like I wanted to go with how shitty my boring asshole classmates were. My old man was pissed though. Beat the shit out of me.”

“I guess overcompensation ran in the family,” Matsuda muttered, but Souda hadn’t heard him.

“He knew we couldn’t afford it, too,” he just went on. “We had this bike shop but like—not super, uh...”

“Profitable?” Matsuda guessed, to which he nodded along.

“Yeah, people just wanted to fix tires and pump air. We barely sold anything.” Souda sighed loudly before grinning and pointing to himself with a jerk of his thumb. “But! Yours truly still turned out to be a genius mechanic! From bikes to cars! Toys to appliances! You got it, I fix it!”

“You’d make a lot more money as a mechanic than a bike salesman,” Matsuda noted. “It’s a well-paying and sought-after service.”

“I’ve been taking apart and reconstructing things since I could walk,” Souda said proudly. “Even though my old man is just—hopeless!”

“Hopeless,” Matsuda echoed disinterestedly.

“That said, I was still looking forward to this trip,” Souda sighed again. “It sounds nice to go on a trip with friends and stuff, but...you and I are like...the furthest thing from friends.” He does perk up when he remembers, “I guess Hinata’s alright. He’s kinda cool. A real soul bro. Soul pal? Soul friend!”

In that case, why aren’t you seeking his company?

Matsuda’s not quite that petty. Not to mention how childish it’d make him sound while asking that aloud. It’s not like he has a problem with Souda and Hinata getting along.

Although...

Hinata has a thing for Komaeda. That might end up complicating that soul bromance or whatever down the line.

Not that it had anything to do with him.

“I have an unlikeable personality,” he just reminded Souda sardonically. “I didn’t come to Hope’s Peak expecting or wanting to make friends.”

The idea is just...absurd. I haven’t been able to connect with peers in over a decade, why the hell would that change now?

“I know!” Souda groused. “Which is why! A guy like you just shouldn’t be LIKED by girls! Who knows how you’d treat them! If you don’t watch yourself, your alarm clock’s gonna get modified into a ticking time bomb!”

“Try it, coward,” Matsuda snapped, making him falter back. “I fucking dare you.”

“E-Eep...! W-Why do you have to make such a scary face, Matsuda...?!”

“...it’s just how I look.”

Haaaah. This is exhausting. So...exhausting.

“Bad looks and a bad personality, but even you can admit I’m a genius, yeah?” Matsuda turned away. “When you’re smart, people flock to you either as a crutch or a springboard. Especially when you’re young.”

“I mean, I’m a genius too,” Souda grumbled. “I actually could just...modify clocks into bombs if I...really wanted to...”

“I want to change the very scope of neurology,” Matsuda went on, ignoring him this time. “I’m going to make it so that no person will ever be lost to us again.”

“Wait...you’re gonna like...cure death?” Souda asked, gawking. “T-That’s...dude...!”

Matsuda couldn’t help but smirk, all too aware of the growing alarm in the mechanic’s eyes.

“If you could just upload a person’s consciousness to a computer like a program... That’d change more than just our understanding of the brain. It’d challenge our understanding of humanity itself.”

Souda went pale.

“T-That’s, uh...”

“Of course it’s pretty unlikely,” Matsuda said, shaking his head. “And so absurdly sci-fi to the point of fantasy.”

But... It could have been possible at Hope’s Peak. Not on this stupid fucking island though.

“It was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh.”

Souda was left in stunned silence.

“I guess it was a bad joke,” Matsuda admits grumpily.

“Y-You know, I, uh... I just wanted to make a rocket ship someday,” Souda says, slowly and stupidly unsure. “But, you, uh... Your ambitions are fucking scary. Count me out.”

Just like that, Souda stood up and left. Without another word.

That was more or less what Matsuda learned to expect.

--

I really do just have a bad personality.

He knows this already, obviously. But it’s a fact that gets hammered in sometimes. Especially right now, when he sees Souda chatting amicably with Hinata. Souda’s wearing a smile that’s only been directed at Matsuda a couple of times. Even when Souda falters, Hinata ends up saying something that makes him perk right back up.

Hinata’s not that social of a guy in the first place.

The two of them banter with ease even when it’s clear that Hinata still gets exasperated by the other’s antics. Then—something is said. Souda’s expression changes into one of frustration and unease. Hinata’s worried, but when Souda excuses himself, Hinata makes no move to follow him. Likely to give the other space. Be respectful. All that.

Matsuda does trail after Souda, however. He’s not a considerate or patient guy. It’s why he doesn’t have any friends.

“Urgh, hate this, hate this, hate this,” Souda’s muttering under his breath through gritted teeth. “Seriously, why did this have to happen? There’s no escape...the ships and planes are useless...no engines... What the hell can I even do...?!”

“Boo.” Matsuda blew into the mechanic’s ear. “Gimme your lunch money.”

Souda screamed loud enough to blow off mountaintops. Matsuda thankfully had the foresight to cover his ears.

“M-M-M-MATSUDA?!” Souda yelped. “What the actual FUCK was that?!”

“A prank,” is his droning response. “You can laugh now.”

“THAT SHIT WASN’T FUNNY!” Souda screeched back. “Y-You, you, you—! Fucking watch it! I’m not in any mood to be messed with!”

Matsuda waved his hands.

“Alright, alright.”

Souda gave him a withering look. After a while, he backed up even more.

“...why are you here? A-Are you here to...?”

Matsuda waved his hands again, shaking his head for good measure.

“If I were, I wouldn’t have gotten your attention.”

“T-That could just be part of the trap!” Souda sputters. “Y-You... You’re not playing with me, are you?!”

...I was, but not because I wanted to murder you. Jeez. I like to think I’d be more pragmatic.

“You’re free to scream, then,” he said simply. “Scream as loud as you can. It can even be my name if you want.”

Souda shuddered.

“U-Urgh...dude, seriously... You’re just messed up,” he groans, burying his face into his hands. “What I’d give for a vehicle to get as far from you as possible. Even if I get sick afterward, it’d be worth it.”

“Haha,” Matsuda droned without a hint of mirth. “Sure.”

“Come to think of it, if anyone would be tempted to be the one to escape at the expense of everyone else...” Souda does raise his head to give him a look.

Matsuda stared back.

“You don’t know me,” he said. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I-I don’t know,” Souda huffed, feigning assurance. “I think I’ve been around ya long enough to get a good idea of your character. And you’ve got like—scary ambitions.”

I’m not a considerate person, nor am I patient. I know I should be. It would ultimately make my life a lot easier.

“By that logic, I must know you pretty well in return,” he said.

Souda scoffed.

“Yeah, right. You’re just trying to psyche...”

“Dyed hair. Contacts.” Matsuda gestures to the entirety of him. “The way a person chooses to look says a lot about them.”

Souda’s mouth immediately shut, all blood draining from his face. It was easy. Too easy.

“Wonder what happened? Was it just bullying? Or a betrayal?” Matsuda went on. “People who change their natural appearance like that usually have something deeper to throw away.”

“Don’t—talk about shit you have no idea about...!” Souda growled. “It’s none of your damn business!”

He’s so basic.

It’s true I don’t know what I’m talking about, but you’re still falling for it, aren’t you?

“I’m not the traitor,” he says simply. “If I were, I’d manipulate you to like me. You’re about as easy to play as a cheap kazoo.”

Being a little cruel, aren’t you?

His head’s starting to hurt. For some reason—he himself feels sick. And Souda, well...

Souda’s already sniffling. In tears. Whatever he tries to say just comes out as blubbering. It’s pitiful. So much so that Matsuda pulls back with a groan.

His head really, really hurt. He rifles through his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and a pill bottle. He lays the former on top of Souda’s quivering head before prying open the bottle. As he turns on his heel, he pops a couple into his mouth and swallows them dry with a groan.

He needed a nap after all that, thus he’s on his way.

--

“Hey. You.” Souda jerked his thumb off to the distance. “We’re going. We need to have a talk.”

“Huh. Kay.”

Once they got to the beach, Souda took several deep breathes. Psyching himself up for what was to come.

There really were only a number of ways things would culminate. A simple exchange of words was not going to be it.

“Y-You—!”

At the same time, when Souda spun on his heel—

“OOF! L-Let go! Let go!”

Matsuda was a bit surprised that Souda had the gall to throw a punch first. Not so surprised that he lacked the reflexes to dodge, to seize the mechanic by the arm. He threw the mechanic down, pinning him down front-first into the sand with Matsuda sitting on his back. Souda yelped when his arm was twisted in Matsuda’s grip.

“L-Let go,” he choked out, slapping the sand. “U-Urgh... Urgh...!”

His eyes were screwed shut, likely to keep the sand out.

“S-Seriously?! You couldn’t let me throw one punch for what an asshole you’ve been?!”

“I mean, if you want to upset the princess, that’s your prerogative,” Matsuda hummed before pulling back. “Unfortunately, I don’t like getting punched if I can avoid it.”

“T-Then what about—?!” Souda ended up coughing. The idiot must have inhaled some sand. Feeling bad for him, Matsuda helped him to his feet. Souda’s still coughing pitifully. “Urgh... You’re suuuuch a piece of wooooork.”

“I carry scalpels around,” Matsuda reminded him, making him freeze. A look of fear and then—that fright melted into exasperation.

“Alright,” Souda sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Alright, I get it. You really like flaunting, don’t ya? You’re the worst.”

Matsuda hummed, but Souda went on.

“Y’know...you’re scarily good at reading people, too. You were right about me. I changed my appearance to throw my old self away,” he admits. “I used to be a cowardly loser who thought highly of anyone who bothered to give me the time of day. Even if they lied to me...even if they betrayed me. I was just too much of a wimp to admit that I was being taken advantage of.”

I was just guessing, Matsuda internally admitted. And I still think you’re a coward and a loser. But for different reasons.

“Accepting vulnerability is the first step,” he ended up saying. “You can’t just say you’ll change even if you’re dramatic about it.”

“W-Well, a lot did change when I...changed...” Souda trails off.

“But not the kind of positive change you were hoping for,” Matsuda guessed again. “Were you uncomfortable?”

Souda blanched.

“God, I hate to admit it, but...you’re too sharp for your own good.”

Matsuda said nothing.

“You’re smart. You’re really fucking smart.” Souda gritted his teeth and met his gaze head-on. “That’s why—I’m gonna keep my guard up around ya.”

“That’s fine,” Matsuda replied, shrugging. “There are people you can relax around, and people you can’t. I don’t blame you at all.”

“You’re fine with it,” Souda reiterated as if he wasn’t sure. “Even if...I never trust you...or believe in you... You’re just...fine with it?”

“I’m fine,” Matsuda repeated. “Are you?”

Souda flinched.

“I... Geez! Playing those sick head games with me again!” He shook his head furiously, covering it with his hands as if that’d be a good defense. “W-Well! I won’t let ya! Better fucking watch yourself, Matsuda! Don’t even THINK of trying anything funny!”

“Got it,” Matsuda droned with disinterest. “Would you like to shake on it?”

“K-Keep away from me,” Souda yelped, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Just—just stay the hell away from me! I’m gonna keep an eye on you, but... I don’t want to have to deal with you if I don’t have to!”

“Alright. Fine.”

Souda gave him a suspicious look. He got flustered and quickly turned away. Without looking at Matsuda, he blindly threw back the handkerchief. It only fluttered to the ground, landing in the sand.

“Save your pity,” Souda muttered darkly. “Goodbye.”

When Souda left, it was with an air of finality. Matsuda decided to just leave things like that between them.

Kneeling down to retrieve his handkerchief, Matsuda did pause for a moment. He shook the sand off the fabric.

“...I don’t plan on betraying anyone, not even you,” he spoke slowly and stupidly. “I do in fact...care about lives and I don’t want to see them lost.”

Would that have really been so hard to say?

He really did have such an awful personality. Even if it wouldn’t have worked out for him, it wouldn’t have hurt to have tried.

There are people you can relax around and people that you can’t. There are people you can be friends with and people you that can’t. People you should trust and people that you shouldn’t. You can’t always control which one you’ll be, because it all depends on how others feel. You can’t control that. Even if that’s technically true...

He feels like he’s making excuses. It feels bad.

His head hurting doesn’t help. As he gripped that handkerchief, he took notice of a crab burying itself in the sand down below.

I should do better. I should be better. Maybe if I tell myself enough times, it’ll happen.

[hansoulo]

ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves) - pt. 5

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

Warnings: grief, heavy angst, mentions of Hard Emotions and Past Events. it’s not super specific and it’s in the context of healing/working through those things but ik reading that can be hard so pls take care!! also talks about hospitals? no gore or anything but :P reader and horacio have a mini therapy sesh and then make out for a bit >:)

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: it’s taken almost a month but here u go 💀

masterlist  playlist  moodboard  gif by @el-cheung​

You’d been given time off from your shifts at the hospital, courtesy of the whole “kidnapped and experienced blunt trauma to the head” thing, but you were due back soon and knew you couldn’t keep dragging your feet. As much as you wanted to dig your heels in the sand, to bury your head in it until everything was muffled and coarse and static, you couldn’t. Not forever. You had a job and responsibilities and friends and a fucking life to get back to but everything still felt splintered and raw, pieces that were just starting to come together breaking apart again and leaving you, sitting on the cold tile of your bathroom floor heaving gulps of air like a drowning man and feeling just as desperate.

Everything had been too much, too slow and too fast at the same time and you just needed… space. To think. To try and not feel so fucking guilty and rotted from the inside. It had been eating at you, gnawing aimlessly for so long you hardly even noticed it before pushing it back down but now, now it was tearing you apart limb from limb with slow-snapping teeth, screaming everything and everyone you’d been trying to forget since this whole shitshow started. You used to be normal.

You used to make grocery lists and get called pet names and go to dinner parties. You used to gossip with the other military wives, sip wine with a warm hand on your knee and a chest against your back. You used to have so many things. Then… then you didn’t. And you were just starting to be okay with that because you could at least pretend you had him. For a moment, you did. You had him and he had you for a brief, sparking moment that felt like fire and tasted like blood but was the best thing you’d ever known.

Now you didn’t have anything. And it was your own damn fault.

You could hear Dr. Reyes’ voice in your head now, chiding you with a shake of her graying head. It’s not your fault, she’d say to you as you sat on the crinkly fake leather of her office couch, wringing a tissue in your hands until it chafed your palms. She’d called a few times since you’d come back - back, not home, because it wasn’t really home - concerned as to why you hadn’t been making it to your weekly sessions. Her voice was warm, familiar and grounding and a little pitying but you didn’t really mind. It was kind of in a therapist’s job description to pity. Maybe that wasn’t the right word but you appreciated the concern all the same, assuring her that no, you were alright and just not feeling very well. The last part wasn’t even a lie, because the ache knotting something awful in your head had yet to subside.

Horacio had taken you to the hospital after he got you out of the safe house, sitting in the waiting room and dwarfing the little plastic folding chair. He was still wearing his tactical vest, the gun holster digging into your hip as you leaned on him. You could barely string two sentences together with the bright fluorescent lights glaring in your eyes, so you’d screwed them shut and pressed your forehead into his chest, listening as he explained what happened to the receptionist.

You remembered her asking if you were married, feeling the shake of his head as his chin dipped slightly against your hair. Are you in a relationship? Another shake, Horacio’s arms sliding down to help prop you up on your feet. You didn’t really expect him to answer differently. It still stung a little bit, though. 

An hour later and you’d walked out with a mild concussion diagnosis and a prescription for some painkillers, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple as Horacio led you back to the Jeep. You tried not to think about the bullet holes in the passenger side door and how tightly his hands gripped the steering wheel.

He probably doesn’t have great memories of hospitals, you’d mused with your head lolling against the window, gaze bleary and unfocused as it swept over dusty backroads. With his wife and all. You hummed as the thoughts churned through your head, making your expression in the glass frown a little deeper. Maybe that’s why he always came back to his apartment so roughed up. Probably doesn’t like going if he can help it. I wouldn’t either, if I had to watch my wife die. I’d hate it.

⫸ -------- ⫷

Horacio sank deeper into the couch cushions, a hand cradling Isabella’s head as she lay across his chest. She was sleeping soundly for the first time in days and he let out a sigh, careful not to jostle her as he reached over to the phone on the table. He’d forgotten how difficult it could be, without you there.

He wanted to call. He wanted to see you, to talk to you, to do something. The plastic cord of the telephone tangled slightly when he held the receiver, thumbnail dragging over the buttons and catching on the shallow grooves of waxy plastic. It warmed under his hand, grown restless and waiting. He set it down again.

Your voicemail left two days prior still fogged his head like the static message of a radio, the signal too soft and too out of reach but still carrying over enough to whisper and root itself in every waking moment. It’s just- it’s just too much right now, Horacio. Maybe we can work it out. Maybe not. I- I don’t know. Take care, alright? I lo-

You’d ended the message then, the dial tone ringing mocking and sour in his ears.

⫸ -------- ⫷

It was Friday night. You were due back on Monday, but it was far enough away that you could pretend not to care. Things were a bit better now. You were eating and showering and doing laundry. Responsible-type things. You could finally sleep through the night, even if you were plagued by nightmares. Sleep was sleep, right?

He wasn’t sleeping much, though. Not tonight, at least. Undercut by the sound of Isabella’s fussy cries, you could hear him pacing. You laughed a bit, not because it was funny but because it was familiar.

Before you could realize what you were doing, you slowly padded over to the door, not caring that you hadn’t brushed your hair or were wearing old pajamas. He’d seen worse, anyways. You wordlessly took the baby from his arms. His eyes seemed sunken in, a bit darker and a bit more hollow. You didn’t say anything, though. Neither of you did. You just stood in the hallway, a quiet agreement to not look each other in the face blanketing the air in a way that made your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth.

She settled quickly against you, hiccuping breaths slowing underneath your touch. The air was hot, humid and sticky with the Colombian summer in a way that made your head soupy. You could hear cars in the distance, sirens and horns and all the violent things that had led him to you and you to him. You pressed a kiss to the top of Isabella’s head, smiling at the way she smelled like the color pink - the innocent softness that you’d grown to love like it was your own. You missed it.

Horacio’s eyes were downcast, broad shoulders taking up most of your field of vision in a way that had your throat closing up. You reached out to place her back in his arms, clearly your throat awkwardly when your hands brushed. He mumbled a thanks and you shook your head, stepping back towards your apartment. Your hand rested on the doorframe, tangible evidence of your hesitancy as you stood with your back still to him.

You turned, the ghost of your profile just catching the way he glanced up when you opened your mouth to speak. “I-” you began and then let the word drift off, hanging heavy and uncertain. A whispered goodbye finally escaped your lips as you turned the knob, the metal searing cold against your skin.

⫸ -------- ⫷

Still Friday night. Or Saturday morning. Hard to tell, in the witching hours when everything was dampened and tilted sideways. You felt tilted sideways. Off-balance. You didn’t even remember leaving your apartment.

Your steps faltered, the few yards from your door to his stretched out until it lay miles away, a distant exit on a road you’d been down before but couldn’t for the life of you remember when or why or how to get back on. Wrenching your eyes shut, you let your forehead fall against the plaster of the wall beside you, the stucco cool and pebbling hard beneath your skin. The air was tight in your chest, shallow breaths doing nothing to ease the choking feeling in your throat. It was like hands were wrapped around you, pushing down on everything until you felt ready to burst.

Legs moving of their own accord, you found yourself standing outside his apartment entrance, the painted wood staring back at you, impersonal. What were you even doing?

The door opened just as you were about to turn away, hinges creaking slightly and making you wince. He called your name, voice soft and slightly confused. It was late. Were you okay? Was everything alright? He didn’t get to finish the last question before you fell into him, arms thrown around his neck and gripping the fabric of his shirt so tight your knuckles paled. “I need you,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears.

You buried your face in his neck and his breath fanned out over your hairline, tickling your cheek when he looked down. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry but I- I just-”  He quieted you, whispering comfort into the shell of your ear until your hiccups slowed and the tears dried sticky on your cheeks. You could feel his hand on your back, the other braced against the doorway. Sniffling, you pulled away slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Horacio shifted to thread a hand through your hair, his touch gentle - almost hesitant. The front of his shirt was damp with your crying and you frowned at it slightly, moving your hands to his chest. He shook his head with a small smile, his own hands moving to rest atop yours and you were suddenly reminded of how big he was. It should’ve terrified you, standing there and being comforted by a man like that, a man capable of things you didn’t want to speak aloud, but it didn’t. It never had.

“Don’t worry about it,” Horacio  said. Oh. Right. The shirt. Hands reached up to cradle your face, rough fingertips smoothing over the curve of your jaw. You let your eyes fall closed, stepping closer until his feet widened. His thumb caught the downward drag of a tear, wiping it away across your cheekbones. “I’m sorry, too.”

⫸ -------- ⫷

He’d led you back into his apartment, your steps quiet and your voices hushed as you sat down by his kitchen table. Your eyes were still puffy and everything was fogged up, burning a little and blurry the way fighting sleep made you feel. It was dark outside. Your only witness was the moon.

You traced the rim of your glass of water as you spoke, a single finger circling until your nail caught its edge.

“We should talk,” he said as he drew up a chair. His voice was quiet, rounded out on the edges and tired. You laughed a bit as you took a sip.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Yeah we should.”

So you talked.

“Are you alright?” Horacio asked after a few minutes where you both sort of said things but didn’t really say much at all. You nodded, resting your cheek on a propped hand, the grainy wood digging into your elbow.

“Yeah,” you looked back at him, smiling. You were trying to be, at least. “I think- I think I was just scared, y’know?”

He frowned slightly. “I would never let anything happen to you.”

You shook your head. You already knew that. “No, no, it’s not that.” you began, your eyes downcast and swimming murky in the water glass. “I was scared of myself. Of things all going to shit again. I didn’t want you to-” you blinked back tears, reaching to wipe them away with the heel of your palm. “I didn’t want what happened to him to happen to you. I don’t think I could, I- fuck,” you whispered, cradling your head in your hands. You closed your eyes. “Sometimes I can’t help feeling like it’s my fault. And I know it’s not, I know that it’s just- ”

“It’s easier to blame yourself,” Horacio whispered, his hands coming to your wrists. “Believe me, I know.”

Yeah, he would, wouldn’t he?

He brushed the hair back from your face and you remembered when he kissed you, thinking of spun sugar and amber and other sweet things that could still burn your tongue.

You entertained the idea of facades for a moment, the notion that you could somehow still manage to build something out of brick and mortar and silence and keep him out. He’d already seen you with all your walls crumbling down, though, so that wouldn’t accomplish much. A self-deluded exercise in futility, pretending like you didn’t need him and he didn’t need you. You were fighting a losing battle with yourself, a civil war of body and mind and heart that left you sick and dog-tired, just searching for someone to heal with.

It seems you’d found what you were looking for.

You moved your hands, threading your fingers into his. Ghosting your lips against the inside of his wrist, your words were hoarse and came out before you could stop to think. “Can I kiss you?”

A large palm came to your cheek, coaxing your face closer. Horacio’s chair scraped the tile as he moved but you barely noticed the sound, your eyes closing as his forehead fell against yours. You felt his smile instead of seeing it. His voice wrapped around you, all-encompassing and rushing in your ears like the roar of a heavy ocean wave. “If you want to.”

The first kiss had been nice. Hell, it’d been a lot more than nice but this… this was different. Somehow better. Slower. Quiet and soft but still kindling a smoke in your belly, gentle blue gas flames licking at every inch of your skin until you felt dizzy with heat and with touch. His hands had fallen to your waist, shifting your weight with no argument until you sat draped on his lap. He was strong underneath you, solid and warm and safe.

You recalled the feeling of stubble beneath your hands that first time in the hallway, so you moved to press a kiss to his jaw, over all the contours and shadows you never had the time nor the courage to map out before. You wanted to memorize him, everything from the way his fingers felt on your hip to the feeling of his mouth against the hollow of your throat. You didn’t want to run anymore.

“Stay here,” Horacio breathed as you shifted in his arms, reaching to card your hands through cropped hair at the nape of his neck. You nodded, still hiccuping leftover tears into his mouth as they bled into moans.

“Okay,” you whispered.

permanent: @ah-callie @itzagoodthing @spookypym @opheliaelysia @watsonwise @damndamer0n @amarvelousmandalorian @bunnyart-blog @agirllovespasta @pascalispedro @pascalplease @coffeencontemplation @chelsfic @lesqui @javierpenaspinkshirt​​ @symbiont13 @glowingpena @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @hiscyarika @lostingoogletranslate @keeper0fthestars @bobafvtt @halfwaythereroyal @starwarsiscooliguess @huliabitch

ain’t it a gentle sound: @paniclana @huliabitch @jayoknrjk28 @raabiac @sparrows-books @popculturepriestess  @pascalplease @ididntmeantobutiaccidentally @lockedoutofmyotherblog @multifandom-fiasco @wherethefuckiskathmandu​

my tags have been all weird lately so if it doesn’t work/notify you im so sorry 😭😭 

[lilmissbeanie]

Navigation Haikyuu Masterlist

Tetsuro Kuroo x F!Reader Song ~ In Too Deep By Why Don't We Warning - Swearing Fluff SFW Word Count ~ 1.7k  

So Happy Birthday @kimi09 loves ya sugar!

Kuroo sighed as he steps through the door, he placed his briefcase down on entrance hall table and his keys in the bowl as he rubbed the back of his neck trying to relieve some tension it had been yet another long gruelling day at the office the stress of making sure everything was ready and all the deadlines were being met was starting to set in.

The apartment was dark, reminding Kuroo just how late at night it was, he felt guilty not being able to come home at a reasonable time and he knew that she had to be asleep right now. He stepped into the kitchen flicking on the lights, needing a small late-night snack before having a shower and clambering into bed.

Walking up to the refrigerator, a lazy smile crossed his face as he opened the door and found a plate wrapped in cling film, on said plate was some sanma shio yaki. She knew him so well, and god did he just fallen even more in love with her for it. Grabbing the little sticky note from the top, 'Hey, baby. I'm sorry if I'm asleep when you get home, so I made your favourite for dinner, sorry it's cold. I love you, xoxoxo.'

He chuckled threw his nose soft before slipping the note in his pocket, Kuroo didn't even care that it was cold, she had made him his favourite food. Taking a seat the breakfast bar, he picked at his mackerel while scrolling threw his phone has a catch up on what he had missed that day on Twitter and Instagram. It was the usual, Bokuto being Bokuto, he had recently gotten a pet owl that looked exactly like him and was all he post recent, well that and the Black Jackels team. Kenma posting his new streaming times, Akaashi posting book quotes and other updates of his old friends and teammates.

He wondered into the bathroom once he had finished clearing off his plate and placing it in the dishwasher. Finally, a nice hot shower will wash away the stress of the day, he was looking forward to climbing into bed and snuggling up to his beloved.

Rubbing his hair dry and the rest him he pulled on a fresh pair of boxers brushed his teeth, and lazy yet quietly wandered into the door leading to their shared bedroom, as he pushed the door open a foot or two allowing the light to slip into the room, where he found his favourite sight, curled up in the middle of the bed clutching on to a pillow, wearing his old Nekoma jersey was his high school sweetheart. Sadly the jersey no longer fitter the former scheming Nekoma captain but it swamped her, it was basically a dress on the petit girl.

He remembered the first time she wore one of his t-shirts back in their second year of high school before they, finally, got together, by finally meaning Kuroo had had a crush on the girl since the school festival in their first year. She played the 'Drops of Jupiter' by Train, he was hypnotised by the way her fingers ran over the irony keys, but when he heard her voice, and that was it he was hooked, it was like a sirens call, he wanted to listen to her sing all the time.

From that day onwards he did everything in his power to hear her voice every day at school, whether she was just speaking or he would often stop by the piano room to listen to her sing, he had never spoken to her, she was the first to talk to him, he was stood with his back to the door as he listens to melody float out the room and down the corridor. "Ya know you can come in, right?"

He heard her voice floated to his ears, his head flickered around seeing her back still turned to him her fingers still running over the keys. Kuroo cleared his throat awkwardly, as he stepped into the room, she patted the stole she was sat on motioning him to take a seat next to her. So he did. He took a seat next to her. There was the dorn of their friendship, and both their feelings for one another grow swiftly.

The day he finally got up the courage to ask her was the day they got caught in a tracheal down poor, and it was the first time she wore one fo his T-shirts, and he knew at that moment he saw her in his geeky 'In Science we trust' top that she was the girl he was going to marry, begin a family with and cherish for the rest of his life.

"I'm in love with you," He blurted out of nowhere not even five seconds over walking back into his room wearing that t-shirt as she was rubbing her hair dry, the blush exploded over her cheeks as she gawked at him.

"Tetsu, you better not be messing with me right now," She mumbled as she nibbled on her right thumbnail, he knew that was her nervous tick.

He stood up, freshly showered after using his parent's bathroom. "I'm not fucking with you Y/n, I'm so deeply in love with you." He cupped her face in his hands, "I don't even know how to explain it, it's like suffocating when I'm around you, but in a good way, I just want to express how much I love you, and it's suffocating not being able to do it. When we're apart it's like I'm overboard in the middle of the ocean, I can't swim and your the only one who can save me"

Her eyes flickered around his, seeing the adoration swimming in his gray eyes.

"I love you too," She mumbled out as she hooked her arms around his neck pulling him down into a timid kiss, his hands found their way to her hips giving a light squeeze as he kissed her back with a little more force.

"Baby are you just going to stand there staring at me or are you going to come to bed," Her gentle sleep-filled voice reached his ears bring him out of his memories, he noticed she had rolled over and looked at him with heavy eyelids. He flicked off the hallway light and used the street lights that were peaking through the curtains to guide his way to the bed like he did most nights when he finished this late, crawling in bed wrapping an arm around her and his free hand to grab her left hand placing it on his chest like he did every time before he began to fiddle with her engagement ring he slipped their not three months.

"Sorry I didn't mean to wake you chibi, you just looked so peaceful I couldn't help but stare,"

His eyes were open wide the second the two words spilt from her lips. Just like he had done all those years ago blurting out he loved her, she just let the words slip from her lips like it was the most natural thing to do.

"It's okay, I was only half-asleep," She replied, placing a delicate kiss to his jawline before snuggling her face into the crook of his neck. "I had something I wanted-" cutting herself off as she yawning "wanted to tell you anyway,"

"Go to sleep it can wait till the morning, you're so tired." He smiled, planting a kiss on her forehead, letting out a happy sigh as he closed his eyes, pulling her closer to her side as he began to dose off.

"Tetsu," He rolled his eyes at the nickname of his first name, it was rare that she used that nickname and it was normal when she wanted to tell him something, his full name well then he knows he's in the shit. He knew she was going to make sure she told him tonight, "I'm pregnant."

Kuroo unravelled himself from her as he planted one of his hands placed next to her head on the pillow as he hovered over her, looking into her e/c eyes, his other hand was resting gently on her belly, his thumb stroking the soft skin."Are you serious?" He asked, eye wide and nervous, praying she was serious.

Y/n could hear the hope and fear in his words as they slipped out. She giggled and nodded her head as she brushed his slightly damp -one of the factors his hair is the way it is- hair from his face. She couldn't help but be excited when his whole face lit up with a joyess smile of excitement, and the tears welled in his eyes, he crawled down the bed pushing the old Jersey up exposing her stomach as he began to pepper kisses all over it.

"You're going to be a daddy," Running her fingers threw his hair as he continued to litter kisses on her exposed abdomen.

"I'm going to be a father." He chocked out as the tears ran down his face.

"How far along are you?" He questioned when he finally settled back in to bed with Y/n snuggled into his side with her lwft hand placed on his chest as he hummed contently once againg playing with the ring adorning her finger.

"Three months." He smirked instantly, he remembered that night, it was the night they got engaged.

"Good night baby, I love you so much" Y/n yawned out snuggling closer to the love of her life.

"Good night chibi and lil one," He replied bring her hand up to his lips placing kisses on the back of each of her knuckles as his other thumb continuously stroking the side of his stoamch as Kuroo realised he had the girl of his dream in his arms, who he was going to make his wife and she was carrying their first child. "Thankyou, for everything my love." He mumbled into her hair, her breathing became a relaxed even pace as she had fallen asleep.

He could not be more excited to start the next step in their life together.

Marriage and Parenthood.

He couldn't think of anyone else he would rather do it with.

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[monsterlovinghours]

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There’s no explanation for this. It’s just fluff. I had the idea at work and I spent my entire 7.5 hour shift thinking about it and I came home and I banged it out. Just let me be soft and self-indulgent, ok? Also they mention that time passes differently when you’re dead so to BJ it only feels like he’s been gone a month or two.

It wasn't like him to be nervous. At least, not topside. Here, he was the threat, the ominous force, the looming presence. He caused the gnawing pit in the stomach, not suffered it himself. Yet, here he was, in the same living room where it all began, chewing at his thumbnail and bouncing his knee, anxiously looking at the door. The house was different than Beetlejuice remembered, more lived in, the art actually tasteful and the walls covered in photos. It was evident that quite some time had passed since he'd left, but how much? Would Lydia still remember him? Was she even still alive? Had the Maitlands finally crossed over? What if the closest thing he'd ever had to a family was already gone?

Suddenly, the front door swung open, and a woman with dark hair pulled back into professional twist at the back of her head muttered something under her breath as she wiggled the key out of the old, sticky lock. She lifted her head and froze when she saw who was currently seated on her living room couch; or rather, floating in a seated position six inches above the cushion.

"Beetlejuice?"

His eyes widened as he got a better look at her face. 

"Lyds?"

"Holy shit!" She dropped her bag and her keys, bolting across the room and throwing her arms around him; she was taller now, he noticed absently. Taller than him. "I can't believe you're here! I thought you'd left for good."

"Whoa, hold up, hold up," he muttered, holding her at arm's length and taking a closer look at her. "Fuck, kid...you look awful. Did you get old?"

She laughed. "Of course I got old, Beej. You've been gone twenty years." Her fingertips, nails painted a stylish matte black, touched her face, where maturity had softened her childish angles. He could still see the teenager he knew in her eyes, which had lost none of their sharpness or cunning, and he grinned, finally letting go of her hands. He had been relieved to feel that she was as solid as ever, as human as ever. 

"So, twenty years…is that, like, a long time or something?"

Lydia laughed softly, settling down onto the couch and kicking off her shoes, revealing socks in stripes of green and black. "Long enough for me to get a PhD. in child psychology."

"Holy shit," he breathed, impressed and secretly about to burst with pride at her accomplishments. "Guess that means I gotta call you Doctor Deetz now?"

"Please don't."

Beetlejuice perched on the arm of the couch, elbows on his knees, still staring at her as if he still wasn't quite sure that she was his Lydia. "So, where's Chuckles and Diva at?"

"You mean Charles and Delia?"

"That's what I said."

"They're in Paris at the moment." She smiled and pointed to a snapshot on the wall of her father and stepmother on their wedding day. "He surprised her with a second honeymoon for their twentieth anniversary. Oh!" She stood suddenly, crossing to the foot of the stairs. "Almost forgot." Cupping a hand around her mouth, she yelled up the stairs. "Adam, Barbara! We have a guest!"

A split second later, the Maitlands appeared in the living room, phasing easily into view. Even after all this time, Beetlejuice still expected them to come running down the stairs, still clinging to the comforting limitations of being alive. He grinned, every tooth on display, as he extended his arms, as if to say here I am!

"Babs, Adam, babycakes! Didja miss me?"

He expected them to recoil, to remember the first time he had appeared to them in their living room and shrink back, but Barbara gasped and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him so tightly he nearly choked on the breath he didn't need.

"Oh my god! You're back!" 

Slowly, he hugged her back, hiding a small but genuine smile in her blonde hair. "So that'd be a yes?"

She drew back, smiling gently. "Of course we missed you. The house always seemed a little less alive with you gone."

"How's that for irony?" He snickered, then stepped back, looking between the two of them, his hands shoved in his pockets as he rocked on the balls of his feet. "Jesus, you two look exactly the same. Still a couple of boring yuppies?"

"Well, we've had to make some compromises here and there, but more or less." Adam absently fiddled with his watch, still set to the exact date and time that he had met his demise. Beetlejuice grinned and stuck out a hand, sure that while Barbara had warmed up to him, Adam was still wary. To his shock and delight, Adam took his hand, tugged on it, and pulled him into another crushing hug. He backed up once he was released, the corners of his mouth nearly touching his ears, a green tinge on his cheeks that was the closest thing to a blush he could muster.

"You, uh...you guys really embraced the whole 'forgive and forget' thing, huh?"

"Well, you did ride a sandworm into the living room to save Lydia." Barbara beamed as Lydia, hair now hanging loose around her shoulders, nodded in agreement. "And we've had a lot of time to think about everything that happened...you wanted what anyone would want, and we can't fault you for that."

"Now I feel almost bad for telling Charles to go fuck himself."

Lydia laughed, but Adam made a hushing gesture. "Mind your language around the kid, please."

"What kid? Jeez, she's gotta be nearly forty by now."

"I'm thirty-four, asshole."

"Lydia!"

"Sorry."

Barbara shook her head. "Not her." She pointed toward the stairs, that gentle smile returning to her face. "That kid."

Beetlejuice turned, his eyes widening as he saw a girl of no more than six with wide blue eyes and dark hair peering at the group of adults from between the newel posts of the banister. Lydia’s face lit up when she saw the girl, and she knelt and held out her arms.

“Hey, bug!”

The girl grinned and ran to her, wrapping her small arms around Lydia’s neck as she straightened and spun, swinging her in a wide circle. Once she was on her feet, the girl looked up at Beetlejuice, regarding him curiously. Lydia, positively glowing with pride, placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. 

“This is Chloe. My daughter.”

His jaw nearly hung to the floor. For the first time in perhaps his entire existence, he was speechless, albeit momentarily. He looked to Lydia, to Adam, to Barbara, then back down to the girl, who was staring just as intently back at him. “I’m an uncle?! Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“You were gone,” Barbara said softly. “And we wanted her to be...well, used to ghosts before we introduced you two.”

Lydia sighed, picking Chloe up even though she seemed almost too big to be held. “She’s adopted, Beej. My fiancee and I got the papers finalized a couple of years ago, and she’s been getting used to life here. Adam and Barbara have been amazing help; you have no idea how happy I was when I brought her home and she immediately asked who the blonde lady was.” Turning her head, she pressed a quick kiss to her daughter’s cheek. “Clo, do you remember when you first came home? I told you stories about my friend BJ?” She nodded. “That’s him.”

Chloe fearlessly reached for his tie, lifting it to study the pattern. “Are you a ghost too, like Aunt Barbie and Uncle Adam? Can I call you Uncle BJ?”

Beetlejuice grinned, unable to help himself. “I’m the ghost with the most, squirt. And yeah, that’s fine and definitely not the weirdest thing I’ve been called,” he answered. Dropping the tie, Chloe echoed his smile and held out her arms. “Uh…” His hands twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to take her but didn’t quite trust himself. 

“It’s alright, you can hold her.” Lydia smiled. “She’s mostly out of her biting phase by now.”

Snickering, he let the girl clamber onto him, helping her onto his back where she immediately wrapped her limbs around him. “So. You’re a doctor, you got a kid, and you’re getting hitched? Christ, kid, you’ve been busy.” He playfully knocked her arm with his elbow. “So, who’s the lucky guy?”

Adam and Barbara exchanged a knowing look in the beat before Lydia answered. “Her name is Lexie.” His brows shot up and his grin widened, but he said nothing else. “She’ll be home soon, I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

“Really?” His smile fell a bit. “Does, uh...does she know the whole story?”

“She knows the important parts.” Lydia leaned against the banister, watching her daughter attempting to untangle a knot from Beetlejuice’s hair. “She knows that you saved my life twice, and that you saw me and understood me when no one else did. She knows you were my friend.”

“She also knows that you kissed me,” Adam added, and all of them stifled a laugh. 

“So,” Beetlejuice started, unsure if what he was feeling now was hope or fear, “you guys...you’re okay with me sticking around?”

Lydia glanced over at the Maitlands, who shrugged and nodded. “For as long as you want,” she answered. The smile that before he had tried to hide now resurfaced, unable to be suppressed as he realized that yes, that sickening turning in his gut had to be hope. Despite everything he’d put them through, even after all this time, the Maitlands could look past the lies and Lydia could look past the betrayal. After all he’d done, they forgave him and made a place for him.

“Uh, Beej?”

“Yeah?” He looked down to see that he was floating approximately three feet off the ground, Chloe still tugging at his hair, seemingly oblivious to her sudden change of altitude.

“Can you bring my kid back down?”

“No.”

“BJ, I’m serious.”

“Nope. She’s my kid now.”

[getmeoffwithwords]

Dirty Old Man pt1

He sat down heavily on the sofa. He was relieved his day was over and he had now had some time to himself. His wife was away for a girly weekend with friends, and his step daughter was celebrating the end of her exams in town and not expected back until morning.

He had eaten a takeaway, downed a few beers and was now looking forward to a long night watching movies and undoubtedly some porn. He was sexually frustrated at the moment, His wife was going through a bad time at work and was never in the mood. He managed the occasional furtive wank in the shower and had even stopped in a layby on the way home to give his cock the attention it needed. His step daughter didn’t help either. She was at that age where she was discovering boys and was dressing more and more inappropriately when she went out. More than once he had “caught” her trying on outfits around the house. He didn’t know where to look sometimes, skirts that hugged the bottom of her young buttocks, and shoes that he had only seen strippers and pornstars wear, Little did she know that she was responsible for his raging hardons that lasted for hours on end. Tonight he would have the long relaxed wank he really needed.

He turned on his computer and searched for his usual porn sites. In his favourites he scanned for the movies that really got him going. They all inevitably involved young starlets being vigorously fucked by older men. He loved the ones where they looked out at the camera with big innocent eyes as they sucked the cum out of some lucky bastards cock. His cock twitched as he scanned the thumbnails.

He settled on a movie of a long legged girl in a tiny white skirt and heels who got more than she bargained for when she went to the garage. Settling back he pressed play and pulled open the buttons of his jeans. The laptop on his lap burst into life, showing the pornstar tottering into the garage. The light from the screen illuminated his rapidly swelling cock. The girl on the screen was up for anything as at least 5 guys began to touch and grope her cute body, pushing their fingers into her tiny thong and squeezing her tits.

His hand gripped his thick shaft as he watched her getting touched up by the much older guys. He stroked long strokes up and down his throbbing shaft, pulling and pushing his foreskin over the glistening head of his cock.

Suddenly, and to his horror, he heard voices and footsteps approaching the front door, and in an instant the noise of a key turning in the lock. He jumped up - desperately pushing his hot meat into the confines of his jeans, and shuffling towards the kitchen in a vague attempt to do something normal like make a cup of tea.

The door burst open, and in stumbled his step daughter and one of her friends chatting noisily and excitedly. He stood behind the counter so they couldn’t see the huge bulge in his trousers, but he took unexpected pleasure from pressing his hardness against the cupboard door as he did so.

“I thought you were out until tomorrow?” he casually smiled as he flicked on the kettle.

His stepdaughter briefly turned her attention towards him, clicking on her heels and pushing her skirt down her thighs to cover some of her bottom, “I am” she smiled, “just getting changed for the club!”

Her friend, a very confident and brash girl, laughed, “did we disturb your quiet night in Mr W? Aww, I bet he was planning a night of porn and wanking” and she accompanied the comment with a gestured blowjob, stroking her hand vigorously along an invisible cock towards her crimson lipped open mouth.

His cock twitched violently in his jeans and a warm flood of precum soaked the fabric of his crotch.

He felt himself blush as his step daughter trotted up the stairs to her room. Her friend grinned cheekily at him as she began to preen herself in the large mirror on the wall.

Pretending not to notice, he made tea and went through the motions of sorting out the kitchen as he carefully watched her at work. She was wearing a very short pleated black skirt which hugged the small of her back and flared out over her round ass. Even from where he was, he could see the crease of her buttocks as she leaned closer to the mirror to apply more lipstick. Her long legs balanced on black patent platform heels, the ankle straps reflecting the kitchen light. Her round tits were squeezed into a very tight white blouse that strained to contain them.

He leaned forward over the counter in an artificially relaxed way that allowed him to squeeze his throbbing cock without being seen as he soaked up the image before him. He really wanted to fuck her right there, pull her to her knees and force his sticky cock into her red mouth. Everything about her told him she would be really filthy.

Makeup finished, she arranged the rest of her clothing, and began chatting to him in the mirror.

“So, I hear you’ve got a big cock?”

He spluttered his tea in disbelief “What?” he replied.

“Your cock”, she said teasingly “she saw you coming out of the shower one morning and said it was massive” she nodded upstairs to his stepdaughter. “I’ve got a thing for older men with big cocks” she laughed, winking at him in the mirror.

He laughed, and risked an inappropriate comment, “dressed like that you’ll get every old man’s cock hard for a hundred miles around!” and he took his time to consume her body with his eyes - making no attempt to hide it. “Oooh cheeky old bastard” she teased, “you wouldn’t know what to do with it would you?” and made a show of flicking up the back of her skirt so he could see her firm young ass and white thong.

“Oh, I’d know exactly what to do with you, you little tease” he grunted, and rubbed his cock through his jeans with firm strokes - not caring if she saw.

She could see the movement of his upper arm and laughed, turning to face him as she pulled her hair up into a high ponytail, then opening her legs, she reached down and pulled up the front of her skirt, exposing her tiny thong stretched tightly over her mound. She looked him in the eyes and whispered “you want some of this young pussy don’t you old man?”

He nodded - his eyes surveying her tight body while his right hand worked his cock through the taught fabric of his jeans.

In the quiet of the room, a noise reached their ears. It was the noise of lust. Moaning and squealing of several male and one female voice. His head turned towards the sofa - and in a moment of panic - he realised his laptop was open and still playing!

The girl turned and realised in the same instant what was happening. They both ran towards the sofa, but she was nearer and triumphantly snatched up the computer as he arrived a moment later.

“What’s this?” she cooed, “mmm you are a dirty old man aren't you”.

He made a vain attempt to snap the screen shut, but she avoided it and began to watch the movie despite his weak objections. The girl in the movie was surrounded by older men, wanking their thick cocks against her face and taking turns pumping into her mouth, she was gasping and working hard to please them all.

“Oh my fucking God” she whispered, her eyes locked on the filthy images before her, “Look at all that cock”. She reached down and began to stroke her pussy through the fabric of her thong as she watched the girl being manhandled by several men until they could take turns pushing their cocks into her from both ends at once. “So this is what you get off to is it?” she smiled, “young girls getting fucked by old men?” She looked down at his crotch and raised her eyebrows at the sight of his huge bulge straining at the buttons of his jeans.

“Get it out then” she giggled, “I want to see if it’s as big as she said it was”, and she rubbed her pussy a little harder as she said it.

He looked over her shoulder towards the stairs, but his step daughter could still be heard upstairs opening drawers and wardrobes.

Slowly, he pulled at the front of his jeans, popping each button until they were open, then he reached in and pulled out his desperately swollen cock. It sprang forward, uncoiling its compressed length and filling with blood until it jutted towards her, 9 inches long and as thick as her wrist. A long trail of precum looped from his fist to the huge throbbing head.

“Bad man!” she gasped “I can see why she said she wanted to suck on it” .

She placed the laptop on the coffee table, bending so he could see her ass clearly, then turned to face him, staring at his huge member.

The girl on the screen was grunting as guy after guy fucked her hard, swapping often to keep her orgasm rolling endlessly on.

His cock was now fully erect, and he stroked its slick length with confidence, enjoying the effect of it on her behaviour. She moved closer, her fingers working her pussy through her thong,

“Suck on it” he commanded, feeling his meat swell as he said it.

She slowly knelt before him, until her face was close to his oozing member, looking up at him with a dirty look on her face she moaned “you gonna make me suck it?”

He could feel her breath on his cock as he took her by the ponytail and pulled her head back, opening her mouth and aimed his cock at her extended tongue.

“Ooooh , he likes to take control” she giggled as his cock swelled just millimetres from her face. “Bet you’ve wanted to do this for ages” she encouraged, looking up at him with round eyes.

“You have no idea....” he grunted and, taking his huge cock in his fist, he leaned forward, pushing its swollen head into her welcoming mouth. “Oh fuck” he gasped as the girl sucked the warm meat of his throbbing head. He pulled it out, still aiming at her face and moaned “again” to her. Then pushing forward, he thrust into the wetness of her mouth again, and again and again, building a delicious rhythm as he fucked her mouth with his engorged head.

[retrovelour]

i can’t go away with you with half a heart

pairings: kim mingyu/park roseanne, wen junhui/xu minghao, jeon wonwoo/myoui mina genre: rock band au, fluff, smut

June 3

Seoul

Mingyu can’t stop sneaking glances at Roseanne.

Their friends are all spectacularly drunk, sharing shots and hugs and slurred congratulations, turned silly and affectionate by the liquor. But Roseanne isn’t smiling.

She’s been quiet all night, hands wrapped around a glass of water that must be lukewarm by now, and Mingyu can’t help but eye her concernedly. Even her weak attempts at making conversation have died out, and she’s been silently staring down at the sticky tabletop for the past thirty minutes.

He is the only one that notices when she abruptly throws her chair back and stands, tracking her movements as she slips from the bar and the door swings shut behind her.

Mingyu takes a sip of his beer, and it tastes like the melancholy that sits bitter on his tongue. His heart is a drumbeat in his stomach and his skin crawls, itches with need.

Once an addict, right?

No one pays any attention when he gets to his feet and ducks out of the bar after her; Seokmin is almost asleep against the grimy table, Junhui is wrapped around Minghao in the corner of the booth, and the rest of the gang are too buzzed to care what Mingyu is doing.

He finds her pressed up against the brick wall outside, illuminated under a streetlight on the corner, and she doesn’t make eye contact with him when he comes to a stop beside her. Her gaze stays low, fixed on her boots or the ground, somewhere that isn’t his face. His stomach does a painful flip.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” Mingyu finally says, scratchy and hoarse, breaking the long moment of silence between them. “A tour, that’s—”

He cuts himself off, not sure how to finish the sentence, and he could say the words stuck in the back of his throat, could be honest that he will miss her, but he doesn’t because he is a coward.

“Thanks,” Roseanne finally whispers, her first words to him in weeks. He struggles to swallow around the painful lump in his throat. The cruel voice in his head sings cowardcowardcoward.

He can’t form the words that he wants to say to her, can’t step up and take charge of this, but he cannot make himself back away either.

He just—he can’t.

Mingyu can read in the tense lines of her body that she feels his eyes on her. His hand flexes at his side with how badly he wants to wrap it around her wrist and pull her into him. But she is leaving, going on a six-city tour with the band, and he poisons everything that he touches.

Still, though. He could indulge himself this. Just once.

A silver Toyota pulls up.

“My Uber is here,” Roseanne says, pushing off from the wall, and Mingyu can do nothing but watch her go, slipping through his fingers just like he knew she would.

  January 29

Six Months Ago

Junhui meets a guy, and he thinks that he could be The One. It’s how Mingyu finds himself accompanying his friend to watch the guy’s band perform, fifth-wheeling behind Mina and Wonwoo. The venue is barely more than a tiny stage tucked into the back of a dive bar, and it’s packed and sweaty and disgusting. Junhui owes him big time.

Mingyu is looking over the crowd, a head and shoulders above most people here, when someone steps onto the stage. From the sudden tightening of Junhui’s grip on his shoulder, Mingyu can infer that this is the guy.

He’s followed out by three other people, two guys and a girl, who take their places at their respective instruments, and a hush falls over the room. Junhui catches his boyfriend’s eye behind the keyboard and lifts his hand in a shy wave. Mingyu is about to rib him for it when a final person steps onto the stage and takes their place behind the microphone at the front.

He looks up and almost swallows his tongue.

She’s dressed appropriately for a place like this, torn jeans that sit loose about her waist, a cropped black t-shirt with the neck and arms cut off, and a dark scarf wrapped around her hair, straight flyaways escaping and framing her face.

But she glows under the spotlight. The slight upturn of her lips is confident and alluring and Mingyu wishes that he could pull her in and taste it. She introduces the band and her voice curves and dances over the syllables of their name, Vixen, smooth and as entrancing as she is.

The song starts with nothing but her vocals, sultry and smoky, and the steady pulse of the drumbeat. It’s hypnotic.

Junhui’s guy comes in on the keys, opening his mouth to join on vocals, and his gravelly rasp reverberates from the speakers and off the walls. The entire place thrums, the crowd undulates and breathes in sync with it.

By the time they hit the hook, the entire band is playing, something dark and swelling, and Mingyu hasn’t felt this way about music since before. His body tenses, ready as the music builds and climbs to its crescendo.

And then it all just stops.

The quiet is jarring, and it feels like Mingyu has been left to dangle off the edge of a precipice. The air is thick and catches in his throat. It can’t end there.

And then her voice rings out, sweet and high on the final note, bringing with it sharp relief. Mingyu wonders if maybe she is a siren. There’s a moment of trembling silence before the crowd explodes.

June 12

Seoul

Vixen have been on tour for barely more than a week when Mingyu gets a call from Junhui at three in the morning. His friend has decided to tag along with the band and play groupie to Minghao.

Mingyu is disoriented when he wakes. He feels around for his vibrating phone, not bothering to lift his face from where it’s plastered to his mattress, and answers the call blindly, grunting in lieu of a greeting.

“Mingyu?” Junhui whispers, and he sounds genuinely panicked. Mingyu is suddenly much more awake.

“What happened?”

“Fuck,” Junhui breathes, and Mingyu can imagine him raking a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Mingyu, it’s bad.”

“What?” Mingyu presses, because his heart is starting to race, and he’s remembering a similar call from his parents two years ago.

Junhui’s voice is grave when he recounts how Vixen had been halfway through their first show of the tour when Seokmin had taken a dive off the stage during one of the band’s more chaotic songs, the way he always does. Except that this time he landed wrong.

Junhui sounds physically sick when he describes how the bones in Seokmin’s wrist seemed to crumple like they were made of wet cardboard.

Mingyu is ashamed to say that he is relieved, not that Seokmin is injured but that Junhui is not, that he will not have to bury another person that he loves.

“Is he okay?” he asks, because that’s what you do when someone gets hurt.

“Yeah,” Junhui says. Mingyu is confused why his friend called him like this is urgent news that he needs to know.

“They need someone to replace him though.”

Okay?

“I told them that you play.”

No. “No.”

“Mingyu,” Junhui starts to plead, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t do that anymore, hasn’t even picked up his old acoustic in years. He feels anger burn a pit in his gut at the nerve of Junhui to even ask this of him, just to help a group of fucking strangers.

“You know,” Mingyu starts, voice shaking with emotion, “why I stopped playing.”

“Just hear me out—”

Mingyu feels sick, breaths moving fast through him. “You can’t make me do this.”

“I’m not trying to make you. I’m asking, Mingyu.”

He’s shaking, hands fisted in his sheets, and Mingyu wishes for the oblivion that comes from being high.

“I know, okay? I know that I won’t ever get how you’re feeling. But, Mingyu, Yerim wouldn’t want you to be like this, angry and mean and fucked up on cocaine all the time.”

Mingyu’s mouth drops open, because he didn’t know that Junhui knew about the drugs. “Junhui—”

“Don’t,” his friend cuts him off, and Mingyu hates the understanding in Junhui’s voice, “you don’t need to explain.” There’s a beat of tense silence, and then, “I know nothing can compare to losing your sister, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry she’s gone, but she wouldn’t want you to keep hurting yourself like this. You can’t keep punishing yourself by depriving yourself of things you love.”

Shutupshutupshutup

“You know her. She’d want you to seize this moment by the balls.”

Mingyu doesn’t realise he’s crying until Junhui’s words surprise a laugh from him and he tastes the salt of tears on his bottom lip.

“Please, Mingyu.”

He’s at the airport within the hour, a hastily purchased ticket and messily packed duffel bag in one hand and his guitar case in the other. His flight to Busan takes off at five, and Junhui is waiting for him in arrivals when the plane touches down. Mingyu doesn’t know whether he wants to hug or punch him more.

The band is staying in some shitty motel, and they’re all up when Mingyu and Junhui arrive, piled into one room with similarly stressed expressions on their faces.

Seokmin is sitting on one of the beds, casted arm in his lap, skin pale and eyes dilated. Roseanne is cross-legged on the floor. Mingyu’s eyes go straight to her. Her beret is only halfway on her head, one end thrown loosely over her shoulder. Her back is ramrod straight and she’s picking absentmindedly at her left thumbnail. She’s wearing his shirt.

Everyone seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief when he steps into the room. Jennie mutters a low thank fuck into the quiet.

“Can you do this?” Roseanne asks without preamble, calm and flat from where she’s sitting. “Because if you can’t, you need to tell us now.”

The thing is, he isn’t sure. His insides are in knots, and he hasn’t played the guitar in two years and everything feels like turmoil and angst. But he takes a breath and says, “of course.”

January 29

Six Months Ago

The pianist’s name is Minghao, and he appears a few minutes after the band’s set is done, sweat beading at his hairline and a flush to his cheeks. He taps Junhui nervously on the shoulder, smiling small but genuine as he is introduced to them.

“How did you like the show?” he calls over the raucous crowd, and Mina and Wonwoo compliment the set. Mingyu is quiet, scrutinising as he watches the body language between the newcomer and his friend.

“I can introduce you to the rest of the band,” Minghao offers, and that is where Mingyu perks up. The band includes the lead singer. He hides his reaction though, crossing his arms and scowling twice as fierce.

Junhui digs his elbow hard into Mingyu’s ribs as they navigate their way through the crowd behind Minghao. “Stop being an asshole,” he says, barely audible over the din in the bar.

Mingyu shrugs, because he is an asshole.

There’s a room off the back corridor, and Minghao bangs on the closed door with both fists until it swings open. The rest of Vixen are piled into the tiny space, singing and laughing and screaming.

Minghao introduces the band first; Jennie is the girl on drums, and for some reason she has lost her shirt, Seokmin is the unremarkable kid on guitar, Jungkook is the bassist and he’s got his legs in another girl’s lap, who he introduces as his sister, Sooyoung.

She shoves him off her, approaching with a spark of interest in her eyes, and the silver dress that she’s wearing sparkles under the harsh artificial light and drips from her hips. “Call me Yves,” she purrs, eyes fixed on Mingyu.

He isn’t looking at her though.

The singer is cross-legged on one of the cheap couches shoved against the wall, and she’s looking at Mingyu and his friends with mild curiosity. His ears feel hot under her gaze.

“And that’s Roseanne, my cousin,” Minghao is saying, and Mingyu rolls the name around in his head.

Roseanne.

His view of her is suddenly blocked by Seokmin, eager as a puppy and just as annoying as he welcomes them. Mingyu doesn’t say anything when his eyes linger on Mina a little too long, but he notices.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Seokmin asks, earnest, like he really cares about the answer.

Seriously, who is this kid? “Your picking was sloppy,” Mingyu says, because asshole, remember? “And you hold the guitar like a subway pole.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Seokmin wilts and takes a step back, enthusiasm gone. Mingyu can almost sense as the entire band seems to turn on him immediately—Minghao sends him a sharp look, his previous good nature gone, Jennie looks murderous, and the only thing that seems to be holding her back from actually doing it is Jungkook’s hand slung across her hips. He isn’t quite scowling at Mingyu, but he looks confused by the sudden hostility.

Over Seokmin’s shoulder, Mingyu can see that Roseanne is no longer smiling.

Even Junhui is glaring daggers into the side of Mingyu’s face, and he knows that this is the moment when he should apologise.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says instead, making sure to walk, not run, as he escapes the stifling tension. He can hear Junhui start to apologise for him as the door swings shut.

“Fuck,” Mingyu exhales when he’s alone, splashing water from the sink on his face and glaring at himself in the grimy mirror. He hadn’t meant to say that, wouldn’t have if not for the off-kilter feeling that came from Roseanne’s mere proximity and has apparently turned him into a bumbling idiot.

Mingyu has never felt the burn of desire so immediately like this. He ignores the niggling voice in his head that says that this feels like more than just simple attraction, because that is ridiculous.

So ridiculous, in fact, that when the door opens behind him and Yves slips into the bathroom, smirking wickedly, he lets her pull him by his collar into one of the stalls, lets her drag his hand under her dress and feel that there’s nothing under it.

This is familiar. This, he is good at.

June 8

On the Road

There are six days until the band’s next performance which means that there are six days for Mingyu to learn Vixen’s entire set.

He ends up binge-watching all of their performances that he can find on YouTube, headphones on as he hums along in the backseat of the cheap makeshift tour bus. Seok’s version of sheet music is just messily scrawled chords on the back of any writable surface that he can find.

Mingyu still hasn’t found the courage to dig his guitar out of its case.

The band stays the night with one of Jungkook’s old friends and his four roommates, leaving their equipment in the camper and squeezing into whatever space they can find. They are greasy-haired and too tired to do anything other than sleep—the girls share the couch and the boys make do on the floor.

Mingyu doesn’t go to bed with the rest of them though. He sneaks out of the front door while everyone else is out, climbs into the back of the van and finally cracks open his case.

He strokes a trembling finger over the silky finish of the wood, almost reverent in his touch. He plucks a string, and the note is loud in the otherwise stillness of the street.

The last time he played, Yerim was still alive. Mingyu bends at the waist and cries, and cries until there are no tears left in him.

And then, when he has stopped shaking, he picks it up.

He’s playing through his favourite song on the setlist, the one that is just Roseanne’s airy vocals and the soft strumming of the guitar, when he hears quiet footsteps approach. He pauses.

Roseanne rounds the open door of the van, sleep-rumpled with her arms crossed over an oversized t-shirt that he recognises as Jennie’s, HOODRAT STUFF WITH MY FRIENDS emblazoned across the front in faded black letters.

“It sounds good,” she says, eyes on her bare feet against the cold ground.

Mingyu can do nothing but nod his thanks. She traces a crack in the sidewalk with her big toe.

“Thank you,” she whispers, so quiet that Mingyu thinks she might not want him to hear, “for doing this. We all appreciate it.”

He doesn’t reply right away. Their history hangs heavy between them. “I didn’t do it for them, Roseanne,” Mingyu says at last, just as soft, and her foot stills its movements.

February 1

Five Months Ago

Mingyu finds Roseanne’s personal Instagram through the band’s account.

@rosesarerosie is private. Mingyu taps the ‘follow’ button before he has a chance to second guess himself.

He trawls through the band’s page, greedily devours every glimpse of her that he can find, the intensity of her eyes when she performs, her lazy smile in the backstage candids. He can barely breathe when he clicks on their Instagram story and he is met with her laugh, full and bright, as Jungkook does a series of push-ups with Jennie on his back.

He feels stupid, watching his phone and waiting to see if Roseanne will respond to his request. It’s how he ends up at a club downtown, rolling on the molly that he took before he arrived, and he just wants to dance. The bass of whatever song is playing pulses through his body, and his heart beats in time.

Then there is someone there, hands on him, and when he opens his eyes it’s Yves, eyes glittering under the strobe lights. Mingyu wonders idly if this is fate, coincidence or just stalking.

He fucks her quick and filthy in the alley outside, buries his head in the crook of her neck and imagines the hair under his hands is longer and darker, and the bare skin of the thighs around his hips is lighter.

By the time he makes it home in the ungodly early hours of the morning, he is groggy as hell, his mouth tastes faintly of liquor and vomit and Roseanne has still not accepted his request.

June 14

Murcia

Mingyu is hot under the lights of the stage and the penetrating stares of Vixen’s fans who have absolutely no idea who he is. The weight of Seokmin’s electric guitar feels unfamiliar and awkward in his hands. His palms sweat. He’s going to fuck this up.

Roseanne steps up to the mic, introduces him, gives a shout out to Seokmin who is sitting off to the side of the stage, and then she’s turning and nodding at the band to begin.

Minghao comes in on keys first, and Mingyu is going to vomit, craves the soothing calm of a little blue pill. But he doesn’t do that anymore, hasn’t used since that night with Roseanne when he ruined his chance at something with her because he’s a self-destructive fool.

He’s on the verge of panic, hands shaking around the neck of the guitar, when Roseanne turns to him, offering a reassuring smile. It’s little more than a slight quirk of the corner of her lips, but suddenly Mingyu is breathing again, dragging air into his trembling lungs, and he can do this.

He will do this. For her.

 March 9

Four Months Ago

The last thing Mingyu expects is to be invited to one of Vixen’s afterparties after their disastrous first encounter. He was sure that it would also serve as their last.

“I swear, they told me to bring anyone I wanted,” Junhui is saying. He’s been trying to convince Mingyu to come for five straight minutes now.

“I doubt they meant me,” Mingyu responds, as if he isn’t already thinking about how Roseanne will be there, how all he has to do to see her again is get up and go.

“Can you stop being so you and just come, please?”

Mingyu already knows that he will. He does lines off the counter in his bathroom and it’s all honey, it’s all good.

The party is exactly what he had been expecting, loud and dirty, and the smell of sweat, alcohol and debauchery is thick in the air.

He doesn’t expect to find Roseanne as soon as he steps inside whoever’s house this is, but there she is, throwing a glance over her shoulder as she disappears up the stairs.

Mingyu idles a little, finds Junhui and, weirdly enough, Mina, who isn’t there with Wonwoo, but is instead sitting a little too close to Seokmin than is probably necessary.

Huh.

He can’t resist for long, though, and is halfway up the stairs mere minutes after he arrived. The first floor is crammed with bodies, and he has to force his way through them all, until he gets to the only closed door at the end of the hall.

Roseanne is sitting cross-legged on the bed, and she looks up sharply as he steps into the room.

“Roseanne, right?” he asks like he hasn’t been thinking about nothing but her for weeks.

She doesn’t relax even as she confirms that she recognises him. “Yeah, hi. Mingyu?”

He nods and closes the door behind him, taking a seat on the floor across the room from the bed and trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

“Are you okay?” he asks, because her eyes are bloodshot and she looks sad. She starts to nod, pauses, and considers him for a moment.

“I actually…I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I’m just having a rough day.”

“We can,” he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees now, “we can talk about it if you want?”

She looks down at the bed, breaking their eye-contact, and for a minute Mingyu is scared that he’s said the wrong thing, fucked it up like he always does.

“It’s the anniversary of my sister’s death tomorrow,” Roseanne finally says, tracing her fingers along the edge of the mattress. “She overdosed. And I just—I didn’t even want to come tonight. All the drugs and stuff, it’s just not really me.”

Mingyu is suddenly nauseous. Roseanne must take his silence the wrong way, because suddenly she’s laughing uncomfortably and starting to get to her feet. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I told you that, I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” he says, urgently shaking his head, “no, I’m glad you told me.”

A long pause rolls as she squints at him, trying to gauge his sincerity.

“Tell me something about you,” Roseanne eventually whispers over the faint thumping of the beat beneath their feet, and he wants to tell her everything.

So he does.

Mingyu took guitar lessons at school when he was eight, and he was good. Really good.

Wonwoo and Junhui, his closest friends since childhood, took lessons for a little while too because the three of them have always done everything together. They made a band, in the way that most little kids do, performing tuneless covers at family get togethers, until the other boys quit.

Mingyu got older and went to a good college and studied business, because when you have parents like his, the one thing you don’t do is go into the arts. Still, he played in his free time, strumming aimlessly at the strings in the quiet of his shitty dorm room when he could no longer take staring at the paper due for his next class.

And then his sister died. A drunk driver ran a red light and just like that, everything that she was ceased to exist.

Yerim had always loved seeing him play, so he stopped. Yerim always joked about his obsession with his hair, so he shaved it all off. Yerim visited him frequently at college, so he dropped out.

Roseanne looks at him with watery eyes, and Mingyu bites off the rest of his story before he overshares any more, before he goes into how he started using slow at first—a pill here, a line there, how pretty soon he was learning how to get high on other things, things that make colours brighter and music louder and sex better, things that help him forget about Yerim and anything that isn’t whatever substance he’s managed to get his hands on.

“I’m so sorry, Mingyu,” Roseanne whispers, and he believes her.

He is on his way home, walking to clear his head and sober up, when his phone pings in his pocket with a notification.

@rosesarerosie has accepted your follow request.

June 17

Daegu

The days before their next performance are spent rehearsing to death, messing with arrangements and just generally tweaking things last-minute. Mingyu spends his fleeting moments of downtime scrolling idly through social media and pretending that he isn’t just using it to check up on Roseanne.

She has 18.5k followers on Instagram. He wonders if she remembers that he is one of them.

It is still painfully awkward between the two of them, and it feels like the only way for him to see how she’s doing is to stalk her account. That’s where all the content of her lives, pictures of her and her brother and the rest of the band, candids that are just a little too personal for their official account.

Mingyu can’t help himself. He just wants to feel close to her.

He’s careful not to like any of her posts, though, for fear that she’ll block him and completely shut him out of her life. He doesn’t know how he would cope without this one last thread connecting her to him.

April 22

Three Months Ago

He sees Roseanne more often than he doesn’t in the weeks that follow the party, running into her as if by fate at the bus stop and the supermarket, and even once at Junhui’s flat, when his friend neglects to tell him that he has invited Minghao and the rest of Vixen over.

Mingyu apologises to Seokmin, because even he can admit when he is wrong, and maybe his animus stemmed more from envy than anything else. Seok perks up and accepts almost immediately.

Fucking hell, this guy.

Across the room, Roseanne is smiling shyly at him, hair wrapped in a pretty blue scarf this time, and he can’t help his own giddy grin, like he’s stoned or punch-drunk or something. He tries to be nonchalant when he drops down beside her, greeting her calmly, but he has never been good at hiding his emotions, and by the time everyone is going home, he has her number and her permission to text her, and he doesn’t know what to do with this feeling in his chest.

The next morning, Mingyu is pacing the length of his apartment, gnawing on his thumbnail, because there’s no way she actually meant for him to text her, right?

His phone pings in his hand and it’s Roseanne, as if she can read his mind.

Roseanne Park, 16:04 PM

hi Mingyu, are you free tomorrow?

He falls into a rhythm after that. He stays clean, he hangs out with the band and he sees Roseanne. Actually he sees a lot of Roseanne.

He takes her to The Prado. They hire a boat and go out on the Grand Pond at Retiro Park with all the tourists. A barista spills iced coffee on her and Mingyu whips the shirt off his back to offer her, snorting when she calls him an attention-whore; she still puts it on in the bathroom though. He resists the urge to kiss her on the sidewalk while they’re in line for tacos from a food truck.

More than that, they talk. She tells him about May and he tells her about Yerim, and when the pain of their dead sisters is too much, they talk about lighter topics. He learns that her scarf is actually called a beret, and they talk about religion for a little while. It’s nice.

He can’t stop himself from putting his hands on her, a press of his palm to the small of her back, a brush against her shoulder, the barest skimming of fingers against her hip. He’s a tactile kind of guy.

One day Mingyu looks at up at her and that voice in his head chants mineminemine, and he has to lean heavily against the wall because his knees feel weak and he is in love with her.

That same night, he takes three oxys and fucks Yves.

  June 26

Gwangju

They use their day off to go to the beach. No rehearsing, no arguing over the setlist or stage blocking. They pack up the van and drive until they hit the sand. Jennie takes off for the water, stripping and flinging her clothes behind her as she goes. The boys take off after her, yelling when they throw themselves into the water in their underwear, and then there is no one left between Mingyu and Roseanne but Seokmin and his cast.

There’s a tense, awkward, horrible moment, and then Roseanne mumbles something and walks off down the beach after the gang. Seokmin looks between the two of them, head swivelling comically. Mingyu turns and walks away before he can comment.

He situates himself at one of the restaurants overlooking the beach, closing his eyes against the sun, and he’s still like that ten minutes later when Minghao drops into the seat across from him.

“What’s going on with you and my cousin?” he asks, cutting directly to the point.

Mingyu cracks an eye.

“Well?” Minghao prompts when he doesn’t answer, but that’s just the thing.

He doesn’t know.

“What did Seokmin tell you?”

Minghao frowns. “Why would Seokmin need to tell me anything?”

Mingyu sits forward and Minghao raises an eyebrow in challenge. He already knew.

He already knew.

“Did Roseanne tell you?”

“She’s my cousin, Mingyu, she didn’t have to.”

Well shit.

Mingyu struggles for the right words, hand tightening against his thigh, cursing himself for being so obvious.

“She misses you,” Minghao says before Mingyu can get his tongue working again.

He looks out at the beach. Roseanne is sitting beside Seokmin on the sand, knees bent up to her chest, and he can’t breathe with how much he wants her.

“I miss her too.”

“So do something about it. Tell her.”

“I can’t, Minghao,” he says, and it sounds like an apology.

“Why?”

Mingyu could choose from any number of reasons, the fact that he’s newly sober and sometimes the desire to get high is still crushing, the fact that he fucked her friend even after he fell for her because he’s destructive and selfish and irresponsible, the fact that there’s a secret part of him that sometimes wishes that he were buried underground with his sister.

He bites his tongue.

Minghao blinks at him, gaze steady and unnerving, and then shakes his head and sighs. “Whatever else you are, Mingyu, I know you aren’t a coward.”

And for the first time in a long time, that vicious voice in his head goes silent.

May 7

One Month Ago

Mingyu is drunk. Really drunk. Like the months after Yerim died drunk. He finds Yves in the crowd and pulls her away from whatever friends she is sitting with, hoisting her into his arms by her thighs, and he almost drops her a few times and knocks into a wall hard enough to bruise in his haste to get her onto a flat surface not covered in alcohol.

They end up in someone’s bed eventually, and he has barely managed to drag her skirt up her thighs when the door swings open.

“Oh, sorry,” a familiar voice says, and the bottom of Mingyu’s stomach suddenly gives out. He turns to look over his shoulder.

Roseanne is looking between him and Yves, and the dawning realisation on her face has him up and off the bed.

“Sorry,” she says again, but this time it sounds different, “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

“Roseanne, it isn’t—”

She doesn’t wait for him to finish though, turning back the way she came, and he is going after her without a second thought, heedless of the fact that he is shirtless.

He can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears.

“Roseanne, wait,” Mingyu says around a mouthful of nausea, catching up to her quickly and grabbing at her wrist.

She snatches away, but he can’t let her go like this. He reaches for her again, and for a moment, they are a tangle of limbs as he tries to hold onto her and she does her best to fight him off.

Roseanne pushes hard against his chest, and he goes stumbling back into the wall. Her eyes drop to something on the floor at his feet. He follows the line of her sight.

There’s a single baggie of white powder lying on the stained carpet.

“Mingyu,” Roseanne breathes, voice cracking as she looks back up at him, expression horrified. “Mingyu, what is that?”

He swears his heart stops beating. He feels sick and exposed.

“Mingyu, what is that?”

He can’t answer, can’t bring himself to look at her. They both already know.

This time when she turns to leave, he doesn’t make a move to stop her. He bends slowly to pick up the coke, shoving it back into his pocket. He doesn’t go back into the room where Yves still is, and he doesn’t go back to the party either.

He walks dizzily from the party, head pounding, and unsteadily waves down a cab, and when he gets home he drops the plastic baggie down the toilet and throws up after it.

The voice in his head chants his name over and over, MingyuMingyuMingyuMingyu, and he thinks it sounds kind of like Yerim.

 June 30

Jeju

He finds her in the ladies’ bathroom, pacing in circles and humming through their opener. Roseanne is wary as he steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Mingyu tries for a smile, lingering by the door with his hands tucked tight into his jacket pockets.

“Hey.”

Hey? He mentally kicks himself.

“What are you doing here?”

Mingyu swallows, pulls his hands free and runs one through his hair. “I thought we should talk.”

“Now?”

He understands her disbelieving tone—they are due on stage any second, but this is something he has to do and he doesn’t know if he’ll be brave enough later. He is tired of running, tired of denying himself this one good thing, the first thing that he has truly wanted in years.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because that seems like a good place to start. “For what happened. And for…” he trails off.

“For sleeping with Yves?” Roseanne supplies. “Or the drugs?”

Mingyu drops his head. “Both. All of it.”

Roseanne’s gaze burns a hole into the top of his scalp.

“I was…I’ve been fucked up for a long time, and I fuck up everything around me too.”

“That’s a cop-out,” Roseanne says, unimpressed. “I saw you, Mingyu. The real you, who’s funny and likes to take off his shirt and cares about people.”

He feels his insides bleed.

“So please don’t insult me by trying to write everything off as you just being fucked up.”

She’s right.

“I stopped using,” he says, hoping that, at least, will make her happy.

Roseanne nods, expression schooled into something inscrutable, and says, “I’m glad.”

Mingyu blows out a breath. Flexes his fingers at his sides. His heart is in his throat. “I realised that I’m in love with you, and I tried to deal with it in the worst way possible.”

Fuck. For a second, he almost can’t believe he said it.

Roseanne’s entire body stills.

She stares at him, parts her lips to speak, and then the stage manager is knocking on the door and their chance is gone.

May 18

One Month Ago

Mingyu doesn't go to any more of the band's performances. Junhui invites him, has been inviting him to their shows for the past two weeks, but he can't. It feels like someone has taken a hammer to his temples. His chest feels worse.

"Did something happen?"

He doesn't answer, because of course something happened. He messed everything up, destroyed his chance at something good.

Junhui kicks gently at his ankle, and Mingyu peels open one eye to glare at him.

"Is this about Roseanne?"

Even just the mention of her name hurts, like an open wound that refuses to heal. He loves her, and he misses her, and he's so tired of forcing himself to stay away, but it feels like the only thing he can do to keep from breaking her. He won't ever be able to forget her look of utter betrayal. It only reinforces how wrong he is for her.

"She hasn't been—"

"Junhui," Mingyu finally forces out, voice cracking painfully, "please stop."

Junhui regards him, and Mingyu isn't quite sure what does it, if it's his tousled hair or the dark circles under his eyes, or his sallow complexion, but Junhui acquiesces, falling silent. The show is due to start soon, and Junhui bids a quick goodbye with a supportive squeeze to Mingyu's shoulder.

The front door has barely closed behind him before the first heaving sobs escape Mingyu.

July 5

Ilsan

It’s difficult to describe how loud the crowd screams at their final show. It’s their biggest yet, in an actual sold out auditorium with a capacity of seven hundred.

The fans don’t calm even as they end their set, and they end up having to play two encores. Seokmin comes out on stage at some point, and the room goes wild. Mingyu feels their energy like electricity under his skin. He’s going to miss this.

Mingyu is surprised to see Mina and Wonwoo backstage with Yves. He hasn’t seen her since that disastrous party.

“You’re a dick,” Yves says when she sees him, and then yanks him in close by the neck of his shirt. “If you fuck with her, I’ll skin you alive.”

He deserves that. But he won’t.

Mina and Wonwoo are much happier to see him, but the two of them are standing pretty far apart from each other. Mingyu notices later how Mina spends most of the night beside Seokmin and Wonwoo’s eyes track Jungkook’s every more.

Huh.

The drive back to the hotel is euphoric—Jennie has control of the aux cord and refuses to blast anything other than manic-sounding J-Pop, butchering the words and flinging her arms in the front seat while Junhui begs her to chill.

They all decide to hole up inside and get shitfaced drunk, because tradition is tradition and Jungkook insists, roping in Mingyu and Junhui to hunt down the nearest liquor store and clear the shelves.

An hour after they start drinking, Minghao is lying face-down on the floor with Junhui on top of him, and Seokmin is downing shots while Jennie loudly times him and Mina and Yves mutter quietly. Mingyu doesn't think he's seen Jungkook or Wonwoo in at least fifteen minutes.

And then there’s Roseanne.

The only one of them who’s still coordinated, she’s produced a ballpoint pen from somewhere and is tracing lines between the freckles on Mingyu’s arm, soft and gentle as she makes constellations of them. Her energy since the show has been softer, more open, and Mingyu almost doesn’t want to allow himself to hope.

The song changes to something more boy-bandy, and Mingyu still has no idea what they’re saying, but he decides that he wants to dance.

He snags the pen from Roseanne’s fingers, ignoring her indignant hey!, and tugs her to her feet and into the middle of the room. He slides one hand around her waist and the other into hers, and they start to sway.

“You cannot slow dance to this song,” Roseanne says, giggling, and it makes him grin too.

“You can if you try hard enough.”

She throws her head back to laugh, and then rests her cheek on his chest, listening to his heart beat. “Tell me again,” she whispers into the skin of his neck.

She doesn’t have to say anything else, because he knows. “I love you.”

He feels rather than sees her cheeks stretch into a happy smile as they move in a looping circle around the room, and she presses her lips to his jugular. “I love you too.”

“So you’re just gonna have sex right in front of us?” Junhui muses from the floor, and Mingyu absently wonders what would make a good defence for murder.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of shots and music and Chinese takeout, and the crinkle at the corner of Roseanne’s eyes when she smiles brightly at him, and the wet press of her when he grabs her face in both hands and works her mouth open with his tongue.

August 13

Seoul

The morning of Mingyu’s twenty-third birthday, he doesn’t quite wake up so much as slam into consciousness to the sound of Roseanne screaming and a very active phone screen. The band’s group chat is going off.

nini, 10:29 AM

GUYS GUYS GUYS OMFG ARE WE FAMOUS

nini, 10:29 AM

Picture message recieved

It’s a weirdly tilted photo of her open laptop screen, blurry and difficult to read, but the headline and picture of the band’s final performance on tour is clear enough.

Today is All About VIXEN; how this indie band is becoming the next big thing

The entire conversation from there is an incoherent mess of capital letters, exclamation points and emojis.

He also has what looks like hundreds of Instagram notifications, and one from Roseanne just a few hours ago.

@rosesarerosie tagged you in a photo

he's so obsessed with me @min9yu_k happy birthday

It’s from the night before, at his pre-birthday party-party, courtesy of Jungkook and the obscene amounts of alcohol he brought over.

Mingyu has his face pressed into Roseanne’s cheek, half-kissing half-biting the swell of it, and she is laughing, wide and bright and beautiful.

Mingyu scrolls through the comments, laughing at all the fans freaking out and tagging their friends with fully capitalised I KNEW IT’s and keysmashes. His follower count has jumped by almost eight hundred people.

Roseanne is out of the bed now, jumping on the mattress, and Mingyu can’t resist climbing to his feet after her and dragging her into a kiss, whispering I love you’s into her mouth, and she is warm and steady in his arms when he pulls the clothes from her, until she is nothing but smooth skin under his hands, and kisses down the line of her body.

And it’s all honey. It’s all good.

[fugaciousgloom]

Oumeno Week - Day 4

Content warning: Bullying, offensive names, violence, underage smoking, swearing, body dismorphia/shaming/hating, eating disorders (specifically bulimia).

A/n: I know, it's a lot. I wanted to make sure I had everything.

     "Piece of fucking trash."

      "Lazy skank."

     "Delusional donkey face."

     These were just a few of the words Himiko Yumeno had been called in her time at school.

     She always thought it was unfair, the way she was treated. It wasn't her fault she had bright red hair and an ugly face, nor that her family was broken up. It's not like she can control the fact her parents are divorced, no matter how many times her father tells her it's her fault.

     The only people who were ever nice to her were Angie Yonaga, Ryoma Hoshi, and Kirumi Tojo. They never called her names or laughed when the other kids knocked her books out of her hands. Well, Ryoma just ignored her and Kirumi would just wave and occasionally smile at her, but Angie hung out with her.

================================

     Himiko kicked her legs out as she leaned back. She was hanging out with Angie, who was smoking, behind the bleachers. They were supposed to be in gym, but neither of them entirely liked that class. It usually led to Himiko being teased for her flat chest in the locker room or Angie obtaining a purposeful ball to the face.

     Angie let out a breath, blowing smoke out in a steady stream, "Tenko give you any shit today?"

     Himiko shook her head, "Surprisingly no..." she paused, "she kept looking at me, I think she's planning something."

      "Honestly," the girl began, gesturing towards the small girl with her cigarette, "I wouldn't be surprised if she liked you." She laughed, "That bitch is a raging lesbian. She must have a lot of internalized homophobia."

     Angie had a crush on Tenko in middle school. Back then, everything was simpler. Tenko was one of their closest friends and hung out with the two girls all the time. But after she and Kaede Akamatsu got closer, she became cold and started subtly bullying Himiko. It soon got worse and now the redhead was constantly harassed by her.

     "Really?" Himiko asked, "What makes you say that?"

     Angie stuck the cigarette in her mouth again while she thought. "Have you seen the way she looks at Kaede and Kirumi?" As she spoke, a cloud of smoke left her mouth. It blew into Himiko's face, making her cough for a moment.

     Himiko thought back to all the times she'd look at the tall girl, thinking back to how kind she was and all the good times they had. She only just noticed how she looked at some of the girls in the class, only... "She looks at you the most."

     "What?" Angie looked shocked for a moment before taking another puff from her cigarette, "I mean, she probably just regrets leaving the group."

     Himiko shook her head, "I wish she wasn't so mean all the time..." she thought aloud, "If only she would let me talk to her, I'm sure I'd be able to talk some sense into her."

     Angie shrugged and put out her cigarette on her leg, seemingly not bothered by the burn.

      The two heard the last bell ring and Angie stood, helping Himiko up as well, "I'll see you tomorrow, same spot."

     The small girl nodded, "Yeah, bye."

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

     The redhead was walking home when a figure shoved her into an alleyway, making her drop all her books in the process. She whipped around to see Kaede and Tenko smiling down at her.

     "Hey, Miko." Kaede sneered.

     Himiko cringed at the nickname. Her family used to call her that before her father moved away and her mother started drinking. She had only confided in Tenko and Angie about how the nickname triggers her anxiety a bit. Now the only time her family uses it is when she's in trouble.

     Tenko fiddled with her fingers a bit, "Hey Himiko."

     Kaede suddenly shoved her to the ground, "Ugly piece of trash."

     Himiko's arm hit the ground and she hissed in pain. The bruises coating her skin flaring up again.

     Kaede elbowed Tenko, encouraging her, "A-and you know where trash belongs, right Mi... Himiko?"

     Despite looking displeased with her reluctance to use Himiko's nickname, the blonde advanced towards the small girl. The redhead frantically backed away, her arm screaming in agony whenever she pushed herself backwards. Suddenly, her back hit the dumpster behind her. Shit.

      Kaede smirked as she grabbed the fabric on the girls shoulders, Tenko grabbing her legs, "In the garbage."

     She was lifted and dropped, sinking into the smelly dumpster. She just sat there for a few moments, listening to the blonde's laughter as she tried to hold back tears. Then, as if things couldn't get worse, they poured a sticky substance over her head. It was some sort of mixture of water glue and trash.

     She heard them walk away laughing and hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn't make any attempt to escape the stinky confines of the dumpster, she didn't have the motivation to, the girl just sat and cried until she couldn't anymore.

     That's when she heard a voice, "H-hey, you ok-okay?"

     She sniffled and peered over the edge of the dumpster to see a small boy with purple hair. He was standing next to a tall green haired boy, a boy with white hair, and a girl from her class named Miu.

     As soon as the green haired one saw her, he gasped and went to help her out. She flinched away from his touch and fell back into the trash.

     "Hey, hey, it's okay." The strange boy soothed. He practically wafted care and trustworthiness, lifting his hands slowly to lift the girl out of the trash can.

     Miu shifted back and forth on her feet, "Hu-hurry up di-dipshit!"

     The white haired boy placed a hand on her shoulder, "Calm down Miu, you're all worked up." She just shook his hand off her shoulder.

     As she was set down, Himiko scrambled away from the group, making sure to keep her distance. She never trusted anyone she just met, especially not kids her age.

     The green haired boy wiped the liquid off his hands, "I'm Gonta Gokuharu, this is Kiibo, Miu, and Kokichi." He gestured to each one respectively.

      "I haven't seen you around," Kiibo spoke up, "What school do you go to?"

     Himiko crossed her arms across her chest, rocking back and forth on her heels, "Um... I go to the high school just a block down from here..."

     "Ah, I've seen you a-around." Miu interjected, "She's a qu-quiet one. N-no surprise you didn't n-notice her."

     Kokichi had just been watching her the whole time. He looked worried, "Hey why were you in the du-dumpster?"

     Himiko tensed a bit, cradling her hurt arm, "Um..."

     Miu pointed a threatening finger at her, "I swear to g-god, if it w-was Kaede, I-I'll beat the everl-living shit out of that bitch."

     Himiko jumped at her raised voice, taking another few steps back.

      "Stop it, you're scaring her." The purple haired boy demanded, his voice suddenly more confident. This made Miu cower a bit.

     "S-s-sorry."

     Himiko just nodded in embarrassment. She took one final step backwards, now completely out of the alley. She gestured a small goodbye and took off running.

     She heard someone call out to her from behind, but she just kept running until she reached her house.

     Slamming the door, she immediately felt nauseous. Her mother had been drinking again and the smell wafted from all areas of the house that she could possibly stash booze. Covering her nose with her uniform shirt, she made her way up to the bathroom. Stripping herself of her filthy clothes, she stared into the mirror.

     She turned this way and that, looking at her bruise infested body. Her arm had a huge cut down the side of it and a scrape on the elbow. She sighed, poking and prodding at different parts of her. It mushed beneath her finger and she frowned. She knew she had gained weight, despite all her efforts. She suddenly felt hungry.

     Taking a quick shower, she got dressed and went down stairs. She noticed her mother passed out on the sofa with a box of pizza and a vodka bottle. Quietly, she made her way to the kitchen.

     She reached out for the handle of the freezer, pulling it out and looking inside. She pulled out a package of chocolate freeze pops and opened it up. She made her way to the bathroom, sitting down and pulling out a popsicle. Here we go again.

================================

     Kokichi bit his thumbnail in thought. He couldn't get that small, redheaded girl out of his head for some reason. She seemed so pathetically sad and he had found her in a dumpster.

     He heard his father leaving the house down the hallway.

     Did Kaede really do that? It was so cruel, even for her. Tenko maybe?

     He shook his head, no. She'd never stoop so low. She seemed to be hurt and flinched away at Gonta's touch.

     He then had a horrible thought.

     What if she's...

     I better see if she's okay...

================================

     Himiko flushed the toilet halfheartedly. She felt empty, but weirdly euphoric at the same time. It was like her mind telling her she did a good job, even if she felt even hungrier than when she started. The empty box of chocolate popsicles lay next to her. Just looking at it made her sick.

     Kicking it to the other side of the room, Himiko sank farther into the floor. She could hear her mother moving downstairs. She was awake and drinking again, obviously not caring what her daughter was doing in the bathroom for so long.

     When her door slammed, she peeked her head out the door. Knowing the coast was clear, Himiko made her way to her room. But just as she walked inside, the doorbell rang, hurting her ears.

     Assuming it was just her mother forgetting her keys, she grabbed the spare one from the shelf near the door and opened the door angrily. What, or in this matter who, she saw surprised her.

     Kokichi was standing in front of her, a worried expression on his face, "Hey, c-can I co-come in?"

     Himiko just nodded.

     He stepped into the house and covered his nose instantly, "What is that?"

     "Nothing!" She exclaimed, pulling him up the stairs, "It's nothing."

     When they entered her room, Himiko immediately started shoving all her dirty clothes in a hamper. Kokichi sat on the bed, waiting.

     Once she was satisfied with the way her room looked, she turned to Kokichi, "Can I, uh, help you?"

     He tapped his fingers on his knee, "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

     She noticed his lack of stutter and decided to trust him, "Don't worry, I'm fine."

     A moment passed and the boy just looked at her, "No, you're not."

     "What?"

     "You're not okay," he began, "And you know it."

     She made a face, "So you're just gonna walk into my house and accuse me of lying to myself." She spat, "I don't even know you!"

     His face contorted, "N-no th-thats n-n-not it!"

     Himiko rolled her eyes, "Fine."

     Kokichi paused for a few moments,  "Where's y-your b-bathroom?"

     The redhead pointed to the hallway, "the door right next to mine."

     He nodded and walked off.

     Himiko plopped down on her bed, thinking it over. Maybe she wasn't okay, but it wasn't like her mother would do anything about it. She's part of the reason she isn't okay.

     Therapy is too much money and they didn't have a family doctor. Himiko hadn't gotten sick in over five years.

     Weirdo. Himiko thought, Just walking into my house and telling me I'm not okay...

     Suddenly, her door creaked open and the purple haired boy walked in. He was carrying the empty box of chocolate pops.

     Shit.

     "Hey," he gestured to the box, "Why was this in your bathroom?"

     She panicked, "That's none of your goddamn business!"

     She frantically reached for the box, tearing it out of his arms.

     He stared at her, "Whens the last time you ate a decent meal?"

     She paused. In truth, the last full meal she ate, and didn't throw up, was a full two months ago. Himiko didn't want to admit this though, so she just shrugged.

     Kokichi grabbed her arm suddenly, "come on, we're going to get something to eat.

     She gasped when he grabbed her arm, it hurt so much it felt like it could fall off at any moment.

================================

     The girl sighed as they waited in line at the ramen shop. The last place she wanted to be at that moment was in public.

     "What do you want, Himi?"

     She sputtered for a moment, "H-himi?"

     Kokichi nodded, "I give all my friends nicknames."

     Did I ever say we were friends?

     "Um okay..."

     They got their food and sat down at a nearby table. She breathed in the warm aroma and couldn't wait to eat, even if it meant losing it to the toilet later.

     It was quiet as they ate. To Himiko, it felt too much like a date.

     "What's on your mind?" Kokichi asked.

     She felt weird, nobody had ever cared so much about her in her entire life. She always thought it would be easy to accept someones help, but obviously not.

    She shook her head, "Nothing..."

     "I can tell when you're lying."

     What?

      She gaped at him, "What?"

      He just shrugged, "It's true."

      She quickly finished her ramen, "Hey, I'll be right back."

      Without waiting for a response, she got up and rushed to the bathroom. Thank god it was a one person.

     Crouching over the toilet seat, she reluctantly stuck her fingers down her throat.

     She wiped her mouth when she heard a knock on the door. Flushing, she washed her hands and splashed some water on her face.

     Himiko opened the door and stepped out, another girl rushing in.

     Paying her no mind, she walked back to the table. Kokichi was there playing on his phone.

     He looked up, "Hey."

     She just nodded, her stomach turning for the millionth time that day.

     She sat down and he immediately narrowed his eyes at her, "What's that?"

     She froze. He was pointing at a small chunk of food she accidentally left on her cheek.