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tsukishimashoyo · 4 years ago

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Bokuto Koutaro:

"Confess by word not by action to a dense person."

You are Akaashi's childhood best friend. You are cheering to Akaashi in the bleachers when Bokuto's spike was blocked-the ball hitting the fingertips of the blocker making a soft hit upon your hand. You catch it.

That's when your eyes meets Bokuto's. Fokurodani wins. After the match, you jog to congratulate your childhood best friend. You saw Akaashi with his teammates, you decided to not interfere but Akaashi immediately saw you when you turn your back at them.

"Y/N!" Akaashi shouted. You look at him shyly because his teammates look at you confused, but you didn't saw their ace. "Hey Ashi" you answered back while walking towards them slowly. While walking someone bumped you and you almost fell, but he grabbed your ponytailed hair so you didn't kiss the gym floor.

"HEY HEY HEY!!" shouted Bokuto-forgots that his holding you, raised his both hands in the air. So you still kissed the floor.

You are still facing the floor still processing what the heck happened.

"Y/N you okay?" Akaashi asked worriedly. You saw that the manager smacked Bokuto's head and lecturing him about what happened earlier.

"Uhm I'm okay now" you said. Awkward is what you feel around you.

"Hey I'm so sorry-" Bokuto said, asking what your name is.

"Oh I'm Y/n, and no need to be sorry, look I'm okay" you said, but suddenly you felt something is running down from your nose. It's blood.

"AGAASHI, SHE IS HAVING A NOSEBLEED! WHAT SHOULD WE DO! DO SOMETHING! DO SOMETHING AKAASHI!! AHHHHHHH " Bokuto shouted hysterically while shaking Akaashi.

"Bokuto-san please be calm and stop shaking me, it's making me feel dizzy. " Akaashi said calmly.

"Oya? Where is she?" Bokuto calmed down and now searching for you.

"She's with Yukie-san and Kaori-san, Bokuto-san. They took her to the clinic/infirmary to treat her. " Akaashi said while picking his things.

Bokuto's emo mode striked, that made quite while walking.

––––

"Ashi, what happened to him?" you asked Akaashi while pointing your finger to Bokuto, who is sulking in the corner of the clinic.

"Don't mind him, his just in emo mode. " Akaashi replied awkwardly scratching his nape.

"Eh? Emo mode?" tilting your head while looking at Bokuto. You suddenly walk towards him slowly and tap his back. He looked at you with sad face and deflated hair. You smiled at him sweetly.

"Hey, why are you sad?" you asked and sit beside him hugging your knees.

"It's my fault that you hot a nosebleed, I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry" Bokuto said, in a verge of crying.

"Haha, your the only person I know that feels really sad when you did something, and also no need to be sad, look I'm okay now. " smiling brightly.

Your eyes widened because of the sudden action of Bokuto. He's now hugging you tightly and caressing your hair softly.

"Uhm, you can now let go-" you said while tapping lightly to his back signaling him to let go. He pushes you lightly, but hold your both shoulders.

"Oh I'm sorry, I'm Bokuto Koutaro, you and I are friends now RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT!? Bokuto's eyes sparkled while asking you about the friendship thingy, and smiled at you brightly.

"Okay okay, we're friends now," you chuckled and smiled at him after saying that.

He suddenly clasped your both hands and joyfully jump and jump.

"Yes! A new friend Akaashi" he said-still jumping and holding your hands.

"Yes Bokuto-san she's now your friend, now let go first of her hands 'cause your making her uncomfortable." Your childhood bestfriend said while looking at your hands that is still held by Bokuto.

"Hey Ashi, don't say that to Koutaro, he's now my friend,so it's okay" you said and smile brightly to Bokuto. Bokuto became cheerful again and smiled back at you.

"HEY HEY HEY, Y/n-chan wanna hang out today with Agaashi?" Bokuto asked, looking at you excitedly.

"Of course, if that's okay to your managers and also your coach?" you and Bokuto looked at the managers and their coach at the same time waiting for their answer.

"Yes, of course you can, now off you go" their coach said. After hearing what their coach said Bokuto hold your left arm and also grab Akaashi's right arm and start running.

"Bokuto-san slow down, we have many time to spend, so no need to be hurry" Akaashi said while catching his breath.

Bokuto suddenly stopped on his track that makes, you and Akaashi catch your breath.

"AGAASHI, WHERE SHOULD WE TAKE Y/N-CHAN!? SHOULD WE TAKE HER TO OUR FAVORITE CAFE!? SHOULD WE GO TO MIYAGI AND INTRODUCE HER TO TSUKKI, AND MY DISCIPLE HINATA!? OH! OH! OH! LETS VISIT MY BRO KUROO!!" Shouted Bokuto shaking aggressively Akaashi.

"First of all Bokuto-san, breath, now let's go first to our favorite cafe, and then let's go to the park so that you and Y/n get to know eachother. Is that okay Bokuto-san?" Akaashi said feeling a little bit dizzy because of the shaking he's experiencing. Bokuto stopped shaking Akaashi and walk towards you. He bend his body to level you and he close the gap between you and him. It's only 1-inch, and one wrong move you're gonna kiss.

"Of course that's o-okay" you said while looking away blushing.

"Are you sick y/n-chan? Your face is red as tomato?" Bokuto asked-tilting his head.

"Ahh Haha n-no, I'm not sick" you smiled awkwardly after answering.

Akaashi pulled away Bokuto and then start walking.

You walk beside Akaashi. "I'm sorry about what happened earlier. He's just like that to everyone when he makes new friend, so don't fall for him, understood?" Akaashi said while looking at you, feeling sorry.

"That's okay, don't be sorry. And don't worry, I won't" you smiled at him assuring that it's fine.

(2 months have passed)

You and Bokuto became really close that you didn't realize you fall for him, but you know that he just see you as his close friend. You are giving hint to him that you liked him but he's dense.

"HEY HEY HEY y/n-chan you eating pocky without me? You don't wuv me anymore?" Bokuto while pouting.

"HAHAHA Koutaro stop pouting, of course I love you, now say Ahh~" you smiled at him and feed him. Your eating one pocky now and Bokuto goes infront of you and bite the other end of the pocky.

You blushed and walk faster-leaving Bokuto behind. You suddenly stopped because he backhugged you.

"I know you love me y/n-chan, and I love you too" Bokuto said while resting his chin on your shoulder.

"WHA-" the time when you gotta have to say, he spoke again.

"It's because you are special to me. You are my very girl bestfriend, RIGHT!?" he said, still resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Of course! You are also special to me also, 'cause you are my very boy bestfriend aside from Ashi" after you said that, you felt a pain on your chest.

"Hey guys! I'm sorry I'm late" Akaashi said while catching his breath.

"It's okay, we're complete now so, LETS GOO!!" you said and walk away to have a distance between Bokuto and you.

You, Akaashi, and Bokuto had so much fun at the park. But suddenly you cannot come to any hang outs with Akaashi and Bokuto because your condition got worst. Akaashi noticed that there's something wrong about you.

He didn't tell you that he will visit, that as the time when he discovered you have hanahaki disease, because of the petals that is all over the place.

"Ashi? *cough* *cough*" you didn't know what to do because you hot caught by your childhood bestfriend.

"Why you didn't tell me?" Ashi rushed to you, and caress your back gently.

"I don't want to be a hindrance" you said while restraining yourself to cough again.

"You're not a hindrance to me y/n, you're like my sister, so don't consider yourself a hindrance. How long you that you have this disease?" Ashi said while cleaning your room. You didn't answer him, instead you asked him about something.

"Ashi, do you remember our ancient history? That my other ancestors have also suffered from Hanahaki disease?" you asked-a tears slowly falling from your eyes.

"Yes, I remember, I thought it's not gonna happen now, because it was too long ago" Ashi became silent after saying that.

"Ashi, why me? Why does it happen to be me!? WHY!? TELL ME WHY ASHI!? I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE THIS PLACE, I WANT TO BE WITH YOU AND KOUTARO FOR A LONG TIME. WHY DO I HAVE TO DIE FROM THIS ST*PID DISEASE!?" you shouted while punching your chest, shocked eaten your whole being. Akaashi stopped you immediately from punching yourself. You looked at him and he's also crying.

"Y/n you're not gonna die, okay? Just tell me who is it?" Akaashi said while gently caressing your hair.

"It's Koutaro-" he cutted you off.

"Bokuto-san? Didn't I told you that he's like that to everyone? Why did you let yourself fall?" Akaashi said calmly.

"I know, but I can't help it, now that you know, what will you gonna do? Ask him to return my feelings? And then he's gonna love me. I don't want him to pity just because I have this disease. So don't tell him Ashi, DON'T tell him" you said looking at him intently.

"But-" this time you cutted him off.

"No buts, Ashi. This is my decision. You're not gonna leave me alone right?" looking down at your feet.

"Of course, I'm not gonna leave you" Akaashi said and hugged you.

"HEY HEY HEY, oh Agaashi you're here too? Why you didn't tell me that you're gonna visit y/n-chan? If you did we go here together and surprise her" Bokuto said while carrying many pocky on his hands.

"Why would I?, if we came here together then you will gonna ask why her room is full of sakura petals" Akaashi said but whispers the last he said.

"Agaashi you mean!, Y/N-chan, Agaashi is bullying me *pouting*" Bokuto run and pushed aside Akaashi so he can hug you.

"Ashi, don't bully Koutaro, he's gonna cry like baby now, look HAHAHA *cough*" you coughed and Bokuto immediately pat gently your back, after that he gets water. *stupid disease* you said at the back of your head.

"Here drink this y/n-chan,are you really sure that it's just a cough? It's been a while when we hang out,im getting worried" Bokuto said-sitting at your bed again.

"She's fine now Bokuto-san, don't get too close to her your suffocating her" Akaashi said-still not okay what you said earlier.

"ASHI!!" you glared at him.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry Bokuto-san, it's just there somethings I'm thinking of" Akaashi said.

"That's okay" Bokuto said while feeding you a pocky.

5 months have passed and your coughing the whole Sakura flower. You know that one of these days your going to say goodbye to your loved ones. So you request to Akaashi and Bokuto to watch the fireworks on ______ festival. You want to be with them as long as you could.

At night you did something, and you're really crying hard while doing it. Saying sorry agin and again.

Tomorrow is the ____ festival, but you feel that you couldn't make it tomorrow.

The day comes, Akaashi and Bokuto came to your house to fetch you. But they are stunned when they saw you lying on your bed holding a tape and a letter.

Akaashi took the letter that is meant for him and read.

Hey Ashi, first of all thank you for taking care of me. You are always there for me when I'm having a hard time. You didn't give up on me, but I gave up on myself. I'm really sorry Ashi because I'm gonna leave you behind. Take care of Koutaro okay?. Don't let him be in Emo mode again haha. Take good care of your health also. Don't blame Koutaro about what happened to me okay? It's my choice not to tell him my feelings. I'm not expecting him though to return my feelings for him and you know that. I'm really really sorry Ashi and thank you. I'm watching you from above, I'm gonna be mad at you if you're not taking care of yourself and blames Koutaro. Stay by his side for me. This is a goodbye now. Goodbye my childhood bestfriend. I love you.

Akasshi cried and Bokuto hugged Akaashi. They cried and cried all day.

It's your funeral day.

Akasshi came but not Bokuto, he stayed on his bed crying. After the funeral, Akaashi visit Bokuto holding a tape.

"Bokuto-san, this is for you, from y/n" Akaashi said while looking at you with puffed eyes.

"I don't want that, I don't want *sobs* to let go y/n *sniff*" Bokuto said hugging his pillow that is full of tears.

"Bokuto-san you need to listen to this or else y/n will be sad" Akaashi said while sitting on Bokuto's bed.

"I don't want to make y/n sad" he said and gets the tape from Akaashi.

"I'm right at the kitchen Bokuto-san, I'm gonna make food" Akaashi said-standing up and pat Bokuto's back a little.

Bokuto plays the tape.

You talked and said

"Hi Koutaro, I'm sorry I cannot fulfill our promise to watch the fireworks, the three of us. So calm down with my song, don't laugh.

You started singing Grow Old With You.

After singing, you said at the end—“But we can't live a long life".

And with that, the tape stopped.

--END--

#haikyū!!#haikyu x reader #Bokuto #Y/n #haikyuu koutarou #akaashi keji x reader #haikyuu akaashi #akaashi x reader #haikyuu angst #Bokuto kotarou #Haikyu #fukorodani #stanhaikyuuboys #hanahaki disease

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heysoup · 4 years ago

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Fluffy February Day 2 - Movie Night

Reminder to follow @fluffyfebruary to see the prompt list and that I’ll be using the tags #fluffyfebruary and #fluffyfeb for these.

Continuing the fics with day two! I’m super proud of this one; It’s dripping with fluff and teenage angst. Warning for potential secondhand embarrassment - they’re both idiots in love and have no idea how to show it.

Chapter 2: Films and Fears

Pairing: Butch/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: Dealing with life in the vault can be tough, especially for an outcast like Jamie. When he befriends Butch through his G.O.A.T. assignment, however, the two make their own safe place. Butch decides to surprise him there one day with the promise of treasure, and it leads to something more than they both expect.

Ao3 Link

Jamie tosses and turns in his rat’s nest of a bed. It’s midnight – he’s too hot, the vault’s ventilation system’s groaning is echoing around him like a damn chorus, and his sheets keep scratching uncomfortably against his clammy skin. He brings his wrist close to his face to mindlessly check his Pip-Boy for the millionth time that night, his arm feeling as heavy as lead, and he squints at the fluorescent light of the screen as he taps it awake.

Though Butch showed him a few times before, it still takes him a moment to remember the right sequence of buttons to push to unlock developer’s mode and navigate to the messaging tab the other boy set up for them. It’s only been about a month since Butch found an old Pip-Boy manual in Stanley’s locker and got this trick to work, but already there’s a considerable backlog of messages between the two.

Jamie scrolls through them with the dial on his Pip-Boy, worrying the skin of his lower lip with his teeth as he reads through some of the older messages. It’s become a new habit for him on these particularly rough sleepless nights. When he’s too exhausted to write in his journal, draw, or jump around his room in an attempt to tire himself out; he talks to Butch.

If someone had told him a year ago that Butch DeLoria, his childhood bully and teenage rival, would be one of his only sources of solace these days he would have called them insane. Turns out, giving the vault’s two delinquents deadbeat jobs with no supervision and shoving them in the same closet of a studio space could make them form a pretty strange alliance. The enemy of my enemy and all of that, right?

It also doesn’t help that Amata is forever busy with her new duties as overseer’s assistant – or whatever her job title is actually called. Jamie misses her like he’s lost a part of himself, and even though he knows she’s not locked away with her father by choice he can’t help the nagging part of his brain that is convinced she abandoned him.

Butch is dealing with the same thing, though with less consequence. His fellow Tunnel Snakes are relatively busy with their new jobs – Wally as a security guard and Paul as an engineer – but they still make some time to see each other. Butch is just one of those people who needs constant attention, which is where Jamie supposes he comes in handy. He tries not to think too hard about it.

He’s is snickering to himself while he reads some messages sent a few weeks back during one of their spats, most of which were petty insults and some pretty creative curses, when a new message blips through and pulls his screen to attention.

913473: nosebleed u up?

Perfect timing, Jamie thinks, sitting up in his bed to type. The 6-digit code is what Butch called his Pip-ID – apparently every Pip-Boy comes with one coded in by default. It was weird at first, trying to memorize the numbers and calm his own paranoia at the thought of someone hacking into their conversations, but Butch said that their numbers were for their Pip-Boys alone, so Jamie trusted him. The horrible, agitated crawling under his skin that was keeping him up all night begins to fade as he replies.

604272: didja even have to ask? 913473: just say yes or no damn 604272: k. no 913473: oh fuck off

Jamie can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him, and he grins like a complete idiot down at the screen.

913473: if ur done being an ass i have somethin for us to do 913473: if u aint busy of course 913473: meet at the place? 604272: sure. be there in 10

He switches his Pip-Boy screen off and hops out of bed, stretching languorously before grabbing his jumpsuit from where he left it earlier that day in a heap on the floor. He tugs it on leg by leg and zips it up before checking himself in the mirror.

His hair is a mop of curls on his head and he does his best to smooth it down, knowing Butch will scold him for not using the correct conditioner to tame his flyaways like he showed him. The bags under his eyes are a bit darker than usual, but there’s nothing to be done about that. He shrugs to himself and turns to the door. No point in being too self-conscious about his appearance this late at night – isn’t like this is a date or anything, he tells himself.

He doesn’t bother being quiet as he leaves his room, knowing his dad would still be working at the clinic or at the very least passed out there on one of the cots. He doesn’t come home much these days.

Jamie shoves his boots on, not even bothering with socks, and peers out of the thick window into the hallway. It seems empty, so he hits the button and creeps out through the door.

The neon blue emergency lights that run along the edges of the ceiling and floor greet him when he steps out of his apartment. He shoves his hands in his pockets, a nervous habit, and peers around the corner before continuing his path. The door closes not-so-softly behind him and he walks down the hall past the restrooms that separate his and Butch’s apartments. He stops momentarily outside the door to the DeLoria’s apartment, noticing it’s dark and quiet inside.

Butch must already be down there, Jamie thinks, picking up his pace as much as he could without making too much noise. Despite the constant creaking and rumbling of the vault’s ventilation and reactor systems the halls at night could carry quite an echo, and his boots aren’t the quietest things to sneak around in.

Patrols were lax recently but knowing his luck he’d get caught breaking curfew and would have to clean the bathrooms again. He briefly regrets not wearing socks because he refuses to take his boots off and walk barefoot on the cold steel floor, even if it is quieter.

Further down the hallway and a bit past the occupied wing of apartments, Jamie stops at the top of a short set of stairs that lead down to a small corridor with one door. A large INACCESSIBLE sign glows ominously above it, and in the corner of the hallway facing the stairwell is a single security camera. It rotates at a snail’s pace, its gears clicking audibly with every circuit it makes of the dead-end hallway.

Jamie ducks down near the wall at the top of the stairs, watching the camera as he has so many times before to study its crawling path. When Butch had discovered this place, they figured out a way to tilt the camera up ever so slightly with the handle of a broom from their shop – creating about thirty seconds of a blind spot to get them from the stairs and through the door without getting caught if they hugged the left wall.

Peering down the hallways around him one more time to make sure no patrols were coming; Jamie types a quick message into his Pip-Boy.

604272: here

He waits a few moments until he hears a couple sharp raps on the metal door down the way, telling him that Butch is there whenever he’s ready. Jamie waits a few more moments and listens to the camera click back into its blind spot before he hops down the stairs, staying low and to the left as he stalks toward the door. He hits it lightly with his palm when he gets there, and it slides open. He has just enough time to duck inside, slamming his fist on the button to shut it just as he hears the security camera restart its rotation.

“You’re still gonna act like it's some big heist no matter how many times we come down here, huh?” Jamie turns around in the darkness and is met with Butch’s grin, a bottle of beer already in one of his fists. His Pip-Boy light is on, basking them in a dim green glow.

“Keeps it interesting,” he replies, punching Butch playfully on the arm. On this side of the door is a long flight of stairs and they continue further down into the pitch darkness, hands pressing along the walls for purchase with nothing but about three feet of lighting in front of them.

The emergency lights are shut off down here, along with the security cameras – probably to save power, so Jamie turns his Pip-Boy light on as well. It’s a bit brighter, but not by much. They’ve been down here enough times by now that their bodies remember how many steps there are, but Jamie always has a nagging fear in the back of his mind that one day the staircase will just keep going forever. He shakes that thought from his head, listening to the sound of their boots stomping down the steps and focusing his gaze on Butch’s free hand as it slides against the railing.

For the past month or so this has been their escape. Butch somehow figured out how to break into the door they just passed through, and they discovered a whole wing of abandoned apartments under the ones they were currently living in. So far all they had done was clear out one room that had a ratty old couch, some blankets, a broken Nuka Cola mini-fridge, and a few wooden storage crates in it. Jamie had also rigged up a small emergency generator and they were able to find some lamps to make it a little less depressing.

Most importantly, they had booze smuggled from Butch’s mom’s liquor stash, a few cartons of cigarettes they’d traded with Stevie for some chems Jamie snuck from his dad’s clinic, their collection of comic books, and Jamie’s old BB gun for when they got bored. It’s far from perfect, but it’s space, and when you’re destined to roam the same hallways with the same people for the rest of your miserable existence – that amounts to a lot.

“So, what are we actually doing?” Jamie asks as they turn into the apartment they’d claimed as their base. Butch has the generator running and the room smells thickly of his peach pomade and cigarette smoke – he must have been down here for a few hours already.

“I,” Butch begins, stopping to pull the cork out of his new bottle of beer with his teeth before spitting it on the floor and taking a swig, “am gonna show you some treasure.” He finishes with a flourish, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and plops down onto the couch next to his discarded Tunnel Snake jacket.

Jamie snorts and pulls up a crate, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch and propping his feet up. He clicks his tongue in mock annoyance when Butch’s boots crowd his own on the small surface and, in a fruitless endeavor, they battle for leg space before giving in to sharing. It’s obvious the other boy is already a bit tipsy.

“Treasure, huh? That’s cool, I guess,” Jamie snickers, snatching the bottle of beer from Butch and downing some before he could protest. It burns in his throat and brings a comforting warmth to his chest. He continues nursing the drink and settles further back into the worn corduroy couch, his posture absolutely terrible. Butch reaches for another bottle.

“Yup.” The bottle pops open and another cork joins the pile growing on the floor. Another drink and an obnoxious burp, then Butch sits forward - feet falling to the floor, his hands on his knees, and an excited light in his eyes. His leg is bouncing incessantly.

“Listen, I was going through some rooms down here and I found an old projector – like the one Brotch has?” He glances at Jamie, blue eyes a soft, dreamy color in the low light, and Jamie can’t help but gulp at the intensity he sees there. When Butch has a plan he’s excited about, he turns into a different person – like all the stress of conforming to the monotony of vault life has washed away and he’s finally allowed to be the mischievous and passionate person hiding underneath it all. Or… something like that. Jamie’s waxing poetic again, something he can’t help but do when around Butch.

“That’s pretty cool,” is all Jamie can bring himself to breathe out as he sips on his beer. He picks at the loose threads on the arm of the couch as he tries not to think about the fact that Butch had his lips on this same bottle just a few seconds ago.

Butch deflates a bit. “Pretty cool?” he mocks, leaning closer. Okay, maybe he’s more drunk than Jamie had first thought, if the redness of his cheeks were any indication.

“Nosebleed, I found full on ho-lo-disks,” Butch emphasizes, blowing a few messy curls away from his forehead. Jamie just shrugs.

“Okay?” he begins, not seeing the big deal. They already have these things in the classroom. “What’re we gonna do, watch some lectures? Don’t tell me DeLoria wants to brush up on his studying,” he taunts.

Butch just sneers at him in response, standing up and only swaying a bit – much to Jamie’s surprise. “You have no imagination, dweeb. Stay here!” And with that, he storms out of the room and into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Jamie can see the green light of his Pip-Boy flash on through the window as he walks further away into the dark.

It’s a few minutes before he comes back, and Jamie can hear the ruckus he’s causing before he sees him. He’s startled out of his comfortable position on the couch and perks up. The door slides open and Butch pushes the projector into their base on its rolling cart. One of the wheels must be rusted because its screeching like a damn rat, scraping against the metal flooring as he drags it to the center of the room. He grabs an old cardboard box from the lower shelf of the cart and slides it on the floor over to Jamie with his foot before going back to set the projector up with their tangled mess of extension cords.

Jamie picks it up and grimaces at the box – it’s a little rank and it feels crusty in some spots. “This thing is probably covered in like a hundred different types of mold,” he complains.

“Didn’t give it to ya so you could judge the box!” Butch snaps, banging the top of the projector impatiently when the power flickers. “Open the damn thing.”

Jamie places the box on the couch beside him and sits up, peeling it open to peer inside. His jaw drops in amazement at the sight – more holodisks than he’s ever seen in his life, all with unique and eye-catching, full-color illustrations on the covers. He stares at Butch in disbelief and catches the other boy staring at him, an unabashed, beaming smile on his face when he sees Jamie’s reaction. When their eyes meet, Butch clears his throat and snaps his attention back to the projector, fiddling with some dials that don’t seem to change anything.

“Cool, right?” He says, his ears turning red as he dismisses his earlier excitement with a sheepish shrug.

“It’s fucking great!” Jamie laughs and begins to rummage through the box. There are real films in here, like he’s only read about in pre-war history classes or his cheesy novels. Aside from a whole slew of superhero films starring characters like The Silver Shroud and even some of Grognak the Barbarian, there are titles that look like they’re about pre-war animals in different parts of the world, some with soldiers in power armor, some ancient recordings of sports, and what looks like a few western and sci-fi films

Butch walks back over and sits beside him, throwing his arm over the back of the couch and leaning in to look at the titles. Jamie’s breath hitches at his closeness and he can feel his cheeks heating up. He tries not to show it, leaning in ever so slightly to let their shoulders brush.

“You can pick first, my treat,” Butch says while gesturing to the patchwork sheet he’d hung up on the opposite wall of the small apartment – Butch must have stitched it together himself out of whatever excess fabric he found. It’s hanging a little crooked and the projector’s STAND BY image is a bit fuzzy, but a bubble of excitement forms in Jamie’s chest regardless. He doesn’t want to read too far into things, but Butch had found this and made it a surprise specifically for them to share. That made him feel a certain kind of way.

He blinks those embarrassing thoughts away and nods, his face warm. Looking over their choices carefully, he finally decides and picks the western – he always did have a fondness for the freedom that seemed to come with being a cowboy – and walks to the projector to pop it in and press play.

He half expects Butch to make fun of his choice, but the other boy is oddly quiet, carefully inspecting his fingernails as Jamie switches off the lamps and kicks off his boots before returning to sit cross-legged on the couch. Butch still hasn’t scooted further away or removed his arm from the back of the couch, so their knees bump and he can feel the warmth of Butch’s arm behind his neck and it sends prickles through his skin.

Only as the movie begins do they realize they don’t have any speakers hooked up – so it’s completely silent in the room other than the whirring of the film in the projector.

“I didn’t even think of that,” Butch sighs and shakes his head in disappointment. Jamie just laughs.

“It’s still cool,” he assures him. “They used to have silent movies all the time apparently – especially back in cowboy days. It’s authentic,” he purses his lips at the end, trying to do his best impression of Mr. Brotch. It seems to work because Butch cracks a grin at him and snorts.

“Sure, it’ll work for now, but I saw some terminals in another apartment down here. We can check for some speakers there later,” Butch says and then his playful grin becomes roguish. “Push comes to shove, we can just swipe one from upstairs. Who’d notice a missing speaker?”

Jamie just scoffs and elbows him, turning his attention back to the film as the title screen fades in and he reads, ‘High Lonesome.’ He didn’t bother to read what the film was about, but it opens with a group of people in a wagon on a vast desert plain with plateaus towering in the distance.

There isn’t too much to see at first, but one thing that sticks with him is the impossible vastness of the sky as the camera zooms out to show a wider view of the prairie they’re riding along. He’s seen pictures of the sky, sure, but something about watching the tiny silhouettes of people move around under it was chilling – it was huge and incredibly empty. He didn’t know if what he was feeling was amazement or terror.

Despite the film being in black and white, the shimmer of the sun on the horses’ flanks as they gallop is bright enough to seem real and Jamie is completely entranced as he watches. And, luckily enough, there seem to be subtitles, so they’ll still be able to understand what’s going on.

Jamie’s trance is momentarily broken when Butch leans down and grabs something from under the couch. He returns with a box of fancy lads which he presses into Jamie’s hands. Jamie mumbles his thanks, his eyes never leaving the picture as he tears into a package and shoves a whole powdery cake into his mouth.

Butch just laughs at him and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He lights one just as the young cowboy on screen does – much to Jamie’s delight – and they chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

They pass the snacks, beer, and smokes back and forth between each other as they watch their movies. When the western is over, Butch picks a film called ‘Teenage Caveman,’ saying that it has to be good because the cover has tits and a giant lizard monster on it. It ends up being the worst piece of garbage they’ve ever seen – and that’s saying a lot considering they’ve only seen one other film in their whole lives.

“That dude didn’t even look like a teenager! He had to be like thirty,” Jamie says, tossing the film into a box they decide to label ‘shit.’ According to Butch, they were like pioneers and had to record their findings, so not only were they watching the films, but they were sorting them from best to worst. As Butch had put it in his best overseer impression, they were doing future vault residents a great service and fulfilling their civic duty… by saving others from watching total pieces of trash.

“There wasn’t even a single boob,” Butch mopes, snubbing out the last of his cigarette in the cracked coffee mug functioning as their makeshift ashtray. “Talk about false advertising. The giant lizards were kinda cool, though.” Jamie smacks him upside the head.

“You wouldn’t know what a boob looked like if it smacked you in the face.”

“You take that back!” Butch laughs and tosses their snacks on the floor, lunging for Jamie who’s cackling just as hard. They’re fucking hammered at this point and they roll off the couch into a heap on the floor, knocking a crate over as they grapple at each other. They wrestle like this sometimes – it’s a great outlet for Jamie’s aggressive energy and, when they’re less drunk, Butch actually teaches him how to kick ass. Now, they’re just breathless laughs and fumbling hands as they scramble for purchase on the floor and try their damnedest to pin the other down.

Butch may be stronger on a normal day, but at the moment he’s piss-drunk compared to Jamie who still has a bit of his wits about him. He flips the taller boy over so quickly it’s almost comical and pins him, pressing his knees against his thighs and holding his wrists at his sides to stop him from getting up. He laughs triumphantly.

“What’s wrong, Butchie? You’ve never lost a fight so fast!” He grins down at the boy smugly but stops short when he sees the look on Butch’s face. It’s endearing how red his cheeks are, his hair a mess and his blue eyes wide. Butch just fixes him with those piercing baby blues.

“Don’t get cocky, Nosebleed. I let ya do it,” he says in a soft voice, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Jamie’s mouth goes dry, his eyes fixed on Butch’s unbelievably pink lips. He hates himself for how much he wants to kiss him then and without thinking he begins to lean forward. He catches himself, though, and his thoughts have him jumping off of Butch and falling back against the couch like he’s been shocked, his chest heaving. He feels dizzy and he can still smell the earthy spice of the other boy’s aftershave enveloping him like a thick haze he can’t shake.

Butch laughs and pulls himself up into a sitting position, shooting Jamie a dazzling grin from his seat on the floor. “What’s wrong, Jamie?” Butch teases, his voice only a bit slurred and a shit-eating grin creeping its way onto his face. Hearing his name come from Butch is rare and it knocks the breath out of him. All he can do is stare.

Butch clambers ungracefully back up to the couch with him, leaning awfully close and whispering, “cat got your tongue?” His breath is warm on Jamie’s face and it smells like a mixture of smoke and alcohol, something he never thought would smell so intoxicating, but of course it does – it’s Butch.

Jamie’s heart is in his fucking throat and he can’t breathe. Butch is pressed against his side and his back is against the arm of the couch. There’s nowhere for him to escape to – not that he necessarily wants to, but he was never very good with facing his feelings. Either Butch is actively trying to flirt with him or he’s fucking around, and Jamie can’t decide which one is worse.

“You’re drunk, you idiot,” Jamie laughs weakly and goes to push Butch away by the chest but stops when he feels his heart pounding under his t-shirt. The other boy’s breath hitches and his body stiffens at Jamie’s touch, his lips parting as if he were trying to think of what to say.

“So are you,” Butch finally settles with, reaching up to wrap his fingers around Jamie’s wrist. His touch almost feels like it burns. They sit like that for a moment, staring at each other, eyes like fire.

The generator chooses that moment to shut off, leaving them in pitch darkness. Out of instinct, Jamie curls his fingers into Butch’s shirt, his ears ringing at the sudden silence in the room and his breathing becoming labored. Darkness feels suffocating to him sometimes, and this is one of those moments. It lays over them like a thick blanket, and the only thing that pulls him out of his internal panic is Butch’s free hand cupping the back of his head, fingers twining through the thick, curly hair at the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t even have time to think about what Butch might be doing before he feels the press of the other boy’s lips warm against his own. Though they’re unbelievably soft, the kiss is rushed and clumsy – desperate almost – and Jamie grunts when their teeth knock together. He wastes no time returning the kiss, though, his eyes fluttering shut as he focuses on the feel of Butch’s lips against his own and the rough burn of his stubble as it brushes against his chin.

It must have just been a power surge, because suddenly the generator kicks back on and the projector screen lights up the room. Their eyes fly open and they wrench apart, still holding onto each other as if for dear life. Whatever safety they felt shrouded in the darkness is ripped away and they’re left feeling vulnerable and exposed. Jamie’s breath comes out in stutters and he dares to glance up at the other boy.

Butch’s eyes are filled with a fiery heat he can’t even describe and something akin to tenderness – which is hard for him to pinpoint since he’s never been looked at like that before. He sucks in a sharp breath. For some reason, even though he’s been dreaming of this moment for months, he just feels terrified and embarrassed – like he fucked up somehow. The panic must be written clearly on his face because Butch pulls away like he’s been slapped and falls back to the other end of the couch.

“Sh-shit, I,” Butch stutters, his hand clutching his chest where Jamie’s was a moment before, “fuck, Jamie, I didn’t mean to.” His voice cracks, sounding almost pleading. Jamie doesn’t know what to say, his mouth flapping uselessly, and it’s too much for him to handle. He doesn’t understand what his problem is. Everything in his heart is telling him to leap forward and continue kissing Butch, but he’s just too fucking scared.

“It’s fine!” He practically snaps, standing up suddenly. He’s shaking and feels clammy and he’s sure he’s as pale as a ghost – is it even possible for something good to give you a panic attack?

He glances around for his boots for a moment, but it’s still too much and he can see Butch starting to reach for him with concern in his eyes. “I have to go,” he blurts out, and he turns tail and runs.

The last thing he hears before he leaves is Butch yelling his name, but he jogs up the steps in the darkness, tripping over his own feet and bruising his knees. He knows he’s acting like a child, but he can’t bring himself to care. He is absolutely not ready to face what’s happening and he needs to be alone in his room now.

When he reaches the door, he doesn’t even stop to think about the security camera on the other side, he just slams his fist on the button and rushes out and thankfully luck is on his side this time because he can hear the camera click into the end of its circuit.

He slows down when he reaches the halls, his bare feet making a lot less noise than his boots, but fuck the floor is cold and he regrets not stopping to find his shoes. Soon he reaches his apartment, and he rushes inside, thankful to see that it’s still empty. He locks himself in his own bedroom, suddenly feeling like everything is too much, and he rips his jumpsuit off, flopping onto his bed in just his tank top and boxers and pulling the covers over his head.

He wants to scream, maybe tear his hair out a little or punch the wall. He cannot believe how badly he fucked that up. He doesn’t even know what this means for their friendship – if he had tried to make a move on Butch and the other boy ran away, he would be devastated! Would Butch even want to talk to him anymore? He worries over these thoughts for a few hours until his brain feels like jelly. The last thing he’s aware of before falling asleep is how his lips taste ever-so-slightly like the sweet mint chap stick Butch always carries around.

---

He wakes up later to the sound of incessant beeping coming from his wrist. He groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes and down his face. He feels like complete shit – hungover, most likely, and his head is swimming.

He looks at his Pip-Boy to check the time and realizes he’s overslept. It’s two in the afternoon and he’s late for his work assignment at the studio but if he’s being honest the thought of having to drag himself out of bed and sit in a room with Butch all day doesn’t seem as great as it used to. He can’t help it when he opens the messaging app, biting his lip as he prepares to read whatever might be there.

913473: it was a prank haha i rly got u good

That one was sent almost immediately after he’d left last night, according to the timestamp. Something about it makes his gut twist, gives him a bit of nausea. He’s not sure if he believes Butch or not. Once again, he’s not sure which is harder to deal with. Dated about an hour later there are a few more.

913473: jamie im sorry pls answer me 913473: don’t ignore me man if ur mad just come beat me up 913473: are u sleeping? damn out of all the times 913473: its k. i kno u need it. gnight

Jamie doesn’t realize he’s chewing his lip to shreds until he tastes blood, and he curses, wiping it away on the hem of his tank top. His eyes are glued to the screen, his heart thundering in his ears. Dated even later are a handful of other messages and he can tell by their contents that Butch must have kept drinking in his absence. The thought of that tugs at his heart a little – maybe he isn’t the only one who’s terrified of his own feelings and kind of a fuckup.

913473: i know ur asleeeep 913473: gdamn typing onthis shit. fcking sucks 913473: m drunk but idc. i kissed u jamie n itfucking rocked 913473: wasnt a prank. im srry. dont hate me 913473: u can hit me all u want. ill evenlet u win the fight. 913473: jsut dont hate me

Jamie groans and grabs his pillow, shoving his face into it a few times and letting out as loud of a yell as he dares. It’s not enough, but it will have to do. Breathless and flushed, he’s about to lay back down when a new message comes through and his heart leaps so high into his throat that he nearly chokes. He peeks at it over the pillow.

913473: yo you’re late dude. like super late! 913473: i figured id let u sleep off the hangover a bit but damn 913473: i aint gonna cover ur ass if the overseer comes knocking. i have enough of a headache. 913473: so get down here!!! 913473: speakin of headache i was drunk as shit last night. dont remember a thing past that crappy monster movie. so ignore whatever embarrassing crap i sent you, k? 913473: and dont tell anyone im a talkative drunk or ill pummel you, nosebleed.

Jamie looks at the messages in disbelief and flops back onto his bed, his thoughts racing. He can’t tell if Butch is lying or not – he knows even if Butch doesn’t remember there was still something different about what happened last night but fuck if he’s going to bring it up now.

He’s relieved, but also disappointed, maybe a little angry – either at himself or at Butch, he can’t tell. He’s shaking, wracked with nerves at the sudden sense that everything might change soon. He can’t handle change – can’t handle much, if he’s honest with himself, but change is the hardest of all. He curls his fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly and trying to resist the urge to pull it out in chunks. He’s losing himself in his worries again when another message notification shakes him out of it.

“Fuck!” he shouts, wishing he could rip his Pip-Boy off his arm and throw it away.

913473: NOSEBLEED GET THE FUCK TO WORK NOW 913473: its boring alone

Jamie feels like he’s actually going to tear his hair out, but he can’t help himself from laughing. He gives in and types out a quick response.

604272: for the love of GOD 604272: STFU 604272: im on my way now 604272: and i didn’t read ur stupid messages don’t worry. too many for me to care

He bites his lip again, his heart twisting uncomfortably in his chest as he writes out one more message.

604272: i don’t even remember much of the shitty movie lol, u know im a blackout drunk

There are a few minutes without a reply and Jamie starts to think maybe he’s fucked it up again, then more messages come through.

913473: u stupid fuckin idiot 913473: what would i do without u 913473: to pick on i mean

Jamie lets out a trembling sigh and gets out of bed, shaking himself free of his worries and tugging on his jumpsuit again. His hands are quivering, probably will be all day with the way his nerves are, but he can handle it.

It’s only as he’s going to leave does he realize he doesn’t have his shoes.

913473: i have your boots btw dumbass

Jamie is terrified of change. He’s terrified of his own emotions, especially when he can’t control them. He wishes things were simpler and he wishes he could have been born into a more agreeable body in a more agreeable time, but as he walks, shoeless, out of the apartment and to the studio space he shares with Butch, he feels a bit comforted in the fact that Butch might feel exactly the same way. Even if shit is messy and he fucks it up, Butch keeps coming back - and that’s good enough for him.

#fluffyfebruary #fallout #fallout 3 #butch deloria #butch/m!lw #lone wanderer #fanfiction #mlm #jay writes #fluffyfeb

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eeveevie · 5 years ago

Text

truth or dare

All Rosie wants to do is work on her journals. All Butch wants to do is play Truth or Dare. The truth? Rosie’s never been kissed. Do either dare to make the first move?

Unprompted, but I needed some self-indulgence in these uncertain times. Also, Rosie needed a smooch. Stealth edit: this is my lucky #99 story on Ao3 !!!

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

2885 words | [read on Ao3]

Finding a quiet place to hideaway in Rivet City was one of the most difficult tasks Rosie faced every time she visited the repurposed warship—even in the privacy of her rented room, she was distracted by the constant creaking of metal and the echoing footsteps of the guard patrol. By comparison, it made her long to be under the rusted rooftop in Megaton, the closest thing she had to call home nowadays. But beggars and wanderers couldn’t be choosers, even if all she wanted to do that evening was concentrate on her journal and travel notes.

Rosie tried to focus on the stack of reports she had received from Scribe Rothchild, wanting to better understand the different vaults in the area but all she could hear was the repetitive sounds of somebody pacing outside her door. It didn’t match the usual rotation of the Rivet City guards and she had only one guess as to who it could be. Just as she thought to move and secure the lock on the bulkhead it creaked open to reveal her traveling companion—Butch—just as she thought.

He was in a chipper mood, holding a half-empty Nuka-Cola bottle, though his swagger told her that he had been partaking in a different kind of beverage. Rosie frowned, hiding her disappointment in her palm as she diverted her gaze back to her work. She had better things to do than babysit or worry about his drinking habits.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, leaning over her shoulder to peer at her journal. Butch rested one hand on the desk, effectively boxing her in as he bent at the waist for a closer look. Beneath his usual musk of cologne and hair product, she could smell the booze and cigarette ash. She clenched her jaw, more annoyed with him than usual.

Even though the two had taken remarkable strides in creating a friendship from the ground up, Rosie was still in turmoil over the feelings she had for him. No matter what she did to convince herself otherwise, or how much time she believed would need to pass, the stupid little crush had developed into something much stronger. Matters were only made worse when Butch would do something uncharacteristically kind, fueling the flame in her heart. Stranger still, she found herself equally attracted to his tantrums—the little bouts of pouting that resulted from their petty arguments.

Worst of all, she became jealous of any attention he gave to other girls and envious of how easy it was for others to chat him up. Rosie knew she wasn’t the most charismatic person, but now that she was saddled with the weight of those emotions, her insecurities had skyrocketed. It all circled back to her frustration with Butch and how he seemed so carefree and unaware of how his presence affected her. She wondered if his actioned were done intentionally to frustrate her. He wasn’t her childhood bully anymore—this was a completely new form of torture.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” she deflected, avoiding his stare as he looked at her profile. She hadn’t meant to sound so rude but hoped her tone would send him back on his way. Instead, Butch took it as an invitation to linger, testing her patience. Why couldn’t he have slipped back into his old, stubborn ways and taken offense? Had he grown too soft in traveling with her?

“Marketplace is closed,” he explained, straightening. He took a long sip of his soda. “What’s wrong with hangin’ with my best gal?”

Rosie shifted in her seat, the term of endearment had lost its touch lately, even with the affectionate gestures. She would’ve preferred any other nickname if he was going to be sarcastic with her. Rothchild’s notes became a scrambled blur as she crafted a good enough response, one that was sure to dismiss him.

“Wouldn’t you rather be at the Muddy Rudder, getting drunk with Trinnie?” she asked, this time tilting her chin up to steal a quick glance. “Or have you exhausted that option?”

Trinnie reminded Rosie a lot of Susie Mack in the way the girl hung off his every word and became excited when she saw him visiting the city. Rosie rolled her eyes at the irony of it all, that she had ended up in a similar position. At least she was better at hiding how she felt—she hoped.

Butch’s brows furrowed in frustration as he scowled. “I don’t—” he stomped away but didn’t leave the room. “I didn’t.”

Rosie turned in her chair to watch as he deposited himself right on the edge of her bed, leaning back on one elbow. The pose was too suggestive for her and she shot her eyes to the ceiling, pressing her lips into a flat line. “Oh?”

“What’s gotten into you lately?” he questioned in stark tone reminiscent of their earlier traveling days. “You’re pickin’ fights and pouting all the time at me like I did something wrong.”

He looked at her, steely blue eyes trained on her as he emptied the last drops of cola from the bottle, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the glass. “What’d I do this time? I didn’t get wasted like that one time, ya see?” He waved his free hand over his body, but she wasn’t going to look at his appearance and how he was practically draped across her bed. “Or ya’ still finding ways to be mad about all the teasing and bullying?”

In the quiet, she reluctantly flicked her eyes to find him looking like a neglected and kicked puppy. Worse than when she forgot to give Dogmeat a bath after a bout with raiders (usually the dog was happy to be covered in blood and guts). Butch sat there, picking at the Nuka-Cola label with a pout, bottom lip sticking out.

“I said I was sorry,” he mumbled, sounding more dejected than ever.

Rosie chewed on her bottom lip—she hated that the appearance of him crestfallen and perched on her bedsheets was very alluring, especially when he glanced up at her from under his lashes—no way he hadn’t done that on purpose. She sighed, knowing it was wrong of her to lash out when everything that was wrong had to do with her. He didn’t deserve that, especially when yes—they had made their amends and started fresh when first joining up. She was just a young, foolish teenager with emotions she wasn’t ready to face.

“I uh—” she twisted her hands in her lap, darting her eyes from the books spread across the desk and back towards the ceiling. She wanted to have a valid, believable excuse for her outlandish behavior so that maybe he would forgive her. “I’ve been distracted.”

“Yeah,” Butch softly chuckled. “I can tell.”

He titled his head back and forth in thought, pointing the bottle to her. “Take a break, Stitches. You could use a little fun.”

She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, irritated by the suggestion—it wasn’t the first time he had pointed out her boring disposition, but she couldn’t help her inner nature. Rosie was quiet, reserved and her idea of a good time was reading medical textbooks and solving math problems. Butch’s idea of entertainment usually involved some kind of risk that bordered on illegal, scheming up ways to break his boredom. He was stubborn, steadfast in his ways to get her to take life a little less seriously, to smile and laugh more if only so he could see it.

“You’re cute when you smile, Stitches.”

He had told her one evening, a little too tipsy on beer at Moriarty’s, a statement that had her red in the face for hours. Reminiscing on it had her blushing then and there too, something that Butch noticed quickly. He snickered, stretching a little further across her bed—it was certainly large enough for the two of them, but she had refused to share the space, resigning him to the common rooms.

“Rosie, your face is rosy,” he teased, barely able to get the words out as he continued to laugh. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “What kind of fun are you thinkin’ about?”

She scoffed, clutching the back of the chair to ground herself. “Unlike you, my thoughts aren’t permanently in the gutter.”

Butch shrugged, clearly not believing her—she wouldn’t either, with the way her face was burning. He placed the empty Nuka-Cola bottle on the bedsheets beside him and spun the glass, though the fabric prevented it from moving effectively. “Spin the bottle?”

Rosie glanced to see the open end was facing her and sharply turned her head away, focusing on a dark, rusted spot in the corner. She didn’t even want to think about how playing the game would work with just two people. “No!”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” he whined. She heard him shift abruptly. “Hey, wait—you never played, have you?”

Those types of games in the vault were usually reserved for the parties she wasn’t invited to—the same kind of parties in which Amata was dared to spend seven minutes in heaven in the utility closet with Freddie Gomez. Rosie had a wealth of information, but lacked firsthand experience leaving her woefully embarrassed. What she wouldn’t have given to have a normal teenaged life growing up in Vault 101.

“Think back to those circles you sat in, Butch,” she replied, not meaning to sound so despondent. “Ever remember seeing Nosebleed as the bottle spun around?”

Her frown increased as a fleeting thought crossed her mind that he must have kissed every girl in the vault—the rumors certainly had painted him as a player, as a Casanova—yet there she was, still unable to get over how she felt.

“Fine then,” he finally replied. “Truth or dare?”

Rosie whipped her head at him, wide eyed. “I am not playing that game with you either.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, resting his head in his palm. “’Fraid you might reveal something to the Butch-man?”

Her patience was wearing thin, but she knew there would be no getting rid of him unless she humored him. Baring the risk of him escalating the games or wagers, she relented with a sigh, shaking her head. “Do not dare me to do anything gross or illegal.”

“You’re no fun,” he muttered, but regarded her with a low smile. “Okay. Truth or dare.”

She was reluctant to go first but still answered. “Truth.”

Butch’s grin increased and her stomach tightened—somehow, she had chosen something worse than dare. His question was very direct. “Have you ever been kissed?”

Rosie stiffened, and blinked at him silently. Her mind had gone blank at the sheer horror of what was happening—Butch DeLoria was confirming that she was the hopeless nerd he always thought she was. She scrambled to think of a passable lie, of a close call she could claim was really her first kiss but all she could think about were all the times they had managed to get close without anything occurring. Too much time passed without her answering, and his eyebrow quirked up as he let out a breathless laugh.

“Oh, I knew it,” he pushed himself, so he was sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Explains everything!”

“You—you asked that on purpose!” she yelped, turning away from him and hiding her face in her hands out of mortification. Knowing Butch, even with his somewhat changed ways, she’d never hear the end of his teasing over this learned information. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Come on now, Rosie,” he encouraged. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just—”

Something in the tone of his voice had her alarmed. Apprehensively, she glanced back to find him anxiously rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding her stare. That, she didn’t expect. He seemed to be mulling over his next move, the next right thing to say to make the situation right. His eyes met hers and slowly, he smiled.

“Ya’ know, if you want, I could kiss you,” Butch said it like it made perfect sense in his mind. “Get that first kiss out of the way so you know what you’re doin’”

She stared at him, half in disbelief, half in a daze, but mostly in shock. Was he suggesting that…they kiss? Rosie considered that the person she was staring at wasn’t Butch DeLoria at all and the man Amata had released from the vault was some kind of replacement. No way would the bully she had grown up with for nineteen years switch from being repressed by her presence to suddenly wanting to lock lips. It didn’t matter that they were friends now, it still didn’t make any logical sense in her brain. Even if he sounded sincere, even if it was secretly what she wanted, Rosie couldn’t agree—not like this.

“I don’t want to kiss you under some ridiculous circumstances,” she shook her head, busying her hands in hair. “Not when we’ve been playing a stupid game, or—or when you’ve been drinking.”

“I’m not drunk,” he flatly reassured. “Maybe it’s you that needs the liquid courage.”

Rosie disagreed. “I don’t need alcohol to kiss you.”

“Oh yeah?” Butch smirked, mood perking up. “So, you’re saying you do want to kiss me?”

“Don’t—” she huffed, unhappy he was twisting her words. He was the one that brought up the subject in the first place. “You seem eager to do the same!”

He furrowed his brows, laugh a little forced. If anything, it looked like he was blushing. “I dare you to do it right now. Lay one on me, Stitches.”

“I didn’t pick dare. It isn’t my turn, it’s yours!” she argued, once again feeling red in the face. Butch nodded at her, egging her on. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare!”

She had never felt so emboldened. “Kiss me.”

It was Butch’s turn to look shell-shocked as he stared at her, wide blue eyes hazy as his thoughts caught up to the moment. A boy who usually had a snappy remark for everything and everybody was dead silent, unmoving before her. Unsurprisingly, she was disappointed, but hid her emotions well. Abruptly, she stood, determined to remove herself from the room and situation if nothing was going to happen. Rosie would need to be alone to decompress and deal with the ache in her chest. Behind her she heard his feet meet the ground as he scrambled to follow.

“Hey, wait—”

Despite her frustration, she turned half-way to meet him and was surprised when his hand pulled on her wrist, dragging her closer to him. His other hand quickly found her chin, angling her head up just in time for his lips to crash into hers. The first contact was rough—propelled forward by the movement of their bodies—but slowly, Rosie relaxed, daring to reach out and rest her hand against his chest. Reflexively, she clutched at his leather jacket, softly humming her approval. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, too focused on the way Butch’s lips molded around hers the longer they kissed.

When they did sperate, she felt her entire body radiating warmth, embarrassment for a completely different reason now. She had just been kissed—her first kiss—by Butch DeLoria. Instead of even trying to run away she stared up at him sheepishly, amazed to find a similar, dazed look in his eyes. His lips quirked up to the side in a smirk as he slid his hand to cup her cheek, tangling his fingers into her dark hair. The second time he kissed her was far more chaste, at least for the first few moments before he dared to run his tongue along the seam of her mouth, a little sound echoing from his throat when she gradually parted for him. He didn’t rush her, the kiss remaining slow yet far more fervent than the first—his other hand moving from her hand to her waist to slide her closer to his body.

Reluctantly, she pulled away, in need of air. Again, the two gazed at each other, this time far more fascinated by the situation as reality sunk in, but they didn’t separate. Rather, they stayed closely nestled together, mimicking each other’s goofy smiles.

“Your turn,” he breathed.

“Truth,” she answered, quietly. She almost forgot that they had been playing a silly game.

Butch combed his fingers through her hair, eyes darting down to her lips before locking with hers again. “Now that you’ve got some experience, whadd’ya you think about kissing?”

“More research will need to occur for me to make a determination,” she answered, knowing full well of how she sounded.

“God Rosie, you’re such a nerd,” he laughed against her mouth, moving away if only to flash a wink. “I’ll be your test subject.”

She giggled, feeling more alive and normal than she had in weeks. She didn’t realize it was possible to feel so energetic, the way her heart was racing. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Butch smiled, already leaning closer.

Rosie met him halfway, unable to contain her excitement. She would never tire of asking him now that she could. “Kiss me again.”

#fallout 3 #butch deloria x f!lone wanderer #butch deloria #rosie sheridan #otp: it's just a flesh wound #teenagers do not know what to do with their emotions #I love writing first kiss scenes though #lol what time is it even

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ask-stjerne-and-logan · 5 years ago

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BaFS Fanfic Chapter 3: The Clouds Roll in.

The funeral for Saffron was held among the Faculty members, including Stjerne. As was requested a long time ago, Saffron was buried next to Verusium on the same Hill where his body laid. Stjerne didn't even know that both her parents were buried together because she had never known her father. Nobody told her though, as to spare her the pain.

The day was cloudy, threatening rain upon the solomn ceremony. Everyone stared gravely and sadly at the tombstone. Peach was the only one who was crying because the death of Saffron was a fatal blow to her. She and Saffron had been on a team together along with Verusium and Merlin Clementis, who was now an Atlesian Special operative. Together they formed Team SPVM (pronounced Spectrum).

Like the others, Stjerne looked on but she couldn't cry, though her eyes stung with that desire. Though she appeared emotionless, in her mind a storm of emotions raged. Anger, sadness, pain, all of which forced her words to turn into a promise.

"One day, I'll find whoever killed you Mom, and pay them back for what they did. Until then, I'll protect others like you had. I'll even become a huntress like you had..." Little did she know that that was a promise she would keep until the end of her life.

After a few moments of silence, rain was starting to fall. Glynda led Peach away, followed by Port and Oobleck. Ozpin turned to leave and looked back at Stjerne, who was still staring down at the grave. He gently took her hand in his, beckoning her to follow. Stjerne complied with little resistance and walked slowly by his side. As they walked, Ozpin observed her. Stjerne's eyes were dull with tears that she struggled not to show. Her pace was weak and her feet dragged against the grassy path. Ozpin put his cane away and picked Stjerne up. She immediately hugged his neck and hid her head, crying into his shoulder. Ozpin smiled sadly at the her, and walked on. He didn't know if she remembered him at all from her days as an baby, but if comforted him to know that she didn't see him as a stranger. He held her close as they walked back to Beacon.

The group split up and went inside the slowly. Oobleck and Port took Peach back to the lounge while Ozpin, Stjerne and Glynda headed into the auditorium. It was a Friday, and the teachers had planned to cancel all classes since this was a day of mourning for them. Glynda had already called all students to the auditorium so that Ozpin could make the announcements.

"Good morning students. I'm sure you are all wondering why we called you all here." Ozpin said gravely. The students nodded confusedly at this, wondering at this sudden change in their headmaster.

"There has been the unexpected death of a huntress very close to us teachers. So as a result, we are cancelling all classes for today. You are allowed to travel to the city as well as spend your day in the library, the cafeteria and your dorms however you like. However, we ask that you refrain from studying, training and your rambunctious horseplay for today. We also ask that you remain quiet in the Hallways and in the Courtyard. Classes will resume on Monday as usual. You are dismissed." Ozpin finished and left the stage slowly. Glynda was waiting nearby with Stjerne standing next to her. Stjerne shuddered as she stood near Glynda, remembering her for her stern temper. She quietly watched Ozpin make the announcements, wondering at Ozpin's sternness. The second Ozpin reached Glynda, he gently took Stjerne's hand into his own again. The students all left quietly, murmuring silently among themselves. Stjerne hid behind him as she watched the students leave the auditorium.

"Did you ask Oobleck to shut off the bell and COM systems for today?" Ozpin asked.

"Yes. He took care of it this morning before announcements." Glynda answered.

"Good. I'll be in the tower." Ozpin said.

"But I thought that we all were going to abstain from working today?" Glynda wondered.

"Whoever said I was going to work?" Ozpin asked as he walked away. Stjerne walked alongside him slowly. Glynda turned and went back to the faculty lounge, where Port and Oobleck were doing their best to cheer up Peach.

Meanwhile, Ozpin was taking Stjerne with him up to his office. She seemed very curious and even more so when she saw the elevator. Stjerne had never traveled in an elevator before and it scared her a little. Stjerne hugged Ozpin's knee as the elevator started it's ascent. Feeling her tenseness at riding in the elevator, Ozpin fell to one knee and hugged Stjerne with one arm. She loosened her hold on his knee and hugged Ozpin tightly.

"There's no need to be scared Stjerne. We're almost there." He promised. Stjerne nodded as doors opened to reveal Ozpin's office. He picked her up as he stood up and walked into his office.

"Whooaa!!!!" She looked up, seeing the cogs and gears spinning above them in slow, but sure rythum. Ozpin seemed a bit amused by her reaction at his office. Then again everyone who had never seen his office was always very amazed at how complex it was.

"It is interesting, isn't it?" He asked. Stjerne nodded her head in response. After a while, Ozpin walked over to the other elevator and pressed a button. Stjerne held onto him tightly as the elevator began it's descent. Soon the doors opened to reveal a small hallway. Ozpin walked down for a few steps and opened a door that led into his private Chambers. He often stayed here when he needed alone time. It served as an underground apartment, as it had a bedroom, a bathroom and a small living area, as well as a small pantry. Stjerne looked around at the room in front of her. Ozpin led her to a couch, where she seated herself, and waited patiently as Ozpin slipped off his coat and took off his shoes.

"Why don't we stay here for the time being? I'm sure you need alone time as much as I do." Ozpin suggested. Stjerne nodded again.

Whenever Ozpin saw her in her earliest childhood, Stjerne would say very little. Unbeknownst to Ozpin, Stjerne had a very good memory. She remembered Ozpin when she was a baby, even if her first meeting with him was only brief. She could never forget his silver hair, his hazel brown eyes, and the way he talked to Saffron and the other teachers. Stjerne kept all these traits in her mind because whenever she saw Ozpin, she would quietly observe him. Ozpin had been in and out of her life several times and because of that, she was curious about who Ozpin was and what sort of person he was. In the past, Stjerne saw him as one of her mom's friends, but right now Stjerne saw a different side; a more fatherly side. It confused her, but she still followed along, hoping that this was true.

Meanwhile Ozpin took a book off the shelf nearby and opened it to a page. He sat down next to Stjerne with a small smile.

"Do you want to hear a story?" He asked. Stjerne nodded and sat closer.

"This one is called 'the Wizard and the Four Maidens.'" He took a deep breath before beginning.

------ 8 minutes later--------

(Just imagine Ozpin reading out that World of Remnant episode)

Ozpin had read the whole story to her without sparing a detail. Stjerne had stifled her laughter here and there because of Ozpin's attempts to mimic the girls voices. Other then that Stjerne had quietly enjoyed the story. Ozpin shut the book and stood up to place it back on the shelf. Stjerne stretched while he did this. Suddenly a small growling noise was heard. Ozpin looked back at Stjerne, who sat up immediately and held her stomach.

"I'll go get us something to eat for now." Ozpin gave a small laugh as he walked toward the pantry. Stjerne nodded and lay back on the couch quietly, hugging a pillow. Suddenly she heard a caw. She turned her head to find that in the almost open window, there stood a big black bird. Stjerne seemed startled by the new arrival and didn't move a muscle. The crow flew in and landed on the ground, hopping around on the rug. Stjerne held the pillow to her face and positioned herself to jump. After a few seconds of watching the crow, she made her jump, pillow in hand, ready to hit the bird. She ended up tripping on the edge of the couch and hitting her face on the table nearby. The crow hopped back, most likely cawing with laughter. Stjerne groaned as she sat up, wincing because of her stinging face. She felt something warm and sticky drip down her face and wiped her nose. She touched it and found it was blood. Stjerne had never had a nosebleed before, and now she felt the fluids coming through her nose. She tried wiping her nose with her hands but ended up getting more blood on them. Meanwhile The crow flew away out the window. Stjerne struggled to hold back her tears as she tried desperately to stop her nose from bleeding.

When Ozpin came back in and found her on the ground, he caught a glimpse of her hands with smears of blood showing. He quickly put down the tray that he held and knelt next to Stjerne.

"What happened?" He asked. Stjerne looked up at him, her hands rubbing her nose.

"My....my nose...." She showed her bloody hands

"Don't rub it. You'll make it worse." Ozpin said as he picked her up and sat her back down on the couch. He rushed into the bathroom and sprayed a cloth wet with some water. He came back in and sat down next to Stjerne on the couch. He cleaned her hands and face and layed her back down. He gently took one of her clean hands and gave her a tissue. He held her hand in his, directing her to hold her nose and to tilt her head up. Stjerne complied with minimal resistance, and watched as Ozpin sat next to her, gently sliding a pillow under her neck to keep her head up.

"How in the world did you end up getting a nosebleed?" Ozpin asked.

"It was.....a big ugly......black bird." Stjerne said, trying to speak clearly despite her nose being held, "he flew in through that window....... I was trying to scare him....but...I hit my head." Stjerne pointed at the table with her free hand. Ozpin looked out the window. He was half sure of what occurred, but he would have to check the facts first.

"Did this particular bird have red eyes?" He asked.

"I....think so..... I didn't get a very good look." Stjerne shook her head.

After a while, Ozpin let go his hold and helped Stjerne sit up. She still held onto his hand, feeling the calluses in his palm, which seemed rough and yet smooth. It felt strange, but somehow comforting to her. Stjerne had spent her whole life without a father figure, so this feeling was unfamiliar to her. She had always looked up to her mother, who had never once talked about her father. She knew it was to spare the pain, so she never questioned it. But now she felt like she had found another person to help fill the piece of her life that had been missing. She fell silent as she reflected silently on this new feeling, unsure of what it was.

"Stjerne?" Ozpin asked, noticing her silence. He still held her hand gently, observing how much smaller her hand was and how her fingers were more skinny then that of her mother's. Saffron had always said that Stjerne had inherited her father's hands. Stjerne looked up at Ozpin with a gaze that glowed with a certain light in them, almost reflecting stars. Her eyes held a look of uncertainty and sadness. Ozpin sighed and picked her up, placing her on his lap and hugging her protectively. Stjerne didn't object to this, hugging his arm tightly.

Ozpin then remembered that Stjerne grew up without a father and that it would take some time before she could adjust herself to her new life. Especially if Ozpin was going to be one of the figures watching her in her life.

"I miss Mommy...." Ozpin was startled by Stjerne, who looked up at Ozpin again, "She's not coming back....is she?" He sighed and shook his head sadly.

"No." He murmured softly. He looked back down at Stjerne with a sad smile on his face. "I can promise you this though. I promise that I'll watch you the same way your mother would have. You'll always have a home here at Beacon. I'll always be here for you." Stjerne listened to every word and hugged back, tears forming again in her eyes. She wiped them away as she sat with Ozpin. Now he held a young frail girl, but his heart told him that one day she would eventually grow into a strong brave warrior.....

___________

Yeah, since it's Thanksgiving, I was feeling generous. Hope you enjoy!

@saiyoyuutsume, @phoenix-no, @cinnamon-pineforest

#BaFS Fanfiction #i almost forgot #to tag this #hope you guys like it #bafs fanfiction #star fic

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buginabog · 6 years ago

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Grow Old With Me?

Summary: childhood friends to lovers arc because WHY NOT

Pairing: Royality, analogical,

Warning: homophobia

Patton sat on the swing, swaying back and forth slightly, watching the other kids play. It wasnt that he didnt want to play, it's just that he was too shy to talk to anyone, and no one came up to him really.

"Hi! I'm Roman! What's you name? Do you want to be friends?"

Well, other than this kid. Patton blinked at him in shock, and then smiled, "Yeah! My names Patton!"

Roman grin took up almost his whole face, "Hi Patton!" He held up the plastic sword, "d'you wanna quest with me?"

Patton hopped off the swing and picked up a stick, brandishing it like a sword, "let's go!"

Roman stood under the awning with Patton, talking energetically as he waited for his dads to come pick him up.

"-and THATS why Eugene is the BEST Disney prince ever! Even my Papi agrees, he agrees a lot actually. Dad says he has a crush on him because he likes him so much!"

Patton tilted his head, confused, "you have two dads?"

Roman's smile faltered slightly, "um, yeah, is that ok?"

Patton thought for a second, and then nodded, smiling, "yeap!"

Roman's grin returned full force, "great! By the way, who's your favorite Disney movie?"

And they talked and talked until one of the monitors called out, "Roman Sanders! Your parents are here!"

Roman smiled and waved to Patton, "see you tomorrow best friend!"

Patton smiled back and waved, "bye Roman!"

Roman climbed into his car, "hey Ro! Have a good first day of kindergarten?"

Roman smiled at his Papi, "yeah! I made a new friend! His name is Patton and hes really cool and he has a Winnie the Pooh backpack and he fought a dragon witch with me and hes my new best friend!"

His Dad smiled at him in the mirror, "I take it you had fun today, Roman?"

Roman smiled back, "I did!

Logan smirked at his husband, "I told you he would be fine."

Virgil huffed slightly, "you wound me, my love."

Patton woke up excited. Why? Because it was the first day of third grade, and he would get to see his best friend for the first time in three months.

He got on the bus nervously, hoping none of the kids had gotten mean over the summer. Thankfully, and kind of sadly, no one talked to him as he walked to his seat, everyone was tired and ready for the day to begin.

He walked into his new class, hoping it had Roman in it, but he didnt see him. He walked around, looking for a seat that was somewhat on its own, before he was hugged from behind, "Hey Pat!!!"

Patton turned around, smiling at his best friend, "Hi, Roman!"

Roman smiled, grabbing his hand, "let's go find places to sit!"

After Christmas break, the teacher went up to the front of the class guiding a little boy by his shoulders, "everyone, this is Emile, say hello!"

The entire class chorused, "Hello Emile!"

The teacher smiled, and turned to Emile, "is there anything you'd like to say about yourself?" Emile shook his head, looking at the ground. The teacher smiled, "that's ok dearie!" She looked around the room and her gaze landed on Patton and Roman's desk, which had one other kid, "why dont you sit over there, ok?"

Emile nodded and walked over slowly. As he sat down Patton smiled, "hi! I'm Patton!" Emile smiled slightly, but didnt say anything back, instead opening a book and starting to read.

It was fifth grade that Patton realized, he liked guys maybe more than other boys did. It wasnt his fault he hadn't noticed! He thought everyone liked boys like that! It wasnt like he didnt like girls though, so he couldn't be gay. He had had a 'girlfriend' in fourth grade! Well, they had never kissed or anything, but still! It wasnt like he was gay!

One night, in sixth grade, when he was sleeping over at Roman's house, he decided that the best person to ask about whether or not he was gay would be one of Roman's dads.

He walked into the kitchen, where Mr. Logan was grading papers, "Mr. Logan?"

Logan looked up, "yes Patton? Do you need water?"

Patton shook his head, "uh, no, I just... had a question..."

Logan frowned and leaned back in his chair, "about what?"

Patton nervously bounced on the heels of his feet, "well, I, uh.... howdidyouknowyouweregay?"

Logan frowned, "what possessed you to ask me all of a sudden?"

Patton chewed on his bottom lip, "well, I was thinking, and I realized I like guys, like, a lot, but I also like girls so..."

Logan smiled, "have you ever heard of bisexual? Or pansexual?"

Patton tilted his head, "uh.....no?"

"Its basically when a person likes people regardless of gender." Logan explained.

Patton sighed, "oooooooohhhhh. Oh, ok." He grinned, "thanks Mr. Logan!"

Logan bowed his head, "my pleasure Patton."

One day, in seventh grade, Roman strutted into the classroom wearing a red skirt and gold long sleeved shirt, he was also wearing a golden necklace with a small dark garnet on the pendant.

Patton blinked at his friend for a minute, not fully computing the image in front of him, "...what are you wearing?"

Roman smirked at sat down, "a skirt, was it not obvious?"

Patton giggled a little, "yeah but... you can DO that?"

Roman smiled, "of course! It's just clothing!"

Patton looked at the desk, "oh."

Roman's smile faded, "is it weird? Do you not like it?"

Patton shook his head, "no, no, I love it!"

Roman tried to ignore the small thrill that went through him at that, "then what's wrong?"

Patton thought for a second, "well, nothing actually!"

Roman grinned, "perfect! Because I look awesome."

Patton giggled, "I'd have to agree."

"Romaaaaaaaaan!"

"Yeah Pat?"

"...I have a problem."

"With what?"

Just after Roman had uttered the question, Remy Somnus walked past, the problem in question, he smiled slightly at Patton, "Hey Pat!" They said, raising their hand in greeting.

"Um, hi, Remy" Patton squeaked, blushing bright red. Remy smiled before moving on.

Something twisted in Roman's chest, something dark and ugly and... painful. But he shoved it down at Pattons pleading eyes. He always was a sucker for those puppy-dog eyes. "Please help me. I'm a disaster around them."

Roman laughed despite the pain in his chest, "obviously."

Patton grinned, the gleam that entered his eyes whenever he was about to pun returning, "I need, roman-ce advice!"

Roman laughed, "one of your better puns Pat!"

Patton gave him a little bow, "thank you sir"

Roman smiled, "but yeah," he internally screamed, but what came out of his mouth was, "I'll help you with Remy."

Patton grinned, "oh my- THANK YOUUUU!"

Eighth grade was the worst year of Roman's life. He had, true to his promise, helped Patton with Remy. Unfortunately, that worked. So Patton and Remy dated for the entirety of eighth grade.

However, halfway through summer vacation, Patton called Roman.

"Sup Pat?"

"Hey."

"Are you ok?"

"... can we go get ice cream?"

"Let me go ask my dads..."

His dads said yes without much protest once he explained how dejected Patton had sounded over the phone, and drove him over to Pattons, and then to an ice cream place, where they told Roman to text them when he was ready to leave and left them alone.

Roman licked his ice cream cone, "soooo, what's up?"

Patton stabbed his ice cream with his spoon, "...me and Remy broke up."

Roman feigned sadness while the asshole inside him danced around laughing, "what?! What happened? Who do I need to beat up?"

Patton looked at him, shocked, "no! You dknt need to beat anyone up!"

Roman frowned, "then... why are you so sad?"

Patton sighed, "they told me that they thought I was into you and told me to choose you or them."

Roman was stunned, "and... you chose me?" His hopes soared higher than a skyscraper.

Patton looked taken aback, "of course! You're my best friend!" His hopes fell all the way back down to the ground, and then some.

He smiled, "well, thanks."

Patton grinned, "of course!"

It wasnt until tenth grade until Patton returned Roman's feelings, Roman had come to school wearing a high waisted skirt and leggings, and a red tank that said, "The Prince" in glittery gold letters. When Patton first saw him, he almost had an anime nosebleed moment. Roman noticed him and grinned, running toward him, "hey pat! Like the outfit?"

Patton nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"You ok? You look a little like an owl there buddy."

Patton shook himself back into reality and smiled, "no, no, I'm fine. You look amazing!"

Roman grinned, "I know right?"

Roman invited Patton over for the night, their New Years tradition since first grade, and Patton was intent on telling him how he felt.

His first opportunity came during dinner, the talk had turned to romance, with Logan and Virgil telling stories of when they were first dating, Roman had sighed wistfully and said, "I hope I have such a compelling story to tell my kids."

Patton could have said something, he opened his mouth, but he... he couldnt.

The second came as they were playing a game, "I wish as many people liked me as they like you." Roman said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, so many people like you. I'm just... there."

'You're so much more than that.' Patton thought, but he said nothing.

The third opportunity came at midnight, he was going to kiss Roman to start the new year off right. But... he couldnt.

But finally, while Logan and Virgil were setting off fireworks, and Roman was looking at them, awestruck, and he looked so beautiful in the shades of red and pink and yellow, and finally, Patton tapped Roman on the shoulder. Roman turned to him, his smile slightly confused, "yeah Pat?"

Pattons heart was beating a thousand miles per minute, and finally he exhaled, looked Roman in the eyes, and said, "please dont hate me after this."

Roman frowned, "Patton what do you mea-"

Patton cut him off with a soft kiss. Then he pulled away, "was that ok?"

Roman looked at him the same way he had looked at the fireworks, "Patton, I-" he sighed, and smiled, "yeah, it was perfect."

They kissed again, until they were interrupted by Virgil yelling, "Wait! Wait! Which one of you finally did it?" Roman and Patton looked at him in confusion, but Roman pointed at Patton. "Dammit! Now I owe your father twenty bucks!"

Logan smiled and draped his arm around Virgils shoulders, "I would take a different kind of payment."

Virgil rolled his eyes, but smiled as he leaned in to kiss his husband.

The day before eleventh grade started, Roman opened the door, which someone had been banging on with the force of a medieval battering ram, and saw, "Patton?"

His boyfriend was red in the face, and panting, and sweating like he had ran all the way here. There was a canvas duffel bag at his feet, and tears running down his face. He rushed at Roman and hugged him tightly. "Whoah, whoah, babe? Are you ok?" Patton mumbled something into his chest, "darling, I cant hear that."

Patton pulled his head away, and started talking through his sobs, "my, my mom, found out, she, she found out I'm pan, and she, she said it's just because, just because I've been around your, your family, and she, she kicked me out."

Romans eyes flared and he wanted to find that bitch and strangle her. But right now Patton needed him. "Shh, it's ok, I got you, ok? We're gonna figure this out."

"Roman? What's going on?" Virgil walked into the entrance hallway and saw the scene, he took in the duffel bag, the crying Patton, and Roman who looked like he wanted to strangle someone. He put a hand on Pattons shoulder and asked him softly, "do you need a place to stay?"

Patton nodded, and Virgil nodded back, "ok, you can stay in the guest room." He glared at Roman, "no he cannot stay in your room."

Roman whined, "why nooooot."

Virgil raised an eyebrow, "hes your boyfriend. Do I have to explain further?"

Patton laughed as Roman muttered, "I guess not."

Roman adjusted the cuffs on his suit jacket. He was dressed in a red jacket with black slacks and a white shirt and gold bow tie. "Patton! Are you ready? We have to leave soon!"

"Almooooost!" Came the call from upstairs. Roman waited a few seconds before Patton sung-called "I'm ready!" Roman turned towards the stairs and had to catch his breath. Patton was wearing a long sleeved blue blouse, and a swishy yellow skirt, separated by a pink ribbon with a bow in the back. He was wearing a white headband and a rose gold necklace with a small rose pendant on it, all with sky blue flats with small bows on the toes. He smiled and twirled, then placed his hand in Roman's, "ready for prom?" He asked, his eyes shining.

Roman grinned, "of course."

They were twenty five and walking through the park on their anniversary. Patton was fiddling with something in his skirt pocket, had been the whole date, and Roman noticed, but he didnt say anything. They walked up to a fountain, and stood, watching the water fall for a minute, before Patton began talking, "Roman?"

"Yes mi amor?"

Patton sighed and turned to him, "we've been dating for 11 years, and they've been the best years of my life."

Roman looked at him, confused, "mine too."

Patton smiled and bounced slightly, "well, I just cant believe that all of this is real, and... well, I'm not good at romantic declarations so..." he got down on one knee.

"Oh my god." Roman brought his hands up to his face in shock.

"Roman Royal Sanders,"

"Oh my god" his eyes started to fill with happy tears.

"Would you grow old with me?"

"Oh my god YES! YES!" He flung himself at his boyfriend-fiancè and hugged him, then kissed him.

Patton pulled back and slid the ring onto Roman's finger, a band of gold with a ruby sun set on it.

Roman took a breath as he looked at himself in the mirror, he was wearing a black and white tuxedo with a red tie. He took a deep breath and shook his hands out. "Nervous?" Came from behind him.

Roman turned around to see his Papi in his black and purple suit. "Papi!" He said, and ran and hugged him, he pulled back, "to answer your question, yes. Very. I'm very nervous."

His Papi smiled, "did you know I was nervous when I married your dad?"

Roman frowned, "you make it sound like you were so confident though!"

Virgil laughed, "yeah, well, I was. But I was still nervous." He clasped Roman's shoulder, "it's a big move. I'd be worried if you weren't nervous."

Roman smiled, "thanks Papi."

Roman looked at the archway where his now-husband would come through. The wedding location could barely be more picturesque. It was a large field full of wildflowers and ringed with trees, the archway was draped with babys breath and yellow tulips. And then Patton walked through. He was wearing a beautiful white dress with blue train, he had a flower crown on his head, and a bouquet clutched between both hands. He was so handsome.

The priest said all the usual things, and then left them to their vows.

Roman went first, "Patton, when I first met you, we were so young, and we've grown and changed since then, and I quite like it all. But what mesmerizes me the most, is how, out of millions of galaxies, planets, universes, we ended up here, holding hands, getting married, and I could not be luckier. So, Patton Thomas Hart, I take you for my lawfully wedded husband."

Patton smiled, "Roman, when you first met me, I was a shy, lonely little kid, and I wanted a friend more than anything, and you gave me one, and so much more. You helped break me out of my shell, helped me figure out who I am, you helped me when I needed it, and even if theres no such thing as soulmates, you're the closest I could get. So, Roman Royal Sanders, I take you as my lawfully wedded husband."

(Can yall tell I've never been to a wedding before? Oh, wait, I have, I just wasnt paying attention)

Roman paced the waiting room, breathing heavy, and trying not to faint. Patton smiled at him from his seat, "Roman, honey, itll be fine."

Roman groaned, "what if I mess them up? What if they hate me? What if, what if,"

Patton stood up and rested his hand on Roman's arm, "Roman, honey, b r e a t h e."

Roman sighed, "yeah, yeah, ok."

Patton smiled, and the doctor came in, "you can go in now sirs."

They walked in and smiled at the girl on the hospital bed. She smiled tiredly and gestured at the crib holding the baby. "There he is, can I just... hold him for a second?"

Patton nodded, "of course." He picked up the baby and gave him to his mother.

She smiled sadly at the baby in her arms, "hello there. I'm sorry, but these men can give you a better home than I can, ok? I'm not ready. Not yet. But they are, you be good for them ok? They're your dads now." She smiled at them, tears in her eyes, "what are you gonna name him?"

Patton held her hand, "Thomas."

She smiled, "ok, Thomas, this is my goodbye, ok? Bye bye."

Patton kissed his new son on the forehead, and smiled up at Roman, then looked back to the tired girl on the hospital bed, "we'll take care of him."

She smiled, "good."

Patton breathed in and out as he laid in the hospital bed. It had been a long life, and he was ready to go. He smiled at Roman, who was crying. "No, you can't go, I'm not ready."

Patton smiled sadly and put a hand on Roman's cheek, "I am, and I will meet you there, I promise."

Roman breathed out, "ok, ok."

Patton laughed weakly, "thank you for growing old with me, Roman."

Roman kissed him softly, "I would do it over again in a heartbeat."

Patton smiled as he sank into the pillow.

He died with a smile on his face.

Roman ran toward the lonely boy on the swings, "Hi! I'm Roman! What's your name? Wanna be friends?"

The other boy blinked, then smiled shyly, "yeah! I'm Patton!"

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summerstainedandtemporary · 5 years ago

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I decided to overthink my fear. Sue me, I’m a Scorpio.

“What is your biggest fear?”

“Blood.”

Growing up, I had been a sickly child who didn’t get to go to my nursery classes because I was confined at home, watching Looney Tunes over the smoke and noise of a nebulizer to treat my frequent asthma attacks. When I mean “sickly”, it’s when I was confined both at home and at the hospital majority of my childhood. Dengue fever, UTI, Asthma. Most of my childhood memories were made up of trips to the albularyo because of fevers or coughs that would never go away. I’d also remember the bitterness of medications I drank that took an hour of persuading, coercing, and pleading from my parents for me to drink. I took too many medications back then that I developed black teeth when I was a kid.

Most of all, I had too many encounters with blood-related sicknesses or accidents. The most distinct one was that there was a point in my childhood where I’d wake up every night with a nosebleed. I used to sleep in between my parents back then. Imagine the horror of waking up to your child with blood dripping down their nose like some kind of an exorcism film. I would hear the panic and worry in Mama’s voice as she would wake up Papa. I rarely hear that kind of voice from her, so in turn, I would also panic. Was I dying?

It went on for weeks but we never really went to the doctor to know the cause or treat it. But I heard from them that I might be probably just suffering the consequences of the abrupt changes in temperature and weather. My parents just got used to the routine of sleepily tilting my head up in the middle of the night until the bleeding stops. But not me, I never got used to it. I was still on high alert long after the bleeding stopped with the lingering taste of copper at the back of my throat. There were nights that I’ve mistaken the nosebleed for a runny nose and the next morning, I would wake up to the sight of bloody shirt and hands like I just murdered somebody in my sleep.

I like to think that this was where I started to develop my fear of blood.

One would say that the experience could have made me used to the sight of blood. But, it didn’t. The gamble of opening my eyes to blood or not traumatized me. Up until now, when I’d be having a runny nose at night, I would almost always turn on my phone’s flashlight to check if it is blood. I’m not grossed out by the dark thick liquid, no. It’s the implication that something serious might have happened.

Like that one time in grade school where I wondered what would it feel like to run with my eyes closed. The feeling was liberating, with the wind against my body. It was like that scene from The Sound of Music where Julie Andrews was singing on a grass field with her hands held up. But it didn’t felt so freeing when I smacked my head into a concrete post. I bounced back and fell on my behind, eyes still closed. There was that horrifying moment again. The uncertainty of what liquid was dripping from my nose. Was it blood? It was. I saw it coating my hands again. Like those many nights. There was blood. Something terrible happened.

I didn’t know why everything was hazy and I felt so sleepy. My aunt, who was taking care of us that time, had found me and wiped all the blood from my face that I couldn’t bear to do. The parents and yayas waiting for their children along with Aunty Upeng were alarmed once they saw my state. The clinic was closed during that hour as it was exams week, so the parents fussed over me while I drowsily leaned over my aunt. They bought an ice candy from the canteen and put it to my forehead which apparently had a bump. I also remembered throwing up a lot. In the bathroom. In the pavement. Even in the tricycle we rode on the way to the hospital. Aunty Upeng apologized to the driver, but I still felt bad. I didn’t say anything though. I just wanted to sleep back then. But I was continuously woken up by my aunt who was dragging me to the hospital where my mother was waiting.

I had a concussion that afternoon. And apparently, I also broke my nose. Fortunately, I wasn’t confined which relieved me so much from my worries. However, when I discovered we were going to the hospital, I panicked. Hospitals are for emergencies, accidents, deaths. It’s the place I’ve been confined in too much in my life with lingering scents of rubbing alcohol, squeaky wheels from metal carts containing rattling needles and syringes that have been injected on my arms too much too count. The main problem I had that time was if I were to be confined and injected with an IV drip. Not my concussion or broken nose. It was the IV drip and how they would puncture my skin. The act of opening my flesh with a sharp object.

My fear of blood came hand in hand with hospitals. When I see blood, I think of being in the hospital. I hate how stark white hospitals are. White bed sheets and pillowcases. White walls and floors. White uniforms. White cottons, tissues, and bandages. I hate it so much because dark red blood looks so glaringly daunting on white objects or surfaces. Somehow, it amplifies its presence in a room. And it is inevitable to encounter blood while in a hospital because of my frequent nosebleeds and injections. I’ve learned the skill of not moving my left arm for hours because of the fear that blood would appear on the tube connecting my hand and the IV drip.

This reminds me of how I had always been longing to donate blood in a blood drive despite this fear of mine. But I’ve always made up excuses whenever there’s a blood drive in the university. I’d say, “I’m busy with school work that day” or “I slept late last night, it’s not allowed”. The truth is I’m really just avoiding this confrontation with blood and needles. Will I faint? My friend told me once how her blood stopped flowing out because she was nervous. Would I experience the same thing? It would be like an IV drip all over again. Only this time, it won’t be clear liquid flowing from the tube. It would be what I was avoiding: dark red warm blood.

Mama convinces me to this day to take up Medicine and be a doctor. This is the very reason why I didn’t and would not. I still panic even when the blood does not come from me.

Like that one night when my family and I were on the road to eat somewhere after the Sunday mass. There was no traffic because Papa was driving smoothly. I was at the back leaning in between the driver’s seat and passenger seat in front and we were all happily talking over each other; each with our own different stories to tell. I remembered someone was singing – it could have been me – and was abruptly cut off. I was thrown forward the same time Papa hit the brakes and something crashed into the front of the car. Thankfully, I had taken a hold of the car seats so my face was still intact. No noses broken.

I remembered Papa being calm, despite having a known personality of being too sensitive and caring for the condition of our car. He exits the vehicle along with Mama, then, there was a blur of commotion outside. My brothers and I were asked to be seated at the back of the vehicle and the car’s sliding door was opened and a man was laid on the floor of the car. The door wasn’t closed the whole ride to the hospital as his feet dangled over. We were discouraged to ask questions or look over the man. But I had seen his foot. I was overtaken with the feeling that I should not move or else something will happen. The seats covered the rest of his body, but I saw his foot. His were wounded; blood and dirt covered his foot to his ankles. It was unmoving. And it looked pretty pale. To this day, I never knew if he survived. All I knew was that he was the one who hit our car with his motorcycle because he had been drinking. I wasn’t the one bleeding that night, but the image still haunts me to this day.

“But what about your period?”

I’d scoff. Maybe if they’re an acquaintance or someone I just met, I would politely smile. This question really comes off as patronizing for me when one asks this in a teasing manner. It’s like assuming someone with glasses cannot see the number of fingers you’re holding up. They can see it, only a lot less clearly. People seem to exaggerate the irrationality of these situations and try to know to the extent of these irrationalities mockingly. Like maybe they’d expect me to faint then die while sitting on a toilet upon seeing my bloody underwear. Or maybe they’d expect that I’d avoid going to the toilet and handling the bloody mess. Yes, blood makes me anxious but I have no choice but to get used to the sight of it. Actually, period blood does not alarm me for the most part. But sometimes, I’d be horrified by the amount of blood leaving my body. Or flushing the toilet becomes dreadful because I have to take in the sight of a bloody toilet. It’s similar to saying “Oh you don’t like blood? But it’s inside you….” then comes their how-is-this-possible-I-need-to-know-more gaze with a little bit – just a little bit – of judgement in their eyes. This tiny glimpse of judgement would rile up something in me, a need to justify my fear, despite knowing that I don’t need to defend myself. I’d explain anyway.

What people typically assume is that blood scares me because it’s blood; it’s gross. What they don’t know is that bleeding gives me an overwhelming feeling of anxiety and panic because the feeling is so much like the idea that something is leaking from you. And it’s oozing in the colour of a hauntingly dark red, something-terrible-happened red, dangerous glaring red. Might it be from a cut or wound, a part of you has been forcefully opened and that scares me more than anything. The body should be intact in the assurance that you’re okay. Blood is supposed to be INSIDE the body. The intact body. And when it’s not, it automatically turns on a panic alarm in my head with the bold words of SOMETHING HAPPENED flashing on and off in my mind because blood’s not inside me where it should be. It has made its way outside through an opening I don’t know where. I’m open somewhere. Vulnerable. The very thing that sustains my life is flowing out. And the idea that it’s already outside my body leaves me a feeling of not being in control. I don’t just simply cover up a wound with a band aid and call it a day. I still have to sit for a while and convince myself I’m not dying.

When I say blood, I also mean pain. Of flesh being sliced opened. People would tell me stories about how they were cut or wounded by an accident and I’d imagine the whole thing. Mama once told me a story of how she cut her arm up because she draw her arm back while a jewelry box closed on her, so the clasp tore her skin open. My mind would close in on the description of her flesh being torn and imagine it in every detail. The smooth flesh being run over with a sharp metal. At first, nothing will happen, or at most, the affected, marked skin would slowly turn pale like a chalked sketch of the outline of the cut. A few seconds in, little droplets of blood will seep through, slowly peeking out from the cut as if asking for a permission to come out. You move the injured arm and blood will flow out of it like dark red wine slowly dripping from a bottle. You move it more, and then you can see the skin opening, forming a mouth. Through the blood, you can see bits of pink flesh, the texture and appearance so similar to tocino – not the ones you order in carinderias where the pork is still a vibrant light pink; it’s the colour of the tocino you cook at home where you overcook it somehow because it tastes sweeter when burnt. The colour bordering between pink and red. I could immediately visualize it happening to my own skin. And then, a phantom of the pain would follow. The intensity of the phantom pain dependent on what my phobia tells me how painful it must be. That’s the routine. As a joke, my friends would share images of their fingers cut up or hold them up to my face when we’re together. As a habit, I’d clench my fists, my nails forming red little moon marks on my palms. I’d look away, of course. But my mind has already conjured up a visualization of how it came to be. It gets easier once the phantom pain pass.

When I say blood, I also mean death. I do not mean that bleeding automatically leads to death. It is the possibility of death that haunts me. That when I see blood, I am filled with the overwhelming panic to not die. So, maybe I fear blood because it implies a painful death. Maybe what I really fear is the thought that the last thing I’d feel when I’m alive is excruciating pain from mutilation, from my own flesh being torn open. But then again, I also fear the uncertainty of death. Death. How peaceful I envision it to be, but also how disruptive it is to a life I like to control. Dying means confronting the fact that I didn’t get to live my life the way I wanted it to be. Seeing blood haunts me with the concept of life flashing before my eyes. I wouldn’t say that mine would be boring to watch because I’m sure the flashes would contain several experiences of mine that I enjoyed. Flashes of me in the middle of a laugh while on a road trip with my family because Mama was teasing Papa’s funny English pronunciations. Flashes of me waking up on our terrace to the view of a pink sunrise; my friends still asleep on the mess of pillows and blankets I snatched from my room and laptops still open after a night of editing a film. Flashes of me floating peacefully on my back in Pasacao; my body being rocked by the constant waves of the sea and my ears drowned out by the sound of shallow waters, as I stare up the night sky and try to find a Scorpio constellation I once memorized from ninth grade. Seeing blood taunts me with the possibility that these could stop existing in an instant.

However, these flashes are not only limited to the good parts. I expect a re-run of several of my breakdowns; those caused by little petty things, like not getting to watch Jojo Circus peacefully because of a noisy construction happening in our living room, to those breakdowns caused by serious things like my parents constantly comparing me to my neighbour who could sing flawlessly to the high notes of Aegis songs or to my classmate who have been the top of my class since kindergarten. Maybe the flashes could surprise me and show me memories I’ve repressed and pushed too much to the back of my brain in hopes of completely erasing it from my memory because of how painful it had been. Flashes of a dark, cold room; my bed a witness to many of my sleepless nights asking God the million dollar question “what is the point anymore?” Or maybe a glimpse of Mama having a panic attack, mumbling “ayoko na, beh. ayoko na” while I have to hold her and calmly tell her to breathe with me as I desperately tried to keep my lips from trembling or my voice from cracking. God forbid the flashes show me a hunched figure of myself on the floor of our dorm’s cr, staring blankly at the white tiles, a razor in hand. Pathetic. Vulnerable. Not in control.

And then, death starts to look like a good idea. I never even willingly made the choice to be in this merciless rollercoaster ride we call “life” in the first place. So is it really scary to stop existing? Death seems so quiet and still. A possibility of nothingness. And in my life, there have been too many instances where I am desperate for that stillness, that nothingness. Buried underneath all the sunshine and rainbows we constantly try to project in our lives, I have been yearning to stop feeling altogether. I am reminded that maybe, just maybe, a part of me actually craves death. If it takes pain to stop existing, to stop feeling, then a painful death looks a lot less threatening and more inviting.

Then and only then, it gets a little easier seeing blood.

#hemaphobia #memoir #essay #fearofblood #thisistoovulnerableforme

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