#then came back and was beyond apathetic about hearing the rest of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yourtamaki · 4 years ago

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i’m here

ushijima x f!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, neglect, oral fixation, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming

you never knew what to tell your friends when they asked what wakatoshi was like as a boyfriend. everyone wanted to know how the stoic man acted around his significant other. does he melt when he sees you? they’d ask with hearts in their eyes. does he turn affectionate behind closed doors? you never understood their fascination or why they expected him to be a different person just for you.

no, that was a lie. you don’t know why you expected him to be different.

it was coming up on your second year with toshi and you’d been friends throughout your high school years. you knew what he was like before you’d bitten the bullet and asked him on a date. so you had no one but yourself to blame now as you lay alone in your bed that felt far too big, wracking sobs so powerful your whole body trembled from the force.

a month. that’s how long it’d been since you last felt like toshi was a part of your life. you woke up alone, did the chores alone, made dinner alone and went to bed alone. his absence wasn’t the worst part, much to your surprise. it was the signs of disturbance around your shared home. a used plate in the sink. a new load in the laundry. signs that toshi was there, he just wasn’t there with you. it made you feel all the more empty.

you didn’t know why your body decided tonight was the night to give out but once the first tears slid down your face, you were helpless to stop the tidal wave of stress and loneliness and utter sadness from escaping. your only solace was how good it felt to finally cry. to get these corrosive feelings out of your system instead of continuing to let them eat away at you the way you had for weeks.

if only your cries were a bit quieter. maybe you would’ve heard the bedroom door creak open in time to wipe away your tears and feign sleep.

for a moment, toshi just stared at you, drinking in the details of your face illuminated by the light from the hallway.

“it’s late.” the deep timber of his voice made you oddly nostalgic. the two of you hadn’t exchanged more than a scarce handful of sentences during this period, all your communication being limited to dry texts. you’d never minded his texting habits, had even found it endearing once. but when the brief, one word answers became your only lifeline to toshi, how could you not feel as though you were only bothering him with every text sent?

when you didn’t respond, toshi carefully closed the door behind him. you didn’t need any light to know exactly what he was doing. he was nothing if not a creature of habit. you could picture him first placing his gym bag in your shared closet then methodically undressing. but instead of heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed, you felt the mattress dip as he sat next to you.

“you’re crying. why?” he said. you had to stamp down on the urge to reply with sarcasm. if you’ve learned anything from the years you’d spent with toshi it's that he was genuine to a fault. if he was asking you what was wrong, it meant he truly didn’t know. you needed to spell out your feelings for him on more then one occasion but once you did, he would be more than understanding, going above and beyond to rectify the situation. so why did you feel so hesitant to open up now? he could sense your hesitance though he didn’t understand the cause for it, his hand reaching out to find yours in the dark. “i can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

the dam broke, fresh tears streaming down your face. “toshi i miss you. i know you’re busy but it feels like we’re not even together anymore. i don’t hear from you, i don’t see you and i’m stuck in this house all day. i’m just— ‘m just lonely.”

your voice trailed off in a whisper quickly swallowed by the silence of the room, only broken by your sniffles. toshi was still as you cried before leaning over to turn the bedside lamp on. the sudden light stung your eyes and when you adjusted, you could see him already gazing down at you.

“i apologize, y/n.” he kissed the back of both your hands and brought them to his forehead, head bowed. “there is no excuse. my priorities should always include you and they haven’t as of late.”

“it’s ok. i understand you’re busy, toshi i just wish i could see you a little more.” he nodded, lifting his head and his eyes piercing yours.

“i will work to change my behaviour and become a boyfriend more deserving of your love.”

just like that you remembered why you fell in love with him. others saw toshi as someone incapable of understanding emotions, an apathetic person with only volleyball on his mind. it couldn’t be further from the truth. it was true he had difficulty reading your emotions but as soon as you put them in plain terms, he was there for you in any way you needed. “thank you.”

“that is for the future. but that doesn’t change that you feel hurt right now. is there anything i can do to ease your pain?” the look in his eyes told you no ask was too large, the single minded focus that made him one of the top volleyball players in the country was now directed solely on you.

“i just want to be with you.” you crawled into his lap, his arms coming up to hug you close to him.

“you’ve got me.” he murmured into your ear. “for as long as you’ll have me i’m yours. and i’m sorry i haven’t been here to tell you that.”

“you’re here now.”

“i am.”

“toshi…” it has been so long since you were last in his arms you couldn’t help how needy it was making you, desperate to feel him as close to you as possible.

“what is it, love?” instead of replying, you rolled your hips against his, kissing his neck. with only his briefs you could feel his bulge harden slightly with the pressure. “if that’s what you want.”

he lifted you both up off the bed, turning and laying you down carefully. he helped you out of your clothes, leaving you in your plain cotton panties, bra already removed for bed. if you’d known you’d be sleeping with your boyfriend you would’ve worn sexier pieces but judging by toshi’s ravenous expression, it didn’t matter to him. you felt beautiful in his eyes.

toshi kissed his way down, latching onto one nipple and rolling the other between his fingers before switching over, giving each the attention they deserved. he brought one hand to your face and said,

“suck.”

you sucked his fingers into your mouth, glad to finally have something to make you feel full. he watched you, mesmerized by how your lips looked stretched around his fingers.

“do you know how beautiful you look right now? my y/n. always need something in your mouth, don’t you?” you hummed, mind going blank as all you could do was focus on the slightly salty taste as you licked his fingertips.

once toshi deemed them wet enough, he snaked his hand down into your panties, teasing your entrance before dipping inside.

“you’re so wet. can you hear yourself?” you could, the wet squelch as he pumped his fingers inside you made your face heat up with embarrassment. it wasn’t your fault nothing came close to how toshi felt inside you. toys, your own hands, nothing compared to what you were feeling now, so stretched with only two of his fingers inside you. they curled inside you, pressing against that spot that had your legs quivering, gripping toshi’s forearm hard.

“where do you want to cum first, my fingers or my cock?”

“your cock please toshi wanna feel you.” you begged. a moment later, your panties were pulled off of you. toshi took off his briefs and knelt between your legs, his blunt tip resting over your pussy. he tapped it against your clit a few times, smiling softly at how you jumped at the contact before pushing in slowly, rocking back and forth until his entire length was inside you.

you expected him to move but he kept still until your eyes met his. he took one of your hands and placed it over your lower stomach, covering it with his own large hand.

“do you feel that?” he asked quietly. you could, there was a bump there from where toshi was buried inside you. “i’m here.”

“i know.”

“i’m here.” he repeated with more emphasis, head lowering until his forehead met yours. “and i’m never leaving you again. okay?”

an overwhelming tidal wave of love came crashing in, choking you so all you could say was, “okay.”

why did it take you so long to understand? what toshi didn’t say aloud, he said with his actions. the brush of your clit with his calloused thumb was an apology, the squeeze of your hip a reassurance. toshi spoke his reverence into your skin with every open mouthed kiss on your neck and his worship with each roll of his hip against yours. all you could do was lock your ankles around him and accept the torrent of love he poured into you.

“kiss me toshi please ‘m gonna cum.” his lips crashed against yours and you were gone, creaming over his cock as it continued to piston in and out of you.

“does that feel good, love?” he mumbled against your lips. you nodded frantically, still feeling the effects of your high. “tell me what you need.”

“more please.” your voice came out a whisper. you didn’t care about the overstimulation of your poor cunt. you weren’t ready to let go of this moment, of knowing you have toshi here with you, safe in your own small world together.

toshi gave you a tender kiss before pulling back. he gripped the back of your thighs and pinned your knees to your chest, your pussy gushing from the new position. his cock was pushing even deeper now, hitting a spot within you that made your tongue loll out at the pleasure. toshi was fucking into you at a brutal pace and you knew he was close by the small grunts he was letting out.

“hold yourself open for me.” you did as he asked, flushing at how dirty you felt with your pussy so exposed. with his now free hand, toshi placed his fingers back in your mouth. your eyes widened as the taste of your own arousal exploded on your tongue.

“do you like how you taste?” he asked. you sucked at his fingers greedily, licking them clean and he hummed, “i knew you would.”

the pressure in your abdomen was steadily building with every pump of toshi’s cock. his fingers were keeping your moans muffled and he seemed to realize he was missing out. he pulled his hand back, small trails of saliva stringing out as he did. he slammed his hips into your as though he was trying to make up for all the sounds he had missed out on and you did not disappoint, babbling praise for the man fucking you senseless.

“you’re close i can feel it. can you cum with me y/n? can you do that for me?”

“yes fuck toshi i love you i wanna cum for you.”

“go ahead, my love. let go.” you threw your head back as you let go and came for the second time, the erratic clenching of your walls pushing toshi over. you held each other through your highs, chests heaving together as you caught your breaths. when he tried to pull out, you tightened your legs around him.

“stay?” you wanted this moment to last, to be with toshi, connected for as long as you could. he shifted until you were both laying on your side spooned together, careful to not pull out of you.

“go to sleep, my love.” there were still things you both needed to work on in your relationship but you chose to embrace the peace that was sleeping with the arms of your boyfriend wrapped securely around you.

#haikyuu imagine #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #ushijima imagine #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader #haikyuu angst #ushijima angst #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi imagine #ushijima wakatoshi smut

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myelocin · 3 years ago

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Postcards From: Kanazawa | Tsukishima Kei

Synopsis: The fear that comes with love is the realization that it isn't always just light. Love, rediscovered as both the fear and the drive that depicts the push and pull of whether it's worth it to say "I do," if the unknown is what's to come beyond the vow. In which it's a week until the wedding, and the both of you return to Kanazawa--to day one--as strangers.

Characters: Tsukishima Kei

Genre/Tags: Engagement!AU, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending | WC: 10,200+

A/N: this is a piece commed by @tsukishumai ;w; tq for trusting me w u and ur bb boi ily to the moon n back

playlist

commissions | ko-fi

The illusion of the soul is the false belief that love must always—always—be just light.

The truth is, it’s not. Love is many things. Primarily, love begins from desire. Then, that desire seeps into a drive that pushes you to keep wanting. Then finally, when it’s seeped in through the skin deep enough, love pools in the soul.

Love is bound to be raw at the very core. A desire. To say, “I want you,” and think it holds as much credibility as “I love you.” To look at what you know is only the tendrils of something at the very most, and trick yourself into thinking that it’s enough. A beating heart—bloody red. The line just barely hanging in-between what’s selfish and selfless, before it ultimately sways and becomes selfish sometimes.

Sometimes, being right now, Tsukishima thinks.

Sandwiched in-between you to the left, and Yamaguchi to his right, he finds his eyes flickering towards the clock a lot more often than he would have liked. Akaashi, who sat across from his seat on the table, was the first to catch on.

He quirked a brow, presumably in question earlier, and mouthed the question if he was in a rush. Tsukishima’s never been known for having too many words, but because Akaashi pauses and insists to relieve his question with an answer, he shrugs, waving him off and mouthing back that he’s alright.

“So,” Bokuto starts, his voice already slipping into somewhat of a slur. “How’s it feel to be the first to pop the question?”

You laugh, finding amusement in the man’s enthusiasm. Turning to Tsukishima, you sit and wait, expectant of a reaction.

In response, he just shrugs, but a smile breaks through and redefines the nonchalance of his expression anyway. Raising the glass to his lips, he takes a quick sip before answering smugly, “It’s nice to finally settle down. You should try it sometimes.”

Bokuto waves him off, cheeks flushed and eyes already drooping from the inebriation. “Nah,” he slurs, shaking his head. The exaggeration warrants a quick laugh from Sugawara, who sits on the other side, nursing his own drink. Continuing, Bokuto huffs and takes a slight pause before he connects the last of what he says with, “—getting married is nice and all, but I don’t know, man,” he laughs. “Just feels like I’ll end up hitting a fucking blank space after I do or whatever. Not my vibe.”

Visibly, Tsukishima shifts a little, the smile on his face maintained but the lighthearted energy that earlier fueled it just slightly more drained now.

From the corner of your eye, you notice it. Though, Akaashi’s the one who gives him a pointed stare, to which the former simply ignores.

“But—“ Bokuto continues, as if trying to remedy the cracked part of the atmosphere that isn’t even visible in the first place—“If that’s your thing, then I’m obviously not going to judge you for that.”

Tsukishima responds by his silence. Bokuto, with his head still warped around the heavy state of his inebriation, doesn’t do so much other than sip a little more of his barely filled glass of beer, Tsukishima’s apathetic expression just a blur in his eyes now.

“You seem happy, though,” Bokuto notes, then raises his glass towards you.

Blinking at being the sudden subject of his interest, you raise your own glass of water. The ice inside shifts, clinking against the sides of the glass, and slowly, Tsukishima watches. There’s familiarity in the way it moves down: trickling slow like the patience inside him that’s suddenly running by the clock. His palms just barely gripping the utensils, clammy. While his head, still whirs at Bokuto’s halfhearted words.

It’s halfhearted, he reminds himself.

The thought of hitting a plateau after “I do,” in a way is terrifying.

But he is happy, right?

The way his palms respond solely through tensing suddenly spikes the fear that maybe his ring will slip. So he looks at you, trying to find an anchor to keep the love he pushes to stay intertwined with his truth afloat as he responds, “Of course I am. I’m happy.”

You look back at him, eye to eye, though you find something waver just for a split second— wondering if there’s credibility in the saying that gold will always deliver truth.

The rest of the night flows easy.

Almost naturally, he’s quick to wave off Bokuto’s invite for more drinks at the bar just down the street, tugging your interlaced hands towards the parking lot as soon as the group found its way to the exit.

“You know he probably just wanted more company,” you laugh. Thirty minutes after making it back home, instead of jumping straight into the shower and getting ready for the night routine, you instead take out the suitcase and take your place, seated on the floor in the living room.

“We needed to pack,” you hear him respond, his voice a little distant from the bedroom down the hall.

You shrug. “Yeah, but we could have made time.”

“Sometimes we can’t just make things, if we don’t have any to make it with in the first place,” he sighs.

You chuckle. Perhaps it’s just one of those nights again. In the ten years you’ve known Tsukishima Kei, you found that he had a tendency to become a multitude of things.

A stranger, at the start, because that’s where every connection begins. The neighbor who lived with his grandfather across the street from your childhood home. Kanazawa was a long way from Sendai, but before his parents had whisked him off to Miyagi some years later, he had been the friend that oftentimes spent his afternoons with you.

Strawberry cake and tiny sips of boxed juice from the convenient store down the street, and not much conversation exchanged between the both of you. He’d tell you about the things on his grandfather’s old encyclopedia, and you’d listen with rapt attention, finding it nice how he seemed to carry a little bit of the stars the more his eyes gleamed. He just talked about dinosaurs, you remember. At ten, Tsukishima had always been a wonderer.

Then he moved.

From the friend who told you stories and shared his juice boxes with you under that tree, to the occasional email that would pop up on your phone, when you were in highschool and weaving your way in and out of pathways and dead-ends. Miyagi was a little like Kanazawa, he said. There was a lot of quiet in the two cities. His email would come once a week, then twice when you reckon he felt a little lonely.

You’d reply with the same kind of enthusiasm as he had established, though you still couldn’t deny the fact that the notification with his name on it never failed to have you smiling—at least just a little bit. At fifteen, Tsukishima was far from a stranger, but he was also falling just a little short in making it to the halfway mark of being a friend too.

The once-a-week emails were welcome, none the less. It stayed like that, until once a week turned into twice. Though most were just the customary how-are-yous and obligatory holiday greetings once the seasons came and went, one year it turned into emails about the little nothings.

‘I had strawberry cake today,’ it once read. ‘The one we used to share tasted sweeter.’

‘I joined the volleyball team.’

‘Winter here is a little colder. I remember your puffy green jacket.’

‘I don’t know if you want to know…or if I should tell you...but our team won, and we’re going to nationals.’

Somehow, you were managed to be convinced by one of your friends that same week to travel with your own highschool’s volleyball team to assist in the preparation for nationals in Tokyo. It was just a coincidence, you used to reason. You were there, and so was he. There was a hundred other courts his team could have played at, and your priority was assisting your own team in what they needed.

But still, you couldn’t help but wave back and cheer the loudest from your stands when he perfected the block and scored the winning point for the first set.

It was then, where you realized that perhaps Tsukishima Kei wouldn’t just be a stranger.

Kanazawa to Miyagi, but somehow Tokyo became the in-between. Childhood friends to the sort-of friends from the other ends of the country sharing a few scattered memories in slices of strawberry shortcake and random dinosaur trivia from an old man’s outdated encyclopedia.

He was the first to approach you after that match. A hand held out to shake, perhaps to commemorate the evident shift between strangers to friends—but it was nice.

Because after that, friends turned into something more.

Maybe Tokyo really was the middle ground. After you graduated and moved out of your respective cities, Tokyo became the third place of hello.

Then things just slipped into place. He was here, and so were you. He had plans to stay, and you just signed the contract that bound you to the city for the next two and a half years. The apartment right down the hall from yours was recently vacated, and he was looking for a place to stay.

His new work place, coincidentally enough, was just a stop away from the train station closest to your place.

You had always doubted the presence of serendipity and everything that had to dictate with the celestial control of fate, but the ease that came with the relief of him signing the lease the very next week almost seemed to validate what had been just a farfetched something.

From strangers, to friends, to lovers, then to this:

Ten years later, a ring on your finger, and an I do, bound to be said just a little over seven days from now.

Tokyo was kind to the both of you. His mother’s close enough to visit on the weekends, while Kanazawa was just a shinkansen away from Tokyo station. A new apartment with enough space for two, plus maybe an extra, and a bakery right down the street with the best strawberry shortcake made fresh every day.

The wedding’s just a week away. His grandfather, still living in Kanazawa was meant to travel with Akiteru to Tokyo last week, but because plans changed, the both of you were instead tasked with going there yourselves to travel with him. While Tsukishima hesitated, you didn’t. Yes was easy to say in a situation like this. Though your parents had moved to Tokyo some years ago, you were aware that his grandfather didn’t.

The house across the street was still his, while the one you grew up in just now became a summer home your family would frequent to when Tokyo became too swarmed with tourists.

You look at the half-filled contents of the suit case on the floor in front of you. The right side’s meant to hold your clothes, while the left was left bare for Tsukishima’s. You turn and look at him.

“You can just grab the stuff you need me to bring for you and I’ll fold it in. We should probably catch the first train tomorrow if we wanna get there before sundown.”

What comes as a reply is only prolonged silence.

You let what he started stay for a little, but because you had never been the type to be fond in gouging out answers from the blank spaces, you sigh, and break the impending silence before it could get a chance to even settle. “You’re quiet again, Kei.”

When he makes it to the living room, instead of coming back out with a stack of clothes, he stands by the wall with his hands in his pocket. His eyes shift from wall to wall, but skip over you.

Knowing that you’ll just prompt another conversation again the more he keeps his silence, he sighs, swallowing the hesitation and clinging onto the bits of courage that floats by him in the moment. Grasping at the very tips of it, he forces the words out of his mouth. “Are you really coming with me?”

You raise a brow. “Back to Kanazawa? Of course. I’m from there too, you know. Plus I haven’t seen Grandpa in a while.”

He shifts his gaze to the side, thankful for the blur that came with forgetting to slip on his glasses. He’s always had a tendency to give in the moment he looks at you, so the vagueness in the blur was a welcome change. “It’s just for a week,” he mutters. “I think I’ll handle the trip just fine.”

“Plus,” he adds, the hike in the tone of his voice giving away his panic. “—I heard there was a problem with the florists? Maybe one of us needs to go in and fix it ourselves just in case.”

In the ten years you’ve known him, you’ve always considered it a given that you’ve well perceived him by now. In front of you, he’s stammering. While Tsukishima has never been the face to poise and perfection—because at the end of the day he still is just a boy—you knew he only stammered when he was nervous.

Perhaps trying to manipulate the situation through a wordless exchange was his way of doing so. In your head, you chuckle. Tsukishima Kei is many things, and is witty when it counts—but he could never be blunt when it came to the things he was unsure of.

You try to gouge out his truth. Speaking straight to the point, you let him know that there’s no purpose in trying to skirt around. You turn to him, his sweater half folded on your lap. “You know I could have believed what you just said, but,” you pause, giving him a pointed look, “—you’re not even looking at me.”

“Is this about what Bokuto said earlier?”

The way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, confirms your suspicions that that it is about that, before he can muster up the courage to even say it. “Tell me,” you initiate. You’ve never been afraid to speak what needs to be said. “What’s got you so afraid?”

Once more, he hopes for the silence to speak for him. And like before—it doesn’t. Silence was never meant to fill in the blanks. What it did, rather, is add three seconds more on the clock that’s ticking regardless. Tsukishima bets on a timed clock to speak for him, and because you’ve never been the type to shrink at the presence of raw truth, you huff and poke into what obviously hits for him just a little deeper.

“You’re afraid we’ll hit a blank space after we get married, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t look away, but little by little, his body language starts slipping bits and pieces of the truth you’ve already long sensed. “I think I just need to think this through.”

“What?” you scoff. “You planned to go to Kanazawa by yourself for a week to what? Soul search? To decide if you even wanna marry me?”

“I’m sor—“

“That’s what you’re not supposed to say,” you interrupt him. “You don’t say you’re sorry for how you’re feeling, because you’re allowed to feel it how it is, but shit, Kei,” you exhale, pausing to suck in a quick breath. “You couldn’t have just said this earlier?”

He looks away again, the guilt evident on his features. “You’re mad.”

“Do you blame me?”

This time, he turns to you. “No,” he murmurs. “I don’t, but I’m gonna be blunt here—“

“—first time—“

He gives you a pointed look, but in the moment, you don’t really have much in you to care too much.

“I think I need space to clear my head.”

“Sounds like you’re contemplating on whether you wanna stay with me or not,” you respond. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

Tsukishima’s steady, this time. “Of course I wanna stay with you.”

“But,” you counter. “You aren’t sure if you want to marry me.”

He looks away. “What if—we hit a plateau after.”

“That’s still not an excuse to back out before we even try, Kei,” comes your reasoning.

“You’re right,” he sighs. “It’s not.”

Then it’s you, who shrugs this time, giving in a little and throwing him what you hope he doesn’t see as a lifeline. There’s no comfort found in knowing that an out is a means of mercy when it comes to love. Why should there even be an out?

You settle for just cracking the door open instead. Though it was never locked, the fact that it remained close must have been understood differently by him.

“Let’s go back to Kanazawa separately, then,” you propose. The open suitcase in front of you still has the right half filled with his half folded clothes, so you reach in, taking it out one by one. “You stay with your grandfather and I’ll stay at my parent’s house.”

Tsukishima raises a concern. “He’ll wonder why we aren’t staying together.”

In response, you shrug. “Just make something up then.”

“Is this just a passive aggressive way to say you’re mad at me?”

You scoff. “When have I ever been passive aggressive, Kei? I’ve said shit as it is since day one.”

He flinches, maybe because of what you said or the tone of the deliverance, but either way, you decide you can’t give much of a shit. It’s a given that you’re angry, but because being hurt just paves the path to silence more than lashing out, it’s not much of a surprise that you probably look deflated in front of him.

“What I’m saying is,” you explain. “Let’s go back to Kanazawa as strangers. Do what you gotta do, however you’ve gotta do it to get your head sorted out, and then we’ll talk. I’m not dancing around in circles with you on this. Either we get married next week, or we don’t.”

He panics. “I don’t want to lose you—“

“You’re already talking like you’ve decided that you won’t be at the other end of that aisle, Kei.”

Words feel lacking all of a sudden, so you pause. The absence of the split second brevity has Tsukishima standing still, his breath held, throat dry.

But like always, clarity seems to weave its way through the cracks in the room and find you first. “Yes or no isn’t easy to decide between,” you finally mutter. Eyes to the half folded sweaters you meant to tuck into the other half of the suitcase, you realize that you’ll need to switch to a smaller trolley now because you won’t be needing this much space anyway. “I don’t know what I should tell you, because I don’t know that we’d be having a possible fallout a week before the wedding. But at the same time—I don’t want to say you’re despicable for feeling like that, Kei. It just—“

“—fucking sucks,” you sigh.

“If you feel like you need a week to figure whatever this shit is, then okay,” you nod. “Okay. Let’s be strangers for a week and by the time we’re back in Tokyo, you give me a yes or no and be fucking blunt with it.”

Later that night when you turn your back against him and face the wall, his whisper breaks through the quiet. “Why are you still patient with me about this? You could have just left me.”

You shift, laying on your back and sighing to the makeshift glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling of your room. “Because I love you,” you sigh. “Loving someone just means you have to exhaust every other option before even thinking of throwing in the towel.”

He sleeps that night, feeling heavy.

He woke up later that morning, feeling the same too.

In a sense, things admittedly started weird. You woke up before he did this time, when he usually would be the one trying to be quiet when he slipped out of bed. Even though early mornings had never been a thing for the both of you, there was still something unpleasant in waking up to an empty bed.

The sheets on your side were done, and your phone that usually would be pinging with email notifications by now wasn’t there.

It’s odd, he thinks. While he agreed to be strangers for a week, the walk to the train station was the same. Silence was normal, but the five extra inches that added to the distance between the both of you wasn’t. You nodded his way when he pointed at the shinkansen’s direction, and wordlessly would hand him his usual brew when you stopped at the coffee shop just before going in.

Seated beside you in the train, he tries to ignore the urge to poke you on the side and make conversation. Words have always come easy when it came to moments with you, he noticed.

Tsukishima’s aware that he’s always been dubbed as the kind of person who never preferred to say too much, and while that was true—to an extent—he realizes that there is some truth to the saying that silence kills.

You’re seated beside him on the train, eyes to your phone, and earbuds in place. He resorts to just staring at you through his peripherals, caught in between wanting to satiate the want to talk to you by breaking the silence, or keeping it as is.

This is where fear grips him a little tighter. The deal was, as you had pointed out just last night, that the both of you would move through the week pretending to be strangers again. You’d stay on your side of the street, while he stayed in his.

It’s a given that his grandfather’s bound to ask about you, and so in the event that it does happen, you would just spend a few hours with them and pretend like everything was fine.

You made it clear that you’d try to exhaust all the options before resorting to that, though. And it’s easy, he thinks, doing so. It doesn’t take much to fake a phone call from work or a last minute meeting with an old friend that wouldn’t be able to make it to the city for the supposed wedding.

The lines were drawn, and the outline of what was to be expected in the next week was made clear.

He thinks of what you said before you slept. Love, as that one drive that has you exhausting all your options before even thinking of quitting. It’s fair, he thinks. You’ve always been the rational thinker in the relationship.

But then again, he doesn’t doubt your hurt either. A week was lengthy, he realizes, and to act as strangers again just a week before the wedding was a different kind of test when it came to your patience.

Still, he owes you truth.

You’ve always told him to lay things bare, and even though what’s bare is ugly, because love always pushes to try—he stays, doing just that.

Undoubtedly, this is a jump. There’s no question in the fact that the possibility of reaching the peak and coming face to face with a plateau scares him. But still, his thoughts counter, to face a drop that doesn’t guarantee a landing somehow terrifies him even more.

The sound of your phone vibrating snaps him out of his thoughts. Before you answer it, he snags a look of the name written on the screen—Akiteru’s.

Tsukishima sighs, shooting you a cautious stare as you pick up the phone and turn to him.

The tone of your voice is easy, though you look at him, unbothered. “Hey,” you answer. “Just got in the train, so Kei should be calling you in about three hours when we’re there.”

In comes a pause, before you chuckle a little. Unconsciously, Tsukishima scooches in, curious. But before he could get a chance to lean in too close, you pull away a little, looking at him curiously, an eyebrow raised. “I meant to tell you,” he hears you say, and as you look at him, he chooses to hold your stare.

“Kei and I will be staying separately for the week.”

Beside you, he shifts, fighting the urge to turn away and face forward.

Assuming that your flinch afterwards was only a response to what he’s only certain is Akiteru’s sudden outburst, the prior nervousness of his stare shifts into concern. Understanding the are-you-okay that he mouths, you wave him off. “We’re fine,” you laugh. “I just miss staying at the house that’s all, and I’m pretty sure Kei wants to spend quality time with his grandfather.”

You stay silent after that, which truth be told, doesn’t exactly help with his nerves.

“He’s right next to me,” you add. “We’re fine, I swear. Just wanna enjoy Kanazawa in different ways that’s all.”

To put it bluntly, the first day is awkward.

His grandfather’s waiting from outside the gate the second you make it to that familiar street. Nothing much has changed, the two of you notice. The gate’s rusted a little by the edges, and the door’s still got the same chip on the left side he always said he’d take a look at.

“Heard they were cutting down that tree,” his grandfather says, when it’s a little over three hours later and you’re all seated at a local restaurant for dinner. His old friend owned the place, he explained. Low lights, home cooked meals, and a family run business you vaguely remember your father talking about when you were young.

Tsukishima pauses, eyebrows rising in question. “What do you mean that tree?”

“The one you used to run off to,” he laughs.

Elbowing him, you nod towards his grandfather before pointing out, “We met by that tree, you know.”

His grandfather’s quick to responding, laughing at Tsukishima’s perplexed expression. “Seems like your grandfather’s memory is doing better these days than you, boy.”

You suppose that at the end of the day, it shouldn’t have been a big deal that he forgot. You’ve never been one to dwell too deep within the symbolic little nothings that’s bound to come with life. Rationally speaking, maybe you’re just a little miffed because of what he said the night before. And maybe that’s the reason why you’re taking this a little harsher than you would have on a normal day.

But strangers, you remember. Strangers wouldn’t care if the other forgot.

So with that, you shrug. You take another spoonful of the food in front of you and shift your body just slightly to the left—to which Tsukishima took noticed—and leaned forward. Without even saying much, his grandfather already has his attention on you, the smile on his face kind.

He’s always been kind, you remember. With a smile, you choose to keep the peace in the room at bay, willing yourself to ignore Tsukishima’s stare boring holes into the side of your head from beside you.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t remember a lot of people stop by that tree,” you comment, as you take a step into nostalgia.

His grandfather shrugs, absentmindedly nodding his head as he mulls over your word through a spoonful of broth. “It was in the middle of a residential area. Bound to get taken down if you ask me. People nowadays need a place to park.”

This time, you really feel his stare beside you almost intensify. Truth is, you can make sense of what you know he only fears. The point in life was to brave through the unfamiliar to establish a consistency in familiar grounds. To continuously rise from day one, only to hit the peak and possibly come face to face with a plateau instead of something greater than even the height of all highs—you admit that it’s terrifying.

The plateau, that perhaps works sort of like that tree.

It’s been there, so here it still is.

You’ve both been at that tree—at the start—so here you both still are. Side by side back in Kanazawa, sharing a meal like I do, isn’t hanging on the line.

His grandfather’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

Tsukishima’s voice is quick to cut into the conversation, his voice smooth. “She just doesn’t wanna lose it.”

You nod along to his lie, undecided with how to feel in regards to how smooth he seemed to have delivered his lie.

“You know, now that I think about it, it’s good that they’re cutting down that tree.”

Tsukishima speaks his mind this time. “Last week, you said you were looking forward to coming back home so you could visit that tree again.”

You don’t look at him when you answer. “I know, but your grandfather has a point. When things change, what else can you do but get rid of it?”

“Oh nothing’s changed,” he laughs across you. “Even before the two of you were born, people would always talk about how it’s just there when the space could have been used for parking.”

“Then why put off cutting it down this long?”

“Who knows,” he laughs. There’s an unfound wisdom in his eyes that read through your soul when he looks at you. “Maybe cutting down what people already see as a permanent fixture will do more harm than good in the long run.”

“Even if it doesn’t contribute anything?”

Tsukishima thinks of his fear, then of the plateau.

Through the rim of the glass, he keeps a steady eye on his grandfather, breath held as the anticipation for his words begin to really settle.

“People these days just see what’s the most obvious from the surface and consider it as the only fault then run with it. Maybe it’s not the tree,” he laughs. “Maybe it’s just the people. They want convenience so they cut off everything around them instead of adjusting to it.”

The food tastes bland in his mouth, suddenly.

“Goes to show how selfish people can get sometimes,” his grandfather finishes, as an afterthought. “A shame, really. That old tree’s done nothing but give people shade.”

At the end of the day, you really had to give his grandfather a lot more credit than what was due.

The second and third day was awkward. Even though you tried to stay inside for most of your day, venturing outside and meeting up with old friends was inevitable. And really, you should have remembered that he often started his day with a couple laps walked around the block.

On day two, he hinted that he could sense something was off. Tsukishima had been a lot more silent lately, he pointed out. First, as just a passing comment, then by the third time he’d bring it up and wouldn’t get too much of a response out of you, there came more emphasis to what he says.

He passed by the tree every time you’d round the street too. It occurs to you that passing through it was a shortcut, and contradicted his prior statements to having a route that catered towards the long way home, but you chose to not comment much about it.

The second day was curiosity, and you figured that you could live at least just a week with it.

The third day, on the other hand, gave you a little more trouble than you had bargained for.

You’re on your way home from an old friend’s house, and ironically enough, both Tsukishima and his grandfather are out by their front door, tending to the weeds of a garden that doesn’t even look remotely grown.

Tsukishima’s the first to look at you.

Stubborn, and frankly intent on upholding your end of the deal in staying strangers, you attempt to wave them off with a passing greeting as you look through your bag, feeling around for the keys to the gate.

“You don’t have to think of an excuse,” you hear him say. “He’s back inside now. It’s just you and me here.”

It’s funny how ever since you’ve made it back to Kanazawa, he’s been the one to break the silence a lot more lately.

You don’t turn. Strangers, you think. The deal was to pretend the other was a stranger.

“Cam,” he calls out again, the desperation in his voice inching more and more out of its shell. “I’m really sorry.”

You turn around, the buried anger getting the best of you in the moment. “You know the more you say that, the more convinced I am that I should just give you back your ring right now and go back to Tokyo alone. You talk like the only thing you’re sure of is the fact that you won’t be marrying me next week, Kei.”

The moment you shift your gaze from the ground to his eyes, a part of you aches at the idea that you may have to bid farewell to gold. Swallowing down the mass of emotions you hope isn’t entirely just made of anger, you steady yourself and sigh.

It hits you that it’s been a long day.

“It’s just you and me here,” you repeat, slowly. There’s a flutter in your heart that tells you it’s still love that stares back when you look at him. “Then why do you feel so far away, Kei?”

He doesn’t sleep that night.

Day three of being strangers, but he hasn’t had anything figured out. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but what only grew was the silence. The distance is really just a few feet away—across the street and through the leaves of that tree that your father would always say he’d get to.

The light from your room is still turned on, though the curtains are drawn.

8PM and it’s early. 8PM, and on a usual day, you’d usually be seated beside him in your Tokyo apartment’s living room, mulling over the nothings that went on in your day.

It’s nice to talk about the rest of the world as if all they’re meant to be is just a passing blur in the background, he thinks. He’s never been much for words, but you were.

Then again, you had always been one for truth.

Reality is, he knows he could always swallow his doubts, walk across the street, cover the distance, and apologize to you with an I’m sorry, that covers all that needs to be addressed in a standard apology. Life can be lived as easy as that. You swallow your own thoughts, adhere to what they say needs to be done in the way they tell you how to do so, and be done with it.

But he knows you just as well as he knows himself.

You’d call him a coward—and truth be told, he’ll think the same.

Present wise—he does think he is a coward.

Tsukishima sighs, knowing that blinking at your closed curtain visible from his window won’t do much of a difference. Begrudgingly, he sits up, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table.

The streets around the neighborhood are quiet this time of night. The perks about living away from the city was the silence, he thinks. As soon as he tugs on a sweater, he makes his way downstairs, carefully, so he doesn’t stir his grandfather he presumes is sleeping on the room across the hall.

He exhales, relieved at the barely audible creak the door clicks to as soon as he shuts it and turns the lock from the outside. The keys, jingling in his pockets, is the only sound that rings in the quiet.

It isn’t lonely, but it isn’t comfortable either.

Kanazawa has always been a town he’s considered as a piece of constant that’s meant to drift inbetween.

Neither like Tokyo or the towns by the outskirts of Okinawa, it stays as is. Twenty years ago, the crack on the sidewalk was there, and now, twenty years later, it remains.

There’s comfort in recognizing constants, Tsukishima admits. The tree just down this road, the crack on the asphalt, and the fact that your room is still the second window to the left visible from his on the second floor.

When he was younger, he remembers he often would stand under your window, caught in between wanting to knock on your door and ask permission from your parents if you could accompany him for the afternoon, or just wait around until you’d come down yourself.

While he left a lot of things on chance, the conscious choice to stay rooted in the spot by your window remained constant.

The gravel under his feet crackle everytime he’d take a step. The moon’s hazy behind the clouds tonight, he muses. While you’d wish for the stars, he found a temporary safety in the midnight clouds. A timelessness felt when it’s midnight, stays.

Before he turns to the corner that would lead home, he stops midway—recognizing the tree from a good few meters away.

There’s a sense of feeling an urgency to let something go, the more he stares at it. Nearing autumn, the colors start to change, and just like that, he’s reminded of the impermanence in life.

As the earth eventually changes throughout the years, he fears that perhaps in love—it would too.

“You’re out late,” is the first thing Tsukishima hears as soon as he enters the room.

From the genkan, he peers over the shelf, noticing the lights from the kitchen is what floods into the dim living room. Slipping on his house slippers and making his way around the corner, Tsukishima gets a feel of the warmth that’s radiating from the familiarity of the space.

After his grandmother had passed, his grandfather stayed in Kanazawa. Though his mother often expressed her desire for him to move with the rest of the family in Tokyo, every time, he’d only wave them off and say that there’s too much rooted here for him to just up and leave.

Walking into the kitchen, his grandfather’s the first to raise a mug his way and offer a smile. “I’d ask you if everything’s fine, but I think I’ll just wait around and see if you’re even willing to tell me.”

Tsukishima chuckles airily. “Sounds like you wanna ask anyway.”

He takes a slow sip. “Okay then,” he nods, smiling like he’s just struck a deal. “First question is—are you okay?”

In response, Tsukishima smiles, pulling the chair and taking the seat across his. He nods. “’Course I am.”

His grandfather’s eyes don’t leave him. “You’re not wearing the ring, and neither is Cam.”

Suddenly feeling like he’s caught in between a blocked exit and the spotlight, Tsukishima freezes, but wills himself not to look away. “Just needed some space, that’s all.”

“To think?”

He sighs. “To reconsider.”

“Ahh,” the older man sighs. “Cold feet. Pretty normal, if you ask me.”

He raises a brow in question. “It’s normal?”

“To be nervous, yeah,” his grandfather laughs. “But looks like it’s a different case for you.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond, his eyes fixated towards a spot on the wall that feeds more into the blank space of his thoughts than anything more.

“You’re afraid,” Tsukishima hears, and as soon as the retaliation he tries to string together at the very last minute don’t come—he realizes the core of all the chaos in his head is meant to be just like that—

Blank.

“What are you so afraid of, boy?”

In the silence, he lets the rawness of his truth slowly spill. “What if I hit a plateau after this?”

His grandfather wastes no second in countering. “How is it life if we just keep climbing? What’s the point in doing all that work if we never get rest?”

Tsukishima laughs. “You know, by that logic it can just go the other way around too.”

He settles in his seat, trying to appreciate the silence instead of looking for company in the noise, before he adds, “What if we decide we don’t love each other anymore?”

“That’s not all there is to a plateau,” he laughs. “It’s a valid fear, but being afraid isn’t all there is after you marry someone.”

“Then what’s there?”

With a smile, his grandfather leans back, raises the mug to his lips, and relaxes—his eyes looking fondly at a faded photograph hung beside the wall clock. “Everyday,” he answers. “What’s there after I do is just everyday.”

Sensing that his grandfather means to say more, he chooses to retain his silence. Sighing softly, his grandfather keeps his smile steady as he continues to speak. “Everyday you wake up. You roll over in bed, you think about the checklist you do to consider a day done, then you come home, eat a meal, rest a little and start the whole day over the next day. Everyday’s like that.”

He shifts, leaning forward with his arms crossed supporting his weight on the table as he eyes his grandson with a smile. “Best part is, you can do all that with someone you love. Makes the boring part of the plateau a lot more bearable.”

“You wake up with them and complain about how boring the rest of your day will be, then come home and eat a meal with them. Wash the dishes, share the silence, and just go to bed knowing you’ll wake up with somebody.”

The smile on his face is honest, then he shrugs. “It’s nice, though. The plateau after you hit a certain point in life is just inevitable, Kei. You can either complain about life alone or complain about it with somebody. At least there will be two pairs of slippers by the genkan waiting for you everytime you come home. You’ll say you’ve made it home and someone will greet you. You’ll roll over in bed at 2am and someone will be there with you. The point of climbing in life is to get somewhere, not ascend past the norm.”

Tsukishima stays quiet, pondering over the truth in his grandfather’s words. “So life’s just meant to stay in the middle?” he asks, slowly coming into terms with his grandfather’s redefinition of the plateau. “Life’s meant to find a consistency in everyday,” he corrects.

A few moments pass before he stands back up, pointing to the counter with a thermos. He knows it’s yours. The old one that your mother refused to throw away, because there’s a crack by the lid and a couple faded sailor moon stickers stuck by the side.

“Look at that,” Tsukishima hears. He turns his head just in time to see the old man offer him a patient smile, the message in his eyes delivered without a hitch. “That old thing’s seen a couple of decades, but it still gets to you when you need it, right?”

It’s not so bad to have an old thing be your constant, right?

Twenty minutes after his grandfather climbs back to his room upstairs, Tsukishima’s seated on the side of the table beside the window. Peeking through the half-opened blinds, he can still see that the light from your room is still flicked on.

Without mulling over the decision, he takes his phone out, scrolling through the contacts until he taps your name. A swipe without too much pressure, because even his thumb’s memorized where your name is by now. Kind of like muscle memory, he supposes.

Bypassing the unannounced rules about what to do as the strangers you had claimed from the start of this week, it results to the lack of hesitation as he types a quick text and presses send without a thought that would counter it.

I love you, it reads.

From his spot in the kitchen, he leans back and smiles, pouring himself a cup of the tea he knows you brewed yourself on the nights where he can’t sleep.

The lights from your room stay on for a few more moments before it dims, but before the metaphoric silence could take root, the screen of his phone lights up.

Stop walking around at night. Drink the tea and try to get some sleep.

Exhaling almost in relief, it’s the slow beating of his heart that resettles him back into the love he’s known everyday.

It’s not quite the end, but it isn’t exactly somewhere unpleasant either.

Two days before you’re meant to return to the city, instead of spending the day in your room—like you had initially planned—you somehow found yourself in the passenger seat of his grandfather’s old car, with a grocery list in hand.

You sigh, understanding what his grandfather’s trying to do.

As you look down, there’s nothing much written in the grocery list. He had complained about some back pain earlier, followed up by his insistent request of desperately needing his groceries done so when Akiteru was to arrive later on, dinner would be taken care of.

Beside you, with his hands on the wheel, Tsukishima sighs. “We could have just ordered in food for dinner. It’s just Akiteru coming,” he mumbles.

Keeping your eyes to the window to your left, you shrug. “He likes making the ordinary special, I guess.”

Tsukishima stays silent after that, mentally thankful for the green light and the empty roads. The more stops, the longer silence would stay. And even after the sort of middle ground from the night before, he doesn’t know what to say to you.

After making a quick turn, he pulls up into the parking lot and kills the engine. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turns to you, with an expectant look. “You can just stay here if you don’t wanna go in with me,” he offers. “It’s a short list, I can be in and out in a bit.”

You wave him off, already slinging on your bag and opening the car door—the list on your hand. “It’s alright. I think I’m more familiar with this area than you are, so we can just meet back in the car in thirty minutes if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t need me to come with you?” he raises a brow.

You shake your head no, but upkeep the smile on your face anyway as you exit the car and close the door.

Something about what you say sticks with him, the more he thinks about it.

He can distinguish the hesitation laced each of your decisions. You look past him, but not exactly at him. You speak to him, but keep the conversations short. Though conversation was rare between the both of you this past week, the times that you did speak to him, your words often were clipped short.

It’s your means of upkeeping your end of the deal, he realizes.

You’ve always been one for communication, but then again, patience can only stretch so much.

He respects your wish for distance and walks the opposite way from the grocery store, towards a building he doesn’t really known. It’s a gallery, he realizes. Three steps past the entrance, he notices that he’s one of the few that’s in the room.

Traditional artwork line the wall, hung in frames that have rusted throughout time.

Tsukishima stares, eyes drawn to the pieces of art he recognizes from the few scattered memories in his childhood that relate to his time in the city.

A fieldtrip, when he was seven. He remembers leaving the house upset over the yellow hat he had to wear, and the rain boots his teacher wouldn’t let him change out of. Unlike the present, rain was present that day. He stood beside you in line, and had to tilt his head up at the piece of art he always thought was the prettiest out of the bunch.

And now, almost two decades later, he still thinks the same.

He smiles at the memory, finding the comfort of returning to what’s familiar, pleasant.

As if caught by an epiphany, and suddenly enveloped in a sense of a rediscovered home, here, within a room that’s familiar, he finds purpose in the permanence of love.

Love, that’s never meant to be stretched into the likeness of what the poets declare as the absolute form of love after “I do.”

Staring at the piece of art with the rusting frames, the strokes within the canvas still depict the same story. It still is beautiful.

It’s doesn’t become more—but it stays as is.

And maybe that’s what his grandfather was trying to convey.

To fear a certain phase in love is something that comes and goes, but it often never stays. It can linger, but eventually, it too, fades.

What stays is what’s rooted.

Primarily, just you. Truly, just love.

That tree in that old street, these paintings on the walls, and the kind of serenity that washes over him at the thought of you.

The fear in life comes in the form of thinking that beyond the peak lays a plateau. Beyond “I do,” what’s next to come is love, dwindling until “I don’t love you anymore,” is the only thing left to be said.

It’s fear, that spoke to him the past few weeks, so this time, as he gives in, he listens to love.

It’s quiet.

But through the smoke in the room, the message that’s meant to deliver truth comes in full clarity. Illuminated, it appears before him as it is. A painting that’s struck him as beautiful then and now, and the thought of you as the face that’s always been the first to greet him every morning for more than just a few years now.

An old man stands not too far from him, hands clasped behind his back as he stares—with a smile on his face—at a similar painting on the wall. Sensing Tsukishima’s presence, he looks over and redirects the smile his way. “Been coming here for years, and looking at this still feels the same.”

Poking at the doubts, Tsukishima responds, “Are you afraid that it won’t get old?”

The gentleman laughs, though soft enough so it doesn’t echo too much in the halls. The joy lingers around Tsukishima, on the other hand. “To have something grow old with you isn’t a bad thing. Day one, this piece was beautiful, and now, almost forty years later, I look at it and think the same too.”

A beat of silence passes, but the man speaks once more.

“My wife, when she was alive, showed me this piece. Maybe I look at this and still find it beautiful after all these years because I think of her, but I don’t think trying to focus on that matters much. The feeling’s the same, even if it grew old.”

Reciprocating the older man’s goodbye with a nod to the head, it’s then where he laughs, a little bit more of the truth unraveling as each moment comes and goes. Thinking of his words, he dwells on its meaning.

Standing there, alone in the museum hall, the smoke clears, and he presents himself his words of blended truth and patience.

Love is timeless, his thoughts say. The plateau after the peak is as possible as the drop, but life’s meant to be lived in the lows and in betweens as much as the highs. Time moves in waves, and perhaps love doesn’t always grow stagnant. It can be timeless, even though the frames rust. His hair will grey, and maybe you’ll stop linking your pinky with him beneath the sheets during the rainy season’s thunderstorms, but the root of love stays.

Within the plateau, time will move, and you’ll both grow old, but the taste of the tea you’ll brew for him will remain the same.

And thirty minutes later, when he makes it back to the parking lot with you waiting by the door, the love that steadies his beating heart will be the same too.

Steady, present, and timeless.

Eyeing the dashboard, you’re the first to break the silence. “Why’d you buy a postcard?”

Rolling into a stoplight, he eases on the brakes and shrugs. “Lived here for so long, and I don’t even own a postcard from here.”

“Me neither,” you blink.

A couple minutes pass, and the car’s rolling again, but he misses a turn. Assuming that he’s just not used to the usual route, you stay quiet—until about he pulls up to a familiar street.

Parked to the side, through the windshield, you find yourself face to face with a familiar tree. “Kei.” He hums.

The coming autumn has a few leaves beginning to change its colors, you notice. The summer hues, unbalanced, as bits of red begins to bleed through the green. “You were supposed to turn there, not here.”

He shifts the gear into park, then takes his hands off the wheel, leaning back. “I know.”

It’s quiet after that, but it isn’t all that unpleasant either.

This is the part where the questions begin to poke at you, the what-ifs in love let out in the open as you voice a little bit of your vulnerability. And because the truth is daunting, you hope he understands you through the metaphors. “Do you really think they’ll cut it down?”

He doesn’t allow the silence to take more than a moment. “I think so,” he nods his head.

“It’ll be good though, I think,” you add, nodding your head.

It’s quiet in the room even though the words of your truth coaxes the unhealed wound to resurface. As it comes into light, it doesn’t sting.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder beside him in the car, the tree that witnessed the first hello stays rooted, and watches.

He doesn’t turn to you as he speaks, but in a way, you feel as if a farewell was the finale that was meant to be delivered somehow. “It’s good,” he starts. “Letting go of something that needs to be let go of.”

Tokyo

Tsukishima’s the first to speak.

“I’m not good with words,” he starts.

There’s a hush in the crowd, so you stay with it, knowing you’ll only add to the silence should you choose to respond. It wasn’t your turn anyway, so you will yourself to be still and listen.

“Hey Cam,” Tsukishima continues, choosing to begin his vow with a hello. “I think a lot about what love’s supposed to have meant, mean, or eventually mean in the long run. I thought too much about it to the point where it…” he trails off, blinking at the piece of paper before flicking his eyes up to you with a slight shrug. “—to the point where love began to scare me.”

For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, confident in the fact that when he opens them, he knows he’ll see the world in clarity this time. With the smoke cleared and the scattered pieces of all his doubts set in order, the words of his truth may not speak of the most tender poem of love—but within the lines lies his truth.

As he lays his truth on you, he holds a breath and lets it all go. “I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” he laughs, exhaling softly, his shoulders shaking a little. “Never occurred to me how much of a liar the downside of your thoughts are when you listen to everything that isn’t love,” he continues.

Your shoulders relax, and even through the blur of the veil, you can tell his eyes are steadily watering.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the microphone just barely picking up what he says. You nod your head anyway, wishing you were holding his hands instead of the bouquet. Reassurance comes in many forms, but you know he’s always been the type to receive it well through physical touch.

A kiss on the cheek, your head on his shoulder, or your hands squeezing his. But the smile you give him suffices for now, you think.

“I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life. I’ll wash, and you dry. Nothing much happens in our day usually, but nothing has to. I’ll listen to you talk about how shit the traffic is in the city, because I know you’ll listen to me talk about the same complaints I have from Monday to Friday anyway.”

You realize he’s written his vows in the back of a postcard—the one you saw on his dashboard a few days ago, from Kanazawa.

He sniffles a little then looks up, laughing to himself at how emotional he’s getting. Allowing more than just truth to trickle out slow is a part of love too, he realizes, so with a soft laugh, he lets the tears be and speaks again. “What needed to be let go of was let go of,” he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for this long.

In a sense, maybe he has. Sometimes fear grips you tightly enough that it shifts your point of view from one thing to another. What’s love, becomes fear. Then what’s fear, becomes the smoke that buries the core of truth too deep within the haze.

“I let go of the thought the thought that after marriage, if nothing great would come then that would be the end of love,” he breathes. “I stared at that tree and thought of Grandpa’s words again and again then wrote my apology and I love you on the back of a postcard that only had one a couple of blank lines at most.”

He waves it for you, then to the crowd, to see. The words, jumbled up together look almost incomprehensible written so closely together, but in a way, you have a feeling that he’s just speaking the rest of his truth as it comes in the moment.

The truth in love, you realize, is that its truth comes, fully unraveled the moment the initial plan falls apart.

He puts down the postcard, and just looks at you.

“There’s a lot I don’t think I will ever understand when it comes to love, but maybe I’m here to just feel it and not try to decipher it.” He pauses, ignores the few tears that roll down, and shrugs his shoulders, admitting to himself that the truth in his love is the first thought that comes.

“Love doesn’t have to the greatest,” he tells you. “I just wanna wash dishes with you for the rest of my life and hear about how traffic was unbearable.”

You smile, and your assurance reaches him.

“I think that counts as love too,” he finishes, the smile on his face tender.

As he leans in after I do, he murmurs a question in your ear that you’ve been expecting since the start.

You could have just left, he said. How did you deal with me and still choose to stay?

Your answer was said without a hint of hesitation. With a shrug, and an honest smile, you told him, “Because I love you.”

“I think we both had to let go of the thought that to love always means to have the biggest reasoning behind it. We do things for love, and because of love. That’s just how it is,” you shrugged.

Oddly enough, it’s in that same exact moment where he remembers Bokuto’s question from that dinner a week and some days ago.

How does it feel? he recalls, and even though words have never found him first nor met him in the middle easy, he gathers what he can and just settles on the conclusion that it just feels like love.

Wherein love, is this.

An identical band on his and your finger, and the taste of I do pleasant on the tongue. I love you, as a truth that’s easy to fathom and healing to hold, and the fear of what comes next just a passing thought that goes as soon as it comes.

Later that evening his grandfather sits him down and asks him what he really thinks about why people have been putting off cutting down that tree for a few decades now.

With a laugh, the hesitation that often turns decisions is made clear to him. “You know I think that people would decide things and think they’re so solid on it before even being face to face with it. The second they get to that tree with a chainsaw, I promise you they changed their minds. You think you go there and cut off or let go of one thing, then realize you’re cutting off something else in the end. They go back to what’s been there and realize that it’s not the problem at all.”

Tsukishima sighs, and his grandfather watches, the smile on his face easy. It’s like watching some emerge from a smoked out room, he thinks. Clarity’s always been a blessing, and he’s glad his grandson’s finally found it.

“Sometimes going back to the start is the one thing you need to be reminded that it’s worth it to keep going.”

“Sounds like you’re not talking about the tree,” his grandfather comments. Looking at you, Tsukishima smiles. “You could say that too.”

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moonbeamwritings · 4 years ago

Text

street light serenade

Summary: Unable to sleep, you call up a certain mangaka for company, convincing him to drive around Morioh with you in the dead of night. What comes next exposes much more than what his most recent draft is focused on.

Author’s Note: Rohan simps come get y’all juice 🗣️🗣️ I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think!!

Sleep eluded you, as it often did when you were overwhelmed with university work, tossing and turning for hours on end as your mind swirled with all of the assignments you were too worn out to finish. It was nearing twelve o’clock and you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up a pencil or read any more academic journals.

Finally deciding to just get up and move around, you ventured down the hallway and out into the kitchen. A cup of tea could do some good, you thought.

With the tea kettle on the stove, you hopped up onto your counter, mind reeling with other ways you could get yourself to fall asleep. You could go for a walk, watch tv, or listen to music. Maybe going for a drive could help alleviate the stress crowding your brain.

As the kettle began to hiss, your mind was made up. A drive around Morioh sounded perfect, but one question remained. Should you go on your own?

Without a second thought, you pulled your phone from the wall, eagerly dialing the number of the only person you thought would be awake at this hour.

Rohan Kishibe.

It took a few moments for him to answer, casting doubt on the possibility of your plan coming to fruition.

“What do you want?” His voice was sharp and biting, clearly not thrilled about being pulled from whatever he was doing.

“Hello to you too, Rohan. Do you want to come for a drive with me? I can’t sleep.”

Rohan’s response was immediate, sparing you no kind words or easy let-downs, “No.”

“Come on, please. I’ll pick you up! You don’t even have to do anything!” You knew you were beginning to grovel, trying to sway him to indulge your midnight whims, but you didn’t care.

“I’m not getting caught dead in that tin can you call a car.”

“Some of us have student loans to pay off, you know. Plus, who would see you anyway?”

You could hear him scoff through the phone, a short judgmental sound followed by a few long moments of silence. As soon as you thought he had hung up on you, he spoke, “I’ll pick you up in five minutes. If you’re not ready, I’m going home.”

A click sounded before you could get a word in. He was such a pain in the ass.

Rohan wasn’t easy to like, or easy to get along with, and he knew that, but you searched for his company often, asking him to coffee or lunch or stopping by to give him a new book he could use for research. At first, he would roll his eyes and scoff at your presence, annoyed at the prospect of someone so wholeheartedly thrusting themselves into his quiet little life. However, as time went on, he began to crave conversations with you, though he would never admit it.

So when you called, practically begging him to go for a drive, he couldn’t really say no, despite the apathetic lilt to his voice. Reluctantly, he pushed away from his desk, gathered his keys, and headed out. He would indulge you, if only just this once.

With your teacup long since forgotten, you raced around your home, throwing a comfy sweatshirt over your head and slipping into your shoes. Casting one final glance at yourself in the mirror, you lept out the front door, seconds after Rohan pulled up.

Plopping yourself into his passenger seat, you let out an excited greeting.

“You’re far too energetic for this time of night.” He replied, hand reaching across the gap to land on the back of your chair as he backed out of your driveway.

“What?” You whined, pouting at his tone. “Car rides are fun!”

“You sound like a dog.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

The car fell silent as he began to drive, taking random turns and heading in whatever direction he pleased.

You brought a hand up to the radio, fiddling with the dials and buttons until you landed on your favorite station. You lowered the volume, sending the music into the background, rather than allowing it to ruin the calm energy in the car.

Rohan glanced over at you every so often, admiring the ways that the street lights mixed as they sped by, molding together to cast interesting shadows along your face.

The whole experience felt almost surreal in a sense, traveling through liminal spaces as some silly pop song played softly through the speakers. Just the two of you, the street lights, and the rumble of the car.

After another turn, you began to ask Rohan more about his life. What motivated him, what he was currently working on, when he was traveling again. Every question on your mind seemed to pass your lips, eager to become closer to the man that tried so hard to keep you at arm’s length.

He humored you, of course, but not without little complaints and jests, “You working for a gossip magazine or something?”

“No, I just want to get to know you. That’s all.”

Your response made something tighten in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had shown genuine, unmotivated interests in his thoughts and feelings. He was so used to the same questions, people entertaining his presence in order to weasel their way in, hoping to get some money or fame through his friendship.

You were different, a welcomed change.

When you exhausted your questions, he picked his own. How were your studies going, did you have anything lined up for once you graduated, what had you so worked up you couldn’t sleep. If you were going to know more about him, then he would like to return the favor.

Growing tired of taking the same turns, Rohan directed your little mission to a scenic overlook, angling the car so you could both stare out at the ocean.

It was peaceful, sitting under the light of the moon with you, watching as it bounced off the waves below, creating swirling patterns of dark sea and pale moonlight.

The orange glow of the streetlight on his side of the car casted a shadow along the side of his face, illuminating his high cheekbones and green eyes. Your eyes traveled down his neck, absorbing the way that same shadow warped against his neck and collar bones. In your eyes, he was rendered ethereal in this light, an untouchable being with an indescribable beauty.

“I didn’t know you had a staring problem.”

He could feel your eyes boring holes into the side of his head and it was starting to bother him. You can’t just stare at people, refusing to utter even a word. It was annoying.

Still so hypnotized by the light playing against his face, you responded without a second thought, “Rohan, you’re beautiful.”

Your words left you both speechless, rendered even more silent following your confession. You were embarrassed beyond words and Rohan was in absolute disbelief.

“What?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Just the,” you floundered, hands rising in falling in a desperate attempt to collect your thoughts, to form some sort of explanation, “the light.”

You cleared your throat, “The light behind you… it’s casting a pretty shadow. That’s all.”

Through your pathetic attempt at deflecting his question, he examined you, turning in his seat to really take you in. The same light casting shadows on him created a perfect beam on your own face, your soft skin and kind eyes on full display. He laughed, the whole situation both ridiculous and welcome at the same time. A mix of literal and subjective interpretations of the phrase “seeing someone in a new light.”

He scoffed, a smirk lighting his face as he pulled you closer, closing the distance created by the center console, “You talk too much.”

With that, he planted his lips against yours in a searing kiss. Your hands came up to trace along his cheekbones while his hand remained on the back of your head.

Rohan wasn’t one to wax poetic about just anyone, that much you knew. So as he pulled away, still holding your head as he began to describe how you looked under the light streaming in from outside, you felt your face warm. The slope of your nose, the curve of your cheeks, the delicate dip of your cupid’s bow, all made beautiful under Rohan’s diligent stare.

When he was finished, he readjusted his position to sit facing forward again with his hands resting on the steering wheel, “You’re alright, I guess.”

That’s the Rohan you knew and loved.

The two of you remained at the overlook for another hour, chatting and listening to music, but as he watched your blinking begin to slow, your eyes begin to grow heavy, Rohan elected to take you home.

As he drove along side streets, passing neighborhoods and businesses, he stretched a hand over to land against your thigh, gently squeezing it every so often.

Maybe he could afford to put this side of himself on display more often, if only for you.

#rohan kishibe x reader #rohan kishibe imagine #rohan x reader #rohan imagine #jjba x reader #jjba imagine

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years ago

Note

hi! i absolutely love your writing, and i fucking screamed when i saw that your requests were open. i was hoping you write something about the miya twins sharing a darling? yes, i am a simp and i am fucking proud of it

Atsumu is a bastard, and therefore, Osamu is bastardly by association. I refuse to respect them, but I see the appeal. Have your twins, but I’ll do my best not to let you enjoy them.

Title: Homecoming.

TW: Nonconsensual Touching and Implied Bullying.

Sometimes, you try to think about what your life would be like if you were born a year earlier.

Or a year later, you guessed. It didn’t matter. If you were just a bit older or months younger, you would never have met the Miya twins. You would’ve been at a safe distance from the pair all thoroughly Elementary School, free from their torment in Junior High, and they couldn’t have followed you into your teens, not if you’d never caught their eye in the first place. You weren’t special, nor were you afraid to admit that. You were a target, one that could and would be replaced as soon as you failed to serve your purpose.

You supposed it was your fault, then. You failed to break, so they failed to move on.

That didn’t make you feel any better about your current situation, though.

Atsumu and Osamu had been going to Inarizaki for two years. Four full semesters, as opposed to your measly handful of weeks. It made sense that they had a better grasp of the terrain, and thus, your shock was muted when a pale hand emerged from a storage closet you hadn’t known existed, latching onto your wrist and dragging you through the narrow entrance, the door left ajar just enough to allow you through without attracting the attention of your peers. You failed to resist, at first, stumbling forward out of blind stupor, but by the time you thought to fight or scream or do something, a palm was pressed against your mouth, your back flush against a familiar chest and your arms trapped under something heavy and strong, pinning you down with a force you wish you’d never grown accustomed to.

There were no windows, no lights, leaving your focus to shift around the small space desperately, searching for something to latch onto in the darkness. A phone was turned on, then off, illuminating a small section of the floor briefly before flickering into nonexistence. It was a passing hope, though. Your eyes were beginning to adjust, just enough to make out the apathetic, self-satisfied smirk you’d grown so accustomed to. Atsumu’s smirk. You could guess who was holding you, if he’d agreed to take such an idle role.

When Atsumu spoke, he did so impassively. As if you’d been the one to approach him, and he was just indulging you in a conversation he had no interest in. As if you were the one holding him hostage. “Look at this, ‘samu,” He started, scanning over your struggling form. He was less than an arm’s length away, the cramped closet only allowing for so much room between its occupants, but you could still feel him prying into you, his head bowed in an effort to better look down on you. “The brat’s all dressed in black ‘n white, tryin’ to blend in with the rest of us commoners.”

“Think Shiratorizawa was too much of a step up, ‘tsumu?” Osamu’s voice was neutral, uncaring when taken out of context, but you’d learned to pay more attention to what he said than how he said it. Beyond that, the arm now wrapped around your waist clenched down, squeezing for a moment as the hand covering your mouth dropped away entirely, giving you the option to answer but warning you against it, before you could. “It was probably just a break. I’d want some time away from that face of yours too, if I was ‘em.”

There was a hint of a snarl, a reflexive response to their brotherly teasing, but Atsumu quickly regained his composure, gritting his teeth and narrowing his gaze, although you weren’t sure which one of you the gesture was supposed to be directed towards. “Yours ain’t much better, y’know,” He countered, taking half a step closer. “Why did you come back, babydoll? My brother and I were so disappointed when you left without telling us, you don’t know how long the big guy back there spent tryin’ to find whatever hole you decided to hide in. Almost broke my heart, if I’m bein’ honest.”

You hesitated before answering. You’d left because of their treatment, their jeers and their jokes and their determination to make your life hell until you graduated. They must’ve known that, and you doubted they hadn’t managed to uncover the reason for your return, yet, either. They knew your scholarship ran out and you had to come back, they knew that. They just wanted to hear you say it.

It was the least you could do to deprive them of that small victory.

“I missed the scenery,” You muttered, your response almost too quiet to hear. “Everyone’s nice, at the Academy. I guess I was feeling nostalgic.”

Atsumu frowned. Osamu snickered. You let your confidence flare before reminding yourself not to let them have any effect on you, no matter how positive the shift seemed. Rather, you steeled yourself, squaring your shoulders as Atsumu reached forward, catching your jaw and tilting your head back. “I don’t really remember why we were missin’ you,” He said, forcing you to face him, his thumb biting into your jaw when you tried to twist away. “You’re always actin’ so stubborn, when you know ‘samu and I don’t mean any harm. If you just started behavin’ right, we wouldn’t have so many problems. We wouldn’t have to go to such great lengths to get your attention.” He paused, dropping your jaw, but freedom was a temporary comfort. Without warning, he took you by the hair, jerking you up by the scalp and earning a pathetic, whiny whimper for his efforts, the noise enough to spur him on, as he continued. “If you weren’t so cold, we wouldn’t have to be so mean.”

“Then what?” You’re talking before you can tell yourself not to, getting mad before you can tell yourself not to. It’s was instinct, to curl your hands into fists and drive your nails into your skin, to hate the men who currently surround you. Distance had spoiled you, given you time to grow content with the idea of a life that didn’t include the Miya twins. It seemed too soon to adjust to what you used to be complacent with. It seemed unfair. “You want your punching bag to smile and say ‘thank you’, and that’s great, that’s wonderful, but unless it gets you to screw off, I’m not interested. I don’t want anything to do with you or your--” You took the time to drive your heel into Osamu’s foot, only stopping when he let out a stifled, pained grunt. “-fucking brother, and there’s no amount of bullshit you can put me through to make me think otherwise.”

There was a beat of silence. Osamu looked towards Atsuma, Atsuma looked towards Osamu, and then they both looked towards you. You pursed your lips, your pride morphing into a hallow, jagged shape, one that came to rest at the back of your throat. You waited for the backlash, your anticipation mixing with that sense of impending dread, but the blow never came.

Instead, they laughed.

“This is why you shouldn’t be the one doin’ the talking, you make both of us sound like pricks.” Osamu’s chin came to rest on your shoulder, a chuckle still lacing the edges of his tone by the time he finished. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck affectionately, kissing the dip of your shoulder, adamantly ignoring your renewed attempts to squirm out of his hold. “The poor thing’s already shakin’. I think you scared ‘em, ‘tsumu.”

“No, no. If anything, our little mouse got too brave.” There was another tug to your hair, another string of smirks and glances between the two, and in the distance, a bell rang, but neither boy seemed to notice.

If anything, they were more concentrated on you than they’d ever been.

“I think someone needs a proper welcome home, don’t you?”

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alch3mic · 4 years ago

Text

in between. (drabble series)

chapter five (comfort.)

cheshire!sans x gender neutral reader. 3k+ word count.

please be advised for themes of addiction, drugs, alcohol, self deprecating thoughts and apathetic feelings.

* it’s time for our dear underlust sans, cheshire, to have his turn! if you’d like to check out more about our resident catboy, feel free to check out his tag here on my tumblr! thank you and i hope you enjoy!

Don't get attached.

That seems like a pretty simple motto to live by, huh?

Well that's because.... it was.

In a world that cared little for anything beyond their momentary value, it was easy to not get attached. Everything changed day by day in this fast paced life. There was always a new video to look at, or a new phone to buy. Always a new trend to jump on or a new topic to talk about. You didn't form attachments to those things, you just used them to pad out your day so you didn't have to think about your meaningless existence, and then you were done with it.

You got rid of it.

Threw it out.

Forgot about it.

It no longer mattered because it no longer entertained you.

There was always something newer and shinier to look at just around the corner anyways, so.. why would you think twice about it?

Things were just.. easier.. when you didn't get attached...

You.. couldn't feel the pain of being let go.. if there was nothing holding you there in the first place.

.....

A shame he had to learn that the hard way, but that was life.

This world treated it's people like a commodity, always being bought and sold for their looks, money or talents.

Anything else was just worthless.

Filler.

Like packing peanuts that belonged in the garbage after you stripped a box of its goods.

Nobody cared how you felt.

Your emotions didn't matter in the slightest.

All that really mattered is that you played your part.

You spoke your empty words.

You did your flashy dance.

..You sold your soul.

..And then.. you'd collect your earnings and leave so you could go and buy the newest phone model you had your eye on.

.....

Emotions were.. well..

...Worthless.

...Just like they always were..

Just like they had been.. back in his own Underground.

Which is why, on that day..

When that realization set into Sans' bones that the surface really was no different..

That it didn't matter what he did..

Or how he felt..

...He swore to himself...

That he'd never get attached.

......

..And that's exactly why...

He could never forgive you.

Because in a world that was ever changing..

Day by day...

And always moving forward...

..How dare you stay the same.

Ah.. dammit!

Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!

It just wasn't fair..!

Just what the hell was wrong with you anyways?

He went to all that stupid trouble to close all those damn doors!

He boarded up every stupid window and stuffed everything shut as tightly as he could!

He gathered up all those loose emotions, tied them with a lock and a chain, and then threw them into the basement to never see the damn light of day again!

He even threw away the damn key to it all and yet...!

..And yet...

Somehow.. someway.. you still..

Weaseled your way right into his soul.

....

It just wasn't fair.

...He hated it.

..Or.. rather.. himself.

Because despite the fact that you were the one who did this, even after his multiple attempts to shove you away.... he could never say he actually hated you.

....

Maybe jokingly but..

No.. he could never actually hate you..

Despite how hard he tried.

You were just so damn.. persistent.

Not even in the annoying way! You were just..! Always there!

Really..

How dare you.. become someone that meant something to him!

How dare become a pillar of support for him to lean on!

How dare you open your arms to him, offering your gentle words and affirmations to him like he deserved them or something, and letting yourself become such a comfort that he actually sought you out now to help mend these pieces of his broken soul.

....

H-how dare you..

...Always be there for him.

Time and time again you were.. just..!

There!

You were always there!

Why were you always there!?

Christ, it's like you really had nothing better to do!

What, was he just your entertainment!?

A cute little show!?

Did you just want a front row seat to how much of a mess he really was because you were that bored!? Is that why you were always there!? Is that why you always picked up the phone when he called, no matter the starsdamned hour of the day? Is that why you were always there... no matter how far it was..? ..Rain or shine.. snow, hail or even when the damn wind was blowing nearly everything off its feet you were..

You were.. always..

....

There.

And that was just so damn unforgivable.

.....

There were times when he wished to himself.. that you had always been there.

...Way before.. he became like this.

Maybe he wouldn't have been such a mess if he had you in the first place but..

Life just wasn't fair, now was it?

He wanted to be angry about it still.

To blame you.

But he couldn't.

Really all he had to blame was himself.

He.. betrayed his own promise.

He had sworn to himself on that day that he'd never get attached.. and yet here he was.. more dependent upon you than he had been for anyone else in his life.

..Even to his own brother.. who had really seen him at some real bad lows.

But you..

You saw him at rock bottom.. and yet..

...You were still here...

.....

Really, you were by all accounts, an anomaly.

An outlier.

Someone who shouldn't be counted with the rest, because unlike the usual scum of this city.. you were...

Well you certainly weren't a ray of sunshine, that's for sure.

A little stoic and kinda stone faced, which probably worked to your benefit because people seemed to shy away from asking things of you, but..

You were.. different.

Despite the fact that you grew up here in Ebott, a vile city filled to the brim with criminals and thieves who ate people up for breakfast and then spat them out before lunch.. you.. were.. still you.

Calm.

Insightful.

...Caring..

..And... dependable.

....

...And how...

How was he not supposed to get attached to you?

..When you were always there for him..

Like now, as you held him steadily in your arms while he so desperately clung on to you as if you'd run away if he let you go. Of course a part of him was always scared you would because.. why wouldn't you?

What could someone like you possibly see in someone like him..?

Someone.. shallow and.. terrible with a whole novel's worth of issues.

Not at all good at comforting people.

Fickle and who practically ran at the first signs of trouble.

If he were you..

Well.. he would've given up on himself a long time ago.

..So.. why did you.. stay..?

.....

He was too scared to ask that question.

Too scared of the answer that may come from your lips, even though those words might just save him...

..Because he was absolutely certain that they'd actually just be the final nail that turns him to dust..

So he pushed the thought far from his mind to the back to die with the rest of his unnecessary feelings. Not that it was hard really, Sans' mind was a bloody fucking mess, clouded by a horrid mixture of alcohol and drugs that had him feeling on top of the world just a measly few hours ago.

Stars.. it really was easy to get lost in that madness wasn't it?

..Into the pleasure and fun that came at the end of a bottle, or at the end of another hit.

In a way.... it was just like magic.

In an instant, all those troubles that clouded your mind would seem so far away...

For a while you'd be unburdened by responsibility or society.

You'd let go of the constraints holding you back, you'd let loose and finally just be free.

Your mind would let go of it's troubling thoughts..

Of things... and...

..People...

......

You'd have fun without stress.

You'd lose yourself to the motions

To movements.

To the descent.

..To the fall.

Down.

Down the rabbit hole you'd go.

....

But with every fall.

Came a landing.

....

Right to the very bottom... and you'd suffer the consequences of your descent.

Now that once hypnotic neon that drew him into this club seemed sickening to his eyesockets, and the smell of smoke mixed with sweat and grease made him want to hurl. He didn't want to hear anymore words spoken by anyone else, much less those so called 'friends' who invited him here in the first place. Their words had long faded away to numbing static in the background now that the intense music was gone. He was sick of their empty flattery and jealous praises anyways, all trying to catch his attention so they could use him as a footstool to higher society. The only reason they invited him here was to get some damn clout for themselves and he was lonely enough to accept the offer because...

For once, you weren't there.

.....

Well you were technically there, because you always told him to call if he ever needed you, you just weren't like... there there!

..And he was feeling sad and...!

You weren't.. well-!

It's just-! He.. just-!

....

He didn't want to...

.....

Ugh.

It didn't matter.

He was just tired of it now. Tired of those damn pieces of trash..

They deserved to sit in the dumpster where they belong, but he was too fucked up to put them there so instead he just let it become background noise.

He wanted nothing more than to stay right here, in the only place he really felt at ease.

..With you.

So he turned his head away from it all and breathed in deep, a familiar scent washing away the muck that clung to the edges of his mind. It was fresh and a bit misty, like the scent of rain just before it fell with just a small hint of earthiness, and it brought him such a sense of..

..Comfort.

Just... like it always did.

Just like you always did, whenever you were around.

It made him clutch on to you all the tighter as he buried his head further into your shoulder, wanting to be lost in the mellow scents of your coat and the steady rhythmic beating of your heart as you spoke softly to someone else.

He was just..

Tired.

Tired of this, and tired of that.

Really he was tired of everything and just wanted to.. go..

"...home," he slurred, clearly interrupting your conversation with someone but not having the slightest care in the world.

His skull could hardly make sense of what was being said anyways, still washed up in the dizzying effects of alcohol and.. whatever else he took, but he really didn't care.

He wanted to go home.

That's why he had messaged you in the first place.

So you could come pick him up, yet again, and take him back home.

At least.. he hoped that's why you were here.

Who knows, maybe you'd finally come to your senses and would just dunk him in the trash can where he belonged.

"We're heading out in just a second, alright?" you said gently, your words cutting clear through his own thoughts.

.....

He barely turned his head to peek at you, catching the vague shape of your face through the fluorescent neon.

Funny.. how just your tone settled his troubled mind, almost making him feel silly for thinking you'd abandon him. Even if he didn't understand why in the slightest, you clearly cared for him. It came through in the way you spoke, and in the way you held on to him, like he was something precious and worth keeping.

...He just really didn't get it..

So he didn't think about it, instead just squeezing his eyesockets and letting out.. a noise in response.

..Really it was more like a painful, almost guttural groan, but he didn't want to acknowledge how unattractive it sounded, so a noise it was.

Thankfully it was enough.

"Just hang tight."

And then you spoke again, but not to him, so he let your voice fall to the side too, the gentle rumblings steadying him as he buried his face back to his usual spot.

For right here, in the small space between your neck and your shoulder was his own personal Wonderland. It was the same place his skull always went, whenever you two were close. The place he buried his face when he cried, or where he turned his head away to escape from it all. He loved to feel the pleasant heat of your skin against his cheek, and let those soft and subtle scents wash over him once more.

He really could just.. get lost in it.

He'd stay there forever, if you'd let him.

And that's exactly why he could never forgive you.

Because.. you did.

Time and time again you gave him that place all to himself, without question or complaint.

You let him come undone in so many ways in that small space, that house he had built for himself and boarded up.. no longer felt like home.

..And the feelings that he had locked away tight..

They were always so close to just.. coming out.

They threatened to spill from his mouth and dirty your jacket with their sullied words.

His admiration.

His respect.

His... love... for you..

..And all that you've done.

They danced tantalizingly on the end of his tongue, sometimes escaping in the friendly ‘I love you’s you both shared, or passed through his fingertips when your hands gently brushed, sending shocks to his soul. They seeped into almost every action and he..

Well..

A part of him felt like he was going to just go crazy over it..!

Or maybe.. he always had...

But for every moment he stayed in your presence it lingered..

And it swished and swirled... bubbling at the surface and just threatening to...

Break.. loose..!

"You doing okay?"

No.

No, he really wasn't doing okay.

Really he wasn't.

The words.. they were...

Slipping...

No...

He was...!

..Going to..!

"....i think i'm going to throw up."

"...Ah."

......

He probably would've been angrier if that wasn't the truth.

The excess magic bubbling in his soul was threatening to rush out thanks to the alcohol, and he certainly didn't want that spilling out of his ribcage so the only other option was out from where it came.

"Can you hold it?"

Ya know, normally that kind of question might've been seen as insensitive given the circumstance, but you very well knew Sans hated throwing up in public areas because it was... well kinda gross.

"..yeah.."

"Then let's go home."

And that was it.

You looked back to whomever you were speaking to and said your goodbyes before turning and heading out of the club with him in your arms while he tried to cling to you like a koala.

The awful neon was fading away along with the horrid smells, leaving him in just the gentle presence of you..

At least until you opened the door to the outside world the city lights and smells hit him like a fucking truck. He cringed, for even in the late hour the lights were in full shine and cars honked aggressively at each other in the streets. It was overwhelming and only made him retreat farther into arms, trying to escape from it.

Oh great, here comes the nausea again.

He groaned and you thankfully put a bit more pep in your step as you headed into the musky night air, finally reaching your car after what felt like a small eternity.

He had felt the keys already in your hand when you picked him up, and now you carefully tried to unlock the car door while maintaining your hold. It was surely a fairly easy task, considering the two of you had been in this exact position so many times before, and it wasn't long before you opened the door and tried to place him into the passenger seat.

"...You know you gotta let go so we can go home."

".....no."

He could feel your breathy laugh brush past his skull and neck, nearly making him tremble, but he still held on tight.

Sans just didn't want to let you go.

"..Please?"

.........

He.. reluctantly released his grasp, slowly sliding into the seat as he already began missing your warmth. His eyes automatically slipped shut, feeling more relaxed in the familiar space of your car. The passenger side seat was still just how he left it, tilted back just enough so he could nap comfortably.

"Just a sec."

"...mmmhh."

At least it was a more attractive sound this time.

Then he waited.. for what felt like another small eternity, almost tempted to brave the bright world to look at you before he was joined by a pleasant warmth, and the soft scents of rain and earth.

You laid your jacket on him, and he quickly hugged on to it while you busied yourself with buckling him in. Another easy task, as he heard the click of the seatbelt in place, and felt your presence leave him once more. He barely cracking his eyesockets open to catch your gaze, and for the briefest of moments he was greeted by your smile

"Was it fun?"

"...no.."

You let out a snort, shaking your head at his bluntness before standing up closing the door.

One last small eternity later and you opened up the driver side door, seating yourself before buckling yourself in.

"If I remember correctly you didn't have fun the last time you went out with her either, so why go?" you asked, turning the key and starting your car.

There was no judgement in your tone, more like a genuine curiosity. Surely it must've seemed dumb to keep torturing yourself in the presence of people you didn't like.. but..

"i'unno..." he muttered.

He was lonely.

"..jus didn' have anythin' else...since you were gone.."

There was a small pause as he watched your brows furrow, but you kept your gaze ahead as you pulled out of the parking lot and into the busy streets of Ebott.

"Well I did invite you," you reminded him and he let a small huff.

"i didn' wanna... intrude.. on your.. family... whatever."

"You know my mom wouldn't mind."

"...i know.."

Urgh.

Darn that woman for being almost as equally likeable as you were.

Really.. at first he could hardly believe the two of you were related with how bright and cheerful your mother was compared to your rather indifferent demeanor, but you both had that same tenderness that shone through in the way you cared for people.

...She always made him feel so welcome anytime he came around.

Like family..

....

And yet...

He didn't want to sully such a happy image with someone like himself.

So instead of joining you for an evening of board games and home cooked meals with your mom, he filled his meaningless life with people who were just as meaningless. He stuffed that empty skull of his with hollow praises, and anything that'd take these vile feelings away.

He didn't deserve this.

He didn't deserve.. you.

He deserved to be used up.

Thrown out.

And forgotten.

..Just like the rest of the people like him..

So... why did you refuse to let him go?

....

Once again he was too scared to ask.

Too scared of the answer he might receive, even if there was a possibility that it could save him. He just wanted to keep holding onto this. On to you, in hopes that you'd still just always be there for him.

Just like.. you always were.

....

He let out another huff, feeling those words threatening to spill forth again as he clutched on to your jacket. His hand wandered over to the same place it always did when he felt like shit but couldn't say it, to the middle console where it waited patiently.

His patience was rewarded, one small eternity later, when he felt your hand gently settle over his.

There was nothing more he could do to keep the words from spilling forth.

"i love you..."

And he meant it, with every fiber of his soul.

"I love you too Sans."

..Not in the same way, he knew, but...

This was still just enough.

Enough to keep him here.

Enough to keep him going, with the hope that maybe some day.. you would really love him too, in the same ways that he loved you.

#it's real sad boi hours #luckily he always has you #cheshire!sans #sans #undertale #underlust #lust sans #undertale fic #long post #fic #fanfic #alchohol tw #drugs tw #drabble #alch!writes #inbetween!fic #one left!

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hurricanery · 4 years ago

Text

something good

A/N: Okay so I was going to write pt. 3 of If You Went Away tonight but then those promo pics came out and I was inspired to write some fluffy amelink instead. Also couldn’t get the image of Link holding Scout out of my head soooo here’s this. If you wanted pt. 3 don’t worry it’s coming, it’ll be the next thing I post!

_______

Amelia gasps awake suddenly, sitting up in bed. She looks at the clock. 4:33 AM.

It’s been happening a lot lately. The vivid dreams. The dreams that seem so realistic, they feel physically draining to wake up from. She doesn’t always remember the details. But in the moments that immediately follow her awakening, her mind is flooded with images of Meredith. And panicked thoughts about what’s going to happen to her.

Amelia knows that her sister-in-law’s current condition is the source of her stress. She spends most of her days worrying about Meredith. About what her being put on the ventilator truly means. And now the worry was creeping into her nights, too. Interrupting her sleep and making her heart race during the moments that were supposed to be the most calm and relaxing.

She sits all the way up and shifts to the side, placing her bare feet onto the floor below.

“Amelia,” she hears Link mutter sleepily behind her. She turns her head to the side, not fully looking at him.

“Hey.”

“You have another bad dream?”

Amelia smiles at the fact that he remembers. She never purposely wakes him up when the dreams happen. She always talks herself down until her mind is quiet and then eventually tries to fall back asleep. But, it was starting to become more physically obvious that she wasn’t sleeping well. It would be written all over her face the next day. She’d be dragging along, or she’d zone out too often, or suppress too many yawns. And so when Link had asked her what was up, she’d confessed about her interrupted sleep. About the vivid dreams that were hard to bounce back from.

“I’m good,” she doesn’t exactly answer his question. She gets up slowly, stepping into her slippers and moving towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Link still sounds like he’s half-asleep.

“I just have to check on the kids.”

“Hm?” Link seems a little more alert now, he’s sitting up partially and noticing the general quiet of the house. No baby crying. No movement from the other kids. “They’re good, no one’s crying.”

Amelia finally turns to him from the doorway, giving him a pleading look. “I just….have to.”

Link frowns.

“I’ll be right back.”

Amelia makes it a point to stop into every bedroom. She carefully approaches each door, peeking her head in to confirm what she already knows to be true. Zola is sound asleep. And when Amelia checks on Bailey, he stirs slightly, always a restless sleeper. Ellis is a sound sleeper like Zola, but also a heavy breather. Amelia smiles to herself as she recalls how Meredith would joke about Ellis one day developing her mother’s snoring habits.

When she approaches Scout’s nursery, she decides not to risk waking him up, knowing it will just add to her sleepless night. Instead, she places her ear to the door and listens for his sleepy babbling. The familiar sounds of her sleeping son comfort her and she forgets for a moment about Meredith. And about the current state of the world.

It’s Link’s snores down the hallway, carrying through from the open bedroom door, that shake her from her reverie. She tiptoes back to the room, leaving her slippers at the door. She collapses back onto her side of the bed and Link subconsciously rolls towards her, pulling her into his chest.

She breathes deeply; gratefully. She tries to sleep.

_______

A few days later, and Amelia is still feeling the repercussions of her sleepless nights.

She feels like she’s moving on autopilot as she folds the laundry. The distant sound of the TV, whatever movie she put on for the kids, fills her ears like mindless background noise. To her left, through the screened porch door, she can hear Maggie laughing loudly from somewhere outside. She peeks outside briefly to match voices with faces, before Link pulls her attention by walking in from outside.

“Oh hey,” Link grins.

“What’s Avery doing here?” Amelia questions.

“Oh, he had to drop something off to Maggie,” Link explains. “And then,” Link raises his eyebrow incredulously, “He had some things to discuss with me about Jo….”

Amelia squints at him. The tone of his voice matched with the look on his face leads her to believe that there’s a much bigger story there, perhaps for another time.

“Do I want to know?”

Link laughs, shaking his head. Just before he can answer, they are interrupted by Scout’s cries on the baby monitor. Amelia drops the clothes she’s folding and immediately moves towards the door.

“No, wait,” Link reaches for her shoulder, gently stopping her. “I got him. You should go out there and say hi to those guys.”

Amelia nods, letting him take this one.

Minutes later, when Link returns outside with Scout wrapped up in his arms, everyone else is heading out. He watches as Amelia waves goodbye and walks back across the yard in his direction.

“Someone’s awake?” She grins up at Link when she approaches.

“Oh yeah,” he looks down, matching her grin and adjusting the blanket. “Wide awake.”

Amelia’s phone rings, interrupting them, and Amelia glances towards the patio table, where she’d left her phone earlier. Her eyes grow wide momentarily as she focuses on Link, but then she’s quickly moving to answer it.

She looks down at the caller ID and her heart sinks.

“Dr. Bailey,” she answers, monotone voice.

Amelia doesn’t do a lot of talking after that. Just nodding. And Link watches cautiously, trying to gain any information from her facial expressions.

“Okay, thanks. Yeah. Thanks. Bye.”

Amelia hangs up the phone, placing it back down on the table slowly, and then releases a shaky breath.

“Amelia?” Link approaches her tentatively.

She stares ahead, avoiding eye contact with Link. Then shrugs somewhat apathetically. “There’s no news. No updates. She’s the same.” Amelia finally says.

Link sighs in relief. And Amelia’s eyes snap to his face.

“Why do you look relieved?”

Link shrugs, a little bit defensively. “Well that’s not bad news, exactly-”

“Right,” Amelia harshly interrupts. “It’s nothing at all, it’s-” she shakes her head, reaching up to rest her hands on top of her head. “What are we supposed to do with that?!”

Amelia’s voice is raised and it’s causing Scout to fuss. At the same time, the back door swings open and Zola steps out.

“Auntie Amelia?” her small voice grabs their attention.

“Zola,” Amelia greets her, doing her best to disguise her worry. “Is the movie over?”

“What’s going on?” Zola ignores her aunt’s question.

“Nothing, sweetie. We’ll be inside in a minute.”

Zola takes the hint and turns back around, heading inside. But Amelia can’t ignore the stress on her niece’s face. In a way, it mirrors her own.

“Amelia,” Link pulls her attention back. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before he speaks again. “It’s not bad news. Let’s not treat it as bad news yet…”

Amelia stares at him, then nods. “I just need good news....I need something good.”

“Well,” Link offers a smile, trying to see the positive in the situation. “Let’s hold out for that, okay?”

Amelia nods again in agreement, walking closer to him until she’s standing by his side. She gently rests her head against his shoulder. They stand there, the three of them, in momentary bliss, or hopefulness, or false positivity, or whatever the moment revealed itself to be.

Amelia finally lifts her head away, instead reaching for Link’s free hand and leading them inside. She glances up at Link. “I’ll take him to bed,” she reaches for Scout. “Will you reheat the kids some mac and cheese for a late dinner? I might go to bed early, too.”

“You should,” Link responds, surprised at the idea of Amelia actively attempting to get some sleep. “You need it.”

Amelia just smiles tiredly at him, her exhaustion catching up with her rapidly. She walks slowly up the stairs with Scout in her arms and listens to the excitement below as Link announces dinner to the kids.

After putting Scout down, Amelia realizes she can barely keep her eyes open. The weeks of restless sleep finally threatening to completely consume her. She can barely bring herself to change out of her jeans and sweater before collapsing into bed.

_______

Amelia wakes at 6:11 AM feeling surprisingly refreshed. It feels like forever since she’s slept through the night, and even though it feels fantastic, it also feels confusing. She hasn’t woken up on her own accord in a long time. Whether it was the stress dreams, or the sound of Scout’s cries, she’d typically be forced awake at some point.

But this morning, she wakes naturally. It’s confusing. And what’s equally puzzling, is the absence of Link next to her.

Blinking a few times to shake her sleep, Amelia gets out of bed. She shivers slightly, throwing one of Link’s sweatshirts on and walking down the hall to Scout’s Nursery.

It’s still dark outside, but with the street lamps filtering in from window, Amelia can make out her favorite scene in front of her. Link stands, humming softly, rocking Scout gently in his arms. It’s beyond adorable, and Amelia wouldn’t dare to interrupt the moment, so she hangs back and just observes.

“We can’t be up this late, little guy,” Link mutters. “I know there’s lots of not sleeping around here these days....But we can’t make a habit out of this….” He trails off and Scout sneezes lightly into Link’s neck, causing Link to stifle a laugh.

Link walks to the window and pulls open the curtains. Sunrise was on its way, the sky just barely starting to blush golden pink. Scout’s bright-eyed gaze turns to the outside, enamored. And Link watches Scout’s wonder.

The moment almost becomes too much for Amelia. It makes her heart clench to remember how profoundly afraid of this she was, how sure she was about never going through another pregnancy, or having another child. She looks at Link and Scout now, watches this perfect moment, and knows she wouldn’t trade anything in the world for this.

Scout starts to fuss a little bit in Link’s arms. A classic move for him in the middle of the night or early morning.

“Hey,” Link soothes. “Shhh, it’s okay.” He cuddles Scout up near his neck. Amelia watches as Link turns his head and gives Scout a kiss on the cheek, humming again to him softly.

Over Link’s shoulder, Scout makes eye contact with Amelia and lets out a happy gurgle. Link turns around, unaware that he was being watched, and grins when he sees Amelia. “Well look who’s here, Scout. Someone was trying to sneak up on us.”

“I was not,” Amelia retorts playfully.

“Sure,” Link teases as Amelia steps into the nursery and joins them, dropping a kiss on her son’s head. “We’re just hanging out. Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Ah, right,” Amelia grins. “How long have you guys been up?”

Link shrugs. “Just for a little bit.”

They both can’t help but stare down at their little guy. Scout’s eyes are growing heavy. And he sighs sleepily.

With a carefulness that still makes Amelia’s heart want to burst out of her chest, Link eases Scout off his shoulder and puts him down into his crib. "Good night, bud,” he whispers. Smiling, he turns back to Amelia and pulls her in at the waist, kissing her on the forehead. “Let’s go back to bed,” he offers.

The sun starts to rise as they walk back down the hall, Scout’s sleepy babble drifting away from them.

“You good?” Link questions as they climb back into bed.

Amelia nods, rolling onto her side to face Link.

“That’s good,” he mumbles, and Amelia laughs at how quickly Link becomes incoherent with sleep. “Everyone’s….good....” He trails off.

“Can’t think of another word?” Amelia stifles a laugh.

Link sighs, on the verge of unconsciousness. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow.”

Link’s quiet snores fill the space between them and Amelia smiles at the lack of response. For the first time in a long time, she feels restful.

#amelink #amelink fanfic #amelinkfic #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #amelia x link #greys anatomy fanfic #grey's anatomy fanfic #greys anatomy fic #grey's anatomy fic #my writing

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septic-skele · 4 years ago

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UF - Out of Reach

Summary: Classic and Blue have it good with their brothers. They make displays of love and affection look so easy. Red can’t help but feel bitter about it. He stands no chance of ever having anything like that with his boss.

Well, not with that attitude about it, Blue says.

Red couldn’t understand it. Logically he figured it was because Classic and Blue came from drastically different backgrounds. They weren’t living with eye sockets in the back of their heads or half-formed, sharpened bones under their pillows like he and Boss did. They were probably just as baffled about him and his behavior, but there was something Blue had said once that wouldn’t leave his mind.

Red had walked in on a private moment and for reasons beyond him, he hadn’t taken a hasty shortcut back out. He stopped and stared and couldn’t help being taken aback when he saw Blue cradling his Papyrus’ skull against his shoulder, murmuring comforts to him. Red had never seen that casual, laidback Papyrus so drunk, weak and vulnerable, much less Blue so solemn.

“I love you, Papy,” he soothed. “I’d love you no matter the ‘reset’, whatever that may be—no matter the world, no matter the universe. A good, proper Sans would never give up on his brother, and I am just that.”

Good, proper. Red had no illusions of propriety but the idea of it nagged and frustrated him. Any time he had tried to console Papyrus in recent memory, it had ended with all the wrong things being said and door hinges buckling under the strain of being slammed.

Red already knew what Blue would say if he heard of this. “You can always try again! I believe in you, pal! You simply need to persevere! You’ll get through to him, I know it!” Disgusting.

The worst part of it, however, was that even Classic did it better than he could. Classic—depressed, cynical, apathetic, a liar to Papyrus’ face more often than not—still loved his brother better.

Somehow the six of them had survived a night in together, though the argument over the TV remote had almost come to blows and the throw pillows may have sacrificed some of their stuffing. Now that they were all retiring, Red wandered down the hall to hear strains of Classic’s voice from one of the nearby bedrooms. He didn’t sound anything like the blasé character Red usually knew; he was lighter, actually putting effort into this.

“…Peekaboo had become a game of hide-and-seek! Where could her friends have gone? Fluffy Bunny wondered, bounding across the green, green field to look for them. She searched high! She searched low!”

“She searched near and far,” Papyrus chimed in.

“You bet she did. She searched east and west, under rocks and up in trees. But Fluffy Bunny couldn’t find her friends anywhere! Wherever could they be?”

Maybe they ditched her for wantin’ to play such stupid games, Red mused with a snort, although as Classic continued he was distracted by an old, old memory fluttering forth.

He had spent hours poring over the dump, fishing out as many old, damaged books as he could find. Drained and shivering, he’d lugged them back to the nook where he’d left Papyrus, safely out of sight. Before he could find sleep, Papyrus had thrown himself over Red’s back and pitched a fit about learning how to read.

“Show me, brother! I want to do it like you do, I want to try! It doesn’t have to be the long one! Just show me how, please! Please, please, please, plea-a-a-ase!”

Red had capitulated only because he didn’t want the tantrum to draw unwanted attention, but that wasn’t the part that stuck with him. Papyrus had curled up against him, half-tucked under his coat, watching him trace letters with intent focus. As he haltingly sounded out the words, every small success made him light up like a star, clutching eagerly at Red’s ribs for his approval.

“Did you see that, Sans?! Did you hear me?! I did it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Pipe down, kid, I saw. Nice one.”

Red’s opinion and praise had still meant something to Papyrus back then. Stars, he was still willing to cuddle with him, despite the filth and the damp clinging to his clothes from the river.

Had Boss ever really been that hopeful, clingy little baby bones or was Red trying to convince himself that was how it had happened? It was so long ago. Pap could have just fished those books out and taught himself while Sans was away, trying to find work. That sounded far more likely.

“G’night, bro,” Classic concluded, sliding the book onto the nightstand and giving his Papyrus an affectionate squeeze of the hand.

Balking, Red ducked back toward the stairs before he could be found snooping, all too well aware of what Boss might do if he ever dared reach out that way. He’d probably end up losing a few fingers.

It wasn’t fair, something small and spiteful in the back of his mind huffed. The idea nearly made him miss one of the steps, torn between shock and scornful amusement. Since when had fairness ever been part of the equation? If things were fair…

If things were fair, they would probably look a lot like the scene he had just left, as well as the scene he was walking into now. Blue perched prim and proper on the end of the couch, surfing idly through channels. His brother was stretched across the rest of the cushions, head propped against Blue’s lap, swaddled up in blankets, the whole nine yards.

Jerks. They were intent on showing off now; they knew exactly how good they had it. Sparks of irrational anger crackled along Red's jaw and spine. If he had something immediately on hand to hurl at them, he would have, but he had already shucked off his boots and summoning a bone would be a waste of magic.

“Edgy me?” Blue called in a faux whisper, making him tense. “I would have thought you’d be asleep already.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda hard to rest easy with Classic jabbering on about fluffy bunnies through the wall!” Red snarked, louder and sharper than necessary. He took little satisfaction in the way Blue winced, resting a hand on Papy’s skull as if to muffle the noise.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” So genteel, so polite, he still offered an inviting smile. “If you’d care to come and join us, any of the chairs from the dinner table are free! Mweheh, I honestly have no idea how Papy sleeps like this; the side I sit on is the only one without mangled, broken springs. It’s probably all of his tossing and turning that’s done it. I’ve been meaning to get them repaired, but he hardly ever leaves the couch to let me at it! He really ought to—”

“Shut up already, would’ja? I don’t care! Besides—Tch, wouldn’t want to interrupt your cute little ‘brother bonding’ time.”

“Oh, no, y-you’re not interrupting anything! Did I imply that somehow? I’m sorry! If you want part of the couch, I can wake him and ask him to scoot over—”

“How d’you make it look so easy?” It broke free before Red could fully comprehend how irrational it would be to ask. Jaw clenching so tightly that his teeth squeaked, he drew back from his own brash demand. Blue tilted his head.

“I’m sorry?” That counted three times in this conversation that he’d apologized for nothing. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He should have retreated. He should have spat, “Never mind!” and transported to his room to seethe in privacy. Instead his foolish, fat mouth blundered on. “How d’you get him to do that?” He threw an irritated gesture at the sleeping lump on his lap. “How d’you make him…relax, with you there? It’s as if he likes having you around!”

Even that was saying too much and yet just enough. Realization dawned in Blue’s eyes, followed by—oh, stars, there was pity.

“Well, I…I’m not really sure. If there are no other comfortable surfaces around for him while he sleeps, I’m happy to help! The last thing he needs is a cramp in his neck. Heh, I’m not tall enough to fix that for him so why not try to prevent it entirely? We’ve huddled up ever since we were baby bones; it’s always been this way.”

Of course. Cheekbones flaming, Red ducked his head. They never had raging fights that lasted until dawn (or until they started losing their voices, whichever came first.) Blue and Stretch had it all sorted out from birth, cozy and coddled.

“…Papy always caught cold too easily. I’d make up some rather impressive beds for him with grass and water sausages so he wouldn’t have to sleep on the rock, but the dew would leave him shivering all night! I couldn’t let that stand! Those chattering teeth of his kept me awake too so I made the noble sacrifice and slept on the damp side while he nestled up to me.” Blue chuckled, an uncharacteristic note of something laced through it. “With our two shirts tucked together, we could almost imagine a full hoodie like he has now!”

“Wh—You? That’s rich.” That was decidedly not what Red had been picturing as a life that could spit out someone as sickeningly sweet as Blue. “You’re not tellin’ me you two were homeless.”

“I preferred to think of us as explorers!” Blue corrected. “I told Papy that we were on an adventure to find the perfect place for a new start. We experienced all that the Underground had to offer a couple of wandering baby bones: scavenging, hide-and-seek, games of chase with older monsters, who were rather poor sports when they couldn’t catch us. I grew strong and magnificent thanks to all of that exercise and my brother…well, he tried very hard!”

Red shuffled uncomfortably in place. Funny, how familiar all of those experiences sounded—but from someone else’s mouth?

“Then Papy fell terribly ill. He was poisoned, in fact. It was the first time I really wondered if I’d lose him.” Ignoring how Red startled, Blue glanced pensively down at his snoring brother, smoothing his fingers more gently over his skull. “It may have been an accident, but I was responsible for his safety; I should have been paying closer attention. In part it was my fault.”

“And he…forgave you for that?” An accident like that, caused by a slip in Sans’ attention, could probably get him disowned.

“On the contrary, he blamed himself! He blames himself for a great many things and he thinks most of them can’t be helped. I try, I always try to help. What’s infuriating is that he acts as if he doesn’t deserve it. Despite what you may think, there are plenty of times he doesn’t want me around. He shuts down, he pushes me away, he tells me I’m wasting my time.”

Red’s eyelights flicked off.

“Shut up, Sans. I don’t want to discuss it.”

“You idiot! Get away from me!”

“Useless. What a waste of time.”

“I think he’s scared of what might happen if he lets his guard down…Perhaps he thinks I’m not strong enough to face whatever is underneath,” Blue continued. “Perhaps he thinks that if he lets me too close, it will be the thing to drive me away for good. Nevertheless! With time and patience, I know I’ll convince him.”

“But how?! How am I supposed to—I mean, how do you keep trying when it never does any good?”

“It does do some good, I’m sure of it! I keep pushing to help him so he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that I won’t be driven away so easily. Maybe Papy just isn’t ready to show me the good it’s done yet. He has to learn to trust himself before he can trust me, but he can never say that I don’t care about him. I’ll show love to every part of him, even the bad, and it will be an influence for the better. I will break down those barriers!” Blue concluded with a fiercer grin.

A good Sans would never give up on his brother.

“Doesn’t it…suck?” Red ground out, hoping it wouldn’t be interpreted as an admission of weakness. Doesn’t it hurt? “When he shuts you out all the time?”

“Of course. I never said it was an easy task but it’s not within me to accept defeat!” Blue stopped up short then, holding his breath as Papyrus shifted against him. Neither Red nor Blue had been particularly careful about their volume.

After a few moments of adjustment, Stretch settled deeper into his blankets with a sleepy hum of contentment. Blue softened, eyelights aglow with such fondness that Red could almost feel a ripple of it in the air between them. It made his soul turn.

“He’s my only brother. We only have each other in the end. Isn’t that worth the effort?”

_____________________________________

If Red hadn’t been passing his boss’s room at precisely the right moment, he never would have heard it: a string of low, ragged gasps, followed by a rumble that could have been a groan or a growl. Sans grimaced at the sound, already aware of what was happening. Boss never made noise in his sleep unless he was injured, pain slipping through the cracks of his subconscious, or he was fighting a nightmare. Seeing as the last few days had been highly uneventful, it would be the latter.

Welp, that’s his problem. I’m not about to get impaled ’cause he mistakes me for his sleep paralysis demon.

That was habit speaking. Better reasoning caught him a few steps later, slowing him to a halt.

It would be easy to swan off, mind his own business and let Papyrus suffer on his own. It would have been easy to do it years ago too, when Pap was nothing but a scrawny baby bones who couldn’t have done anything about it.

If he hadn’t then, why should he now? It was Boss’s shouts in the morning that often woke him from dark dreams…He could return the favor and feel less indebted to him for it.

It was only fair.

Cursing his newly planted seed of a conscience, Sans pivoted with great difficulty and kicked a foot at the door with a small thump. No answer. He kicked again. The gruff breaths from within quickened.

“…Boss?” he ventured, clearing his throat roughly. “Hey. Boss.” Belatedly he realized that he had no proper excuse ready if Papyrus awoke and asked what he wanted. That might not go over well, but the circumstances were making it hard to focus. Those strangled groans were slowly but surely chipping away his first instinct of self-preservation.

He was definitely going to get impaled. One shot, -9999 damage and his life would be over, all for an attempt to be considerate, but he could hear it now in Papyrus’ voice. There was a scared little brat trapped inside the intimidating commander and that brat clearly still needed a big brother to drag him out of trouble.

Steeled for his impending doom, Sans jostled open the door. “Boss,” he began again as he poked his head in. “You’re makin’ noise, alright? You gotta—Whoa, whoa, whoa, that’s not good—”

Papyrus was a writhing, tangled mess in his blankets, some already torn where his claws had caught. Sweat and magic bled down his face, eye sockets sputtering and smoking in a flurry of colors as he choked for traction to cry out.

“Ngnnh—No, no—stop!”

“Boss?!” Sans stammered, surging forward. Of their own volition his hands got busy, dragging at the blankets to rend them free of Papyrus’ kicking legs. “Bro, hey! It’s okay, it’s just a dream!”

From there it must have only been a few seconds but to Sans it felt like an eternity before Papyrus lurched upright, already scrambling. He didn’t lunge to attack as Sans had expected but recoiled; it was only when he smacked his skull against the wall behind him that he came to a lurching stop.

“I-It’s just me, Pap,” Sans stated cautiously. He wouldn’t have dared use the old nickname under any other circumstances, but it seemed to clear some of the wild haze in his brother’s eyes. It took a beat for him to formulate an appropriate response.

“Get out,” he rasped. It didn’t hold a candle to its usual bite. He was still panting, disoriented. “What are you doing here?”

Which d’you want, an answer or me getting out? “I heard you…Well, I didn’t know if somethin’ was up. Maybe someone…broke in or somethin’, trying to get to you.”

“Oh?” Shoulders shuddering in what could barely be masked as a laugh, Papyrus shook his head minutely. “And what could you do to save me? L-Look at you. You’re not even armed.”

“And look who didn’t even wake up when I barged in here! The big, bad boss could’ve gotten killed in his sleep because he was too busy cryin’ like a—” By the greatest restraint he cut himself off, foreseeing how that would be received, but he’d said enough already.

“Get. Out,” Papyrus snarled, rediscovering vitriol enough for Sans to cringe.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Get out, you fool, this instant, or I’ll—!”

“I’m sorry, okay? I was worried!” That word felt taboo aloud. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright and you weren’t so I stayed to help.”

“There’s nothing you can do here, Sans; as always, you—you prove to be utterly inadequate! Your best course of action will be to close the door behind you.” Judging by the way his chin jutted out, he was clearly expecting that to be the last word.

“…No.” Tossing the blanket’s edge back to the floor, Sans squared up. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” The incredulity that flashed in Pap’s eyes should have cowed him but he had resigned himself to that already at the door. “I’m not just gonna leave you here, all jittery and crunched up against the wall. I can’t leave you like this. You’re not fine and I know if I try to say somethin’ to make it better, I’ll screw it up. Like you said, I always do. So let’s just skip that part where I do it wrong and get to the bit where you tell me what you need. What d’you need to feel better and get back to sleep okay?”

The following silence caught him off guard. Papyrus was never at a loss for further scathing remarks so why was he just staring at him? Moreover, where had his anger gone? He looked smaller without it, less like the Great and Terrible Papyrus and more like…

Papyrus. Red’s only brother. Hunched down, hands fisted into the mattress, micro-tremors trailing down his ribs as he breathed, he looked exhausted.

A minute passed. Maybe it was two.

Sans fidgeted, his nerve failing. “Boss, listen, I—”

“Tea,” he muttered, hooded eyes darting away. “If you really want to make yourself useful.” Sans hadn’t expected his soul to fill his throat at that response; something must have shown in his face, as Papyrus’ next grumble was even quieter. “You’re acting uncharacteristically generous with your work ethic. Why would I pass up this opportunity to make you work in the kitchen for once?”

Sans felt oddly light at the words as he nodded, turning for the door. “Gotcha.” He had never thought this day would come. For once in his life, he saw doing more work as a victory.

If it did some small modicum of good, if it made one miniscule chip in those walls between them, it would be worth the effort.

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years ago

Text

It’s Not a Secret I Try to Hide

For my 750 Follower Celebration, @darealbellabelleoftheball asked me to write something for Loki with the prompt: “You make me nauseated.” “It’s called love.” I was stumped for a bit on how to get this to work, but I’m pretty content with what I ended up coming up with! I hope y’all enjoy!

Somehow, over the year-long period that you had spent living and working with the Avengers, Loki had cemented himself firmly into your heart.

It had started slowly. The first time you had noticed him was when he kept the door from swinging into your unobservant face when you were leaving a mission briefing, not even looking at you as he gripped onto the glass before stalking away. The second was when you had grumbled to Cap loudly about how your favorite blanket for couch snuggling was ruined by blood from a distracted Bucky, and two more replaced it the very next day. When you’d asked the others about it, they claimed to have assumed FRIDAY ordered it for you.

But you knew better.

Because along with the small gestures here and there, you had noticed the slight shift in his behavior around you. The looks that he gave your male coworkers when they drew too close to you for his liking, or how close he would stick to you during jobs that got a bit dicey and dangerous. He had blocked several bullets for you on more than one occasion.

So you had made the first move, deciding that he wasn’t going to, one evening when you were watching television while he was reading beside you.

“You like me,” you stated boldly, poking him in the arm.

He quirked an elegant brow, not even looking up from his book. “I tolerate you more than the others.”

You shifted and pulled your knees beneath you, sitting on them and facing him fully. Your finger never stopped poking his impressively firm bicep. “No, you like me.”

With a heavy, exasperated sigh, he closed his book and placed it on the coffee table that supported his crossed feet before leaning back again. “What are you implying?”

His pupils expanded to cover most of the dazzling green of his eyes when your hand reached out to settle over his collar-bones, fingertips grazing over the smooth column of his throat. You leaned forward, supporting yourself with your other hand on his thigh, drawing close until there was only a breath separating you. “You’re attracted to me, you enjoy my company. You want to kiss me.”

His eyes flicked between yours before dropping to your slightly pouted lips, indecision warring plainly in his gaze. But you could wait all evening, poised above him, offering yourself up to him for the taking. Thankfully, he didn’t make you wait long, tilting his chin to brush your lips together in an impossibly tender kiss that chipped away at the outermost layer of emotional protection around your fragile heart.

And with each lingering touch on your arm in passing, each heated look dragging down your body from across a room, and each stolen kiss when you were alone, he worked his way into your heart and soul until there was no use denying it.

Now if only he would admit that he held the same feelings in return.

“You love me,” you teased in a sing-song, pecking him on the cheek before stepping around him to grab your water bottle from where he had placed it down after wordlessly refilling it for you.

He glanced around to confirm your solitude before hooking his arm around your waist, tugging you toward him so that you were pressed up against the length of his lean body. With the barest of smiles cracking the perpetually apathetic expression that masked his handsome face, he countered with his typical reply of, “I tolerate you.”

Your hand stretched across his back, delighting in the flex of his muscles beneath the warm, soft cotton of his black t-shirt. The other rubbed the cold metal bottle against the dip of his spine, earning you a quiet relieved groan. When your head tucked beneath his chin to nuzzle your cheek into his chest, his fingers tightened around you, drawing you impossibly closer. “Well, I love you.”

“As you should,” he hummed, clearly pleased. His lips pressed against the top of your head in a soft kiss that you honestly didn’t expect, considering you were quite sweaty from a recent sparring session with the god holding you captive in his loving embrace.

You slapped his chest, pulling yourself from his embrace to take a long pull of icy cold water courtesy or your Frost Giant. “You’ll admit it one day!”

Perhaps the Christmas season would draw the warm-fuzzies out of your chilled sweetheart?

You rolled over in his arms on the couch, carefully arranging your legs between his and drawing your arms up to prop yourself up onto his chest. He dutifully repositioned the blanket over your bodies, letting his hands settle on your hips once his task was complete.

“May I help you?” His head tilted to the side against the arm of the couch to better take in the thoughtful expression that had you biting on your bottom lip gently.

Your hands tugged lightly at his raven hair that tumbled over his shoulders. “This is nice. You, me, a cheesy Christmas movie, cozy blanket, snow falling outside over the twinkling New York City skyline. I love it. I love you.”

His practiced indifference didn’t crack beyond the warmth shining in his eyes. “It is quite enjoyable.”

You deflated, hands going limp over his shoulders. “Enjoyable?”

“Is that not what you desired to hear?” The lazy circles he had been drawing on your hips stopped and he tensed beneath you.

You climbed off of him, throwing the blanket away with a huff, stalking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows to stare out at the bustling city beneath you. You had been trying and trying for over to a year to peel away the complicated layers of his armor to get at the real man underneath, and he just wouldn’t give. You didn’t need sweeping declarations of love from the man, grand gestures or lavish gifts. Just something to show he cared. You were only human.

“Have I upset you?” he asked, his footsteps echoing over the smooth floors to bridge the distance between you. The heat of his body radiated against your back, scented with pine and male musk that made your knees weaken at the delicious familiarity of it.

“Cut the shit, Loki,” you snapped, your withheld emotions boiling over suddenly and without warning, turning to pin him down with the full force of your glare. “You’re playing at this scared, hesitant game with me and I’m tired of it. I love you, and you know it. I’m never happier than when I’m with you, even if we’re in the middle of a warzone kicking ass and getting ours handed to us. So until you decide that you’re allowed to have emotion, and show emotion when we’re alone, you can spend your evenings by yourself.”

He stopped your dramatic exit with a hand wrapped gently around your wrist. You didn’t turn around to face him, forcing him to step around so that his torso encompassed your field of vision. He was going to have to work for it. “I enjoy your company.”

You shifted your weight to your back foot, popping your hip and shaking your head as you stared up at him with narrowed eyes. “More.”

It was like you had asked him to relinquish all of his daggers, he looked so frustrated. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand before dropping it to hang loosely at his side. “I am quite fond of you.”

Your finger dug into the knit sweater over his sternum. “Try harder.”

An unbelievable vulnerability slowly came over his face, starting in the downward tilt of his brows to the tightness of his clenched jaw. He brushed his hands down your arms to lace your fingers together in the chilled chasm between you. His deep exhaled breath washed across your face in a cloud of peppermint and chocolate. “You have made my days spent in this infernal tower tolerable. I find myself longing for you as soon as I wake, and yearning for you when we are apart. There is nothing akin to the balm that your touch provides on my skin, and I long to spend eternity at your side.”

It took every ounce of willpower that you had within you to not tear up at his words. The corners of your eyes pricked with heat and you tapped your foot on the floor, willing the stone-cold badass inside of you to take control. Your accusatory finger curled along with the rest of your hand over where his heart beat the strongest, fast and heavy as he waited for your reaction with bated breath.

Once you had regained some semblance of control, you smiled, standing on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and lean your forehead against his. “You love me.”

He rolled his eyes, but his hands still held onto your hips to steady you against him nonetheless. “You make me nauseated.”

You pecked a quick kiss on the corner of his upturned lips. “It’s called love.”

Little Bit o’ Loki Taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815

Whole Shebang Taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @blah666 @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @claritastantrum @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @lovesmesomehiddles @silverswordthekilljoy

#loki fanfic #loki fic #loki/reader #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #marvel fanfic #hopeless750celebration #hopelesswrites

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specterchasing-a · 4 years ago

Text

Brainberry Picking || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current-ish

LOCATION: Jericho Hill Cemetery

PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems & @specterchasing

SUMMARY: A zombie and a medium meet in a graveyard, one of them might have a foot fetish.

CONTENT: Aside from the foot fetish, all is well.

“I just don’t see how you can have a whole existence that relies on human systems and communities--well people systems and communities and not give a crap just because you’ve been doing it for a long time,” Morgan complained, swilling her chopsticks around her brains and rice. “Aren’t we responsible for each other even if we’re three hundred and some baby normie is twenty? How can apathy be a good thing?”

It was her off day from work, and rather than worry her family by spending the day cooped up inside, she opted to spend as much time outside as possible, even if being in hunting range made her nervous. But Jericho Hill was more ghostly than anything else, and the trusted the soldier to signal if he saw anything dangerous looking, even if he did talk a big game about being specater in the game of humanity, and the effects of longevity. He’d saved her and Erin. He had more of a heart than he wanted to admit, even for a centuries-old kid.

The colonial soldier shrugged and said that she should wait and see until she was older.

“Okay, teen grandpa,” Morgan deadpanned.

The colonial soldier changed the subject by way of nodding toward her foot. Did she require assistance or was she really just that bad at noticing grievous injuries?

Morgan looked down at the chunks of broken bottle protruding from her toes. “Fucking--” She hissed and propped up her foot, starting to yank out the pieces one by one and wipe the black blood on her skirt so there wouldn’t be anything for hunters to find when they prowled at night. Her wounds would close up soon enough. As much as she wanted to sport as much extra strength as possible, she hadn’t figured out how to negotiate her fear of being caught off guard by some junior college murderer and the fear of not being herself.

In the distance, stone scattered across the tall grass. Morgan stopped, mid tug, and looked around. “Hello?”

Jericho Hill, one of Eddie’s most beloved places to visit. The other cemeteries in town had their charm, but meandering among the derelict headstones of White Crest’s oldest burial ground came second to none. As per usual, he arrived with a camera—just in case.

Eddie minded the graves as he wandered, making sure not to intrude on anyone’s final resting place. Midway through the graveyard, he spotted two figures with their backs to him in the midst of conversation. Considering Jericho Hill was open to the public, that would’ve been a perfectly ordinary occurrence, except one of the figures happened to be a colonial soldier far beyond his expiration date. Eddie’s heart skipped a beat at the possibility of encountering another medium but, as he grew closer, he noticed the potential medium doing something with her foot.

Raising his camera, Eddie slowed his pace and zoomed in on the woman’s feet for a better look. “Oh, what the fu—” He stumbled over a semi-interred rock, nearly losing his balance and dislodging the rock in one fell swoop.

“Hello?” said the woman.

Eddie froze in place as if staying perfectly still made him invisible. Realizing she likely had very little in common with Spielbergian dinosaurs, he cleared his throat and waved sheepishly. “Beautiful day, huh? Hey—is your foot okay?”

Morgan stiffened at the sound of a voice nearby. She ran a dozen or so scenarios Mina had drilled into her. She was better at defense on account of nine more months of practice, but that didn’t mean she relished the thought of having to throw anyone to the ground or break any bones.

But it was just some kid, looking like a peeping tom who’d been found out.

“Is it a beautiful day?” She challenged. “Because being spied on doesn’t usually fall under my ‘beautiful day’ umbrella.” At the mention of her foot, she put hers back down and yanked as many pieces out under the cover of the grass as she could. “I’m fine. Why are you looking at my feet in the first place?”

“Hold on, don’t do that,” Eddie said with a shake of his head. “Don’t make me sound like some kind of graveyard-foot-pervert. Look at it.” He gestured towards the foot in question. “That’s not natural and neither is talking to ghosts—hey, by the way, nice to see you again, Terry.” The second half of his statement was directed at the colonial soldier and paired with another short wave.

“Hi, Eddie,” the ghost responded.

“Y’know, I was just excited to meet someone else who could see them, but the whole black goo thing kind of threw me off my game.” Eddie’s attention reverted back to the woman currently picking at her foot. “Also, who eats in cemeteries? I’m just saying, let he who is not being super weird in public cast the first stone.”

Morgan didn’t know what to process first, having her injuries spotted by a Gen-Z wunderkind with a camera, the “not natural” thing, him seeing the ghost, or--

“Terry? Really? You tell him your name, but not me?” Morgan reached over and elbowed the soldier through his arm.

“A man has to keep some mystery with a pretty lady,” he replied, smirking through the gash in his face.

“Now you’re just trying to clean it up. Did you see him coming too?” She turned back to the kid, Eddie apparently, and tucked her feet under her skirt. “Whatever you are, you aren’t the only kind of person who can make friends with ghosts,” she said, miffed but starting to deflate. He had said he was excited. Excited people usually didn’t try to lop off your head. “And for your information, cemetery picnics have been a time honored tradition for centuries. The Victorians designed some of their cemeteries to be enjoyed like parks. And there’s a lot less---” Kids. Couples picnicking. Burger wrappers and empty slushie cups. Life. “Crowds, in a cemetery. I like the quiet. And the company. Sometimes.” She side-eyed Terry, who clutched his chest like he was wounded.

The conversation unfolding before Eddie left him feeling like a child seeing their parents get into an argument. He casually averted his gaze in an attempt to give them some semblance of privacy while they worked through their dispute. Before he knew it, the irate woman’s attention was back on him and he found himself wishing their argument would have gone on longer.

“That’s… actually very cool,” Eddie admitted, his brows raising in approval. “But, um, circling back to what you said about seeing ghosts—I’m a medium, I thought we were only ones with that specific privilege.” He couldn’t help feeling inadequate as he confessed his ignorance. Eddie dedicated his life to knowing about the supernatural, but he barely knew anything for certain. “Who else made the cut? Obviously, you don’t have to, like, tell me what you are, or anything. Not unless you want to, which would be stellar, but… I feel like I should know that kind of thing.”

“Medium, huh?” Morgan said, sizing the kid up again. “I’ve met a few of you. Exorcists, mostly, but still. But, since you asked so nicely, all of the undead I’m aware of and some fae can see and hear ghosts. It seems to be a proximity to death sort of thing, but I don’t know how the metaphysics works.” She set her lunch aside and dropped her hand under her foot to finish picking out the glass, away from view. She was mostly sure he didn’t actually have some voyeuristic foot fetish, but that didn’t do much for her self-consciousness. It was one thing to patch herself up at home, or with dead people who didn’t care, but with strangers, she felt the wrongness of her body. It wasn’t neutral, it was batshit. “You must be some kind of death enthusiast too, though. Coming out here by yourself in the middle of the day? It’s not exactly the nicest cemetery in town. I hardly see anyone alive out here on my visits. Shouldn’t you be hustling or studying or having fun somewhere?”

Eddie’s eyes glistened with rabid enthusiasm at the mention of the undead and fae. He’d only recently learned about the existence of zombies, and his fae-knowledge severely lacked depth. And here this woman was, sounding like she knew a great deal about both.

“Hustling?” he repeated the word with bashful incredulity. “I mean, this is fun for me. Not to sound edgy, but I love the dead. The living are cool too, but… they’ve never felt like home, y’know? All my life, I’ve been surrounded by dead people that either needed my help, or who helped me. I like spending as much time with them as I can.” He tried not to watch as she covertly plucked at her foot. Curious as he was, he could do without further insinuation that he harbored some sort of affinity for feet. “Is that how you are?”

With the last of the glass picked out, Morgan went still and regarded Eddie more carefully. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met a human who spoke so affectionately about the dead, and she wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or concerned. “You talk about the living like you aren’t one of them,” she said. “I don’t meet too many humans that apathetic about who they are. But your ghosts--they were good to you? You weren’t ever scared?” But one revelation deserved a little something in return, and anyone that fond of the dead probably wouldn’t sell her out. Morgan pursed her lips as she thought her answer over. “I am recently un-humaned, yes,” she said. “A little over a year now. You could say making friends with death saved my un-life, but I had lots of other help too. Living-people-help.”

The stranger had a point—Eddie never felt like he belonged among the living—but never had the dissonance he felt been stated so bluntly. “I guess, yeah. The living are assholes, for the most part.” There were, of course, exceptions to that rule, but they were few and far between. “Most have been good to me, except…” Eddie shook his head gently. “They’re individuals too, can’t expect them to all be winners.” As she admitted to being undead, he looked at her with enraptured awe. “That’s… wow. I mean, first of all, I’m sorry for your loss. You’ve probably got a handle on things by now, but I’m sure that’s a pretty wild transition. And, I’m glad you had people to help you adjust, support systems are so important.” Eddie took a moment to center himself. “What’s the, uh, preferred terminology for your… condition? Also, wow, I should probably ask your name, huh? Like Terry said, I’m Eddie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed his head slightly to punctuate his sentence.

“The living are individuals too, Eddie,” Morgan said. “And if you didn’t know about undead and fae seeing ghosts, I’m guessing you haven’t met many of the other living species of people out there. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to dismiss all of them out of hand. Or especially kind. Your ghosts were living once too, you know.” But Eddie’s vagueness piqued a troubling sense of familiarity in Morgan. Children didn’t tend to rely on ghosts if they had live people to take good care of them. “Those must have been some pretty shitty assholes to make you give up on everyone alive, human or not. I’m sorry for that, Eddie. Whatever happened to you, whoever was that cruel--I know how it can feel safer to just pull away and not risk yourself again, when you’ve suffered enough in a certain way. And I’m sorry.” She sighed and held out her hand to the kid, smiling sadly for both of them. “I’m Morgan Beck. You can refer to my ‘condition’ as zombie. But that’s classified. I don’t really enjoy having to fight for my existence. Not that a slayer won’t already know what I am on sight, but I’d rather they not get any extra help you know?” Her smile curled bitterly and she turned her eyes to the rest of the cemetery. “Are you really out here because it’s fun, Eddie…?” She asked quietly. “Or is it something else, too?”

When Eddie set out for Jericho Hill earlier in the day, he hadn’t expected a lecture. “Death changes a person,” he said softly after she reminded him that ghosts weren’t always memories. It didn’t take him long to realize the issue with his statement. “Preacher, choir.” He gestured first to himself, then Morgan as he assigned the labels. “You probably have a point.”

Eddie found himself nodding along with her condemnation of ‘shitty assholes’ initially, but he stilled when he heard her apology. His expression fell into unsure neutrality; he didn’t know how to respond. Strangers weren’t usually that kind, and they never read him like a book. It took him a moment to register her outstretched hand before he grasped it with his.

“Pleasure to meet you, Morgan Beck,” Eddie said, mirroring her sad smile. “Your secret’s safe with me. People like you shouldn’t be hunted, anyway.” Her question took some mulling over. Eddie didn’t particularly like being open and honest on that front. “Well, I mean, it is fun, but…” He trailed off with a sigh before shrugging. “Actually, that’s kind of bullshit. I can’t remember the last time I had fun—maybe with Bex or Alfie, but that’s different. Having fun with friends is easy but, when I’m alone…” Eddie shook his head and let out a terse sigh. “Are you, like, a psychiatrist or something? Analyzing brains by day, eating them by night.”

“What? Death changes you? No kidding,” Morgan deadpanned. “You can consider me an expert on both sides of the curtain,” she added more kindly. “Thank you. For your...Human-Plus allyship?” She wasn’t sure what to call it. She confided in so few humans these days. She had enough on her plate with her family as it was.

She kept looking at Eddie, his battered hollowness and his resilient vitality. There was more than one way to be alive and dead, she supposed. “I’m an adjunct professor in the English department at the university,” she said. “But I spent my alive-time on earth literally cursed with suffering, and consequently spent a lot of time desperately wanting to get to know people and being afraid of getting too close, in case they got sucked into my magic bullshit. So I’m good at noticing things and I understand a lot. Like that feeling where you can be mostly okay when you’re with people, especially the ones you care about, but when it’s just you that feeling you’re running from is still there and it settles in. But we don’t have to talk about that, if it makes you uncomfortable. Also, I resent the suggestion that I eat people. I’m actually trying to hurt as few people as possible right now for reasons that have nothing to do with my appetite, which I monitor and manage very carefully. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that again. You can tell me about how you know Bex, if you really want a change of subject.” Beaming at Eddie, she brought up her knees and let her head fall to rest on them and settled in. She’d given him a lot, but if he was friends with Bex, it was probably best he got used to the ride.

Eddie deserved her snark, even he could admit that. Despite his theorizing, fantasizing, and romanticizing—he didn’t know what it meant to be dead. Against better judgement, he envied Morgan and the way she straddled the line between life and death. It sounded ideal, at least on paper. “I strive to be a friend of the dead,” he said with a mild shrug. “Clearly, that doesn’t absolve me of insensitivity though, sorry about that.”

As she caught him up to speed on the source of her empathy, he listened with enraptured fascination. Eddie didn’t know the first thing about curses, but he liked to think he understood the loneliness she alluded to. “Sounds like you got saddled with a spectator role, that sucks. Most people aren’t built for that.” He hoped he wasn’t projecting, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that turned out to be the case.

“Shit—thanks for correcting me. I shouldn’t have made an assumption like that,” he admitted timidly when she kindly scolded him for his comment about brain-eating. His face lit up at the mention of Bex. “You know ‘er?” he asked, taking a seat in front of Morgan. Knowing she was familiar with someone like Bex instantly eased whatever lingering uncertainty he still felt. “We met pretty recently, I guess, but she’s the kind of person I feel like I’ve known a lot longer than I actually have, y’know?”

Eddie wondered how much information was safe to bring-up, ultimately deciding to play it safe. “It was after… well, she’d just gone through something pretty awful, and I think I made things a little harder on her. Not on purpose, of course, I didn’t know, but… she was really kind to me, anyway. I think that goes to show how special she is.” He neglected to mention the magical mishap; maybe Morgan didn’t know that side of Bex. “How do you know her? If that’s alright to ask, I mean.”

“You weren’t built to be a spectator in your life either, Eddie,” Morgan said. “No one is. We are here to learn, to connect, to experience. What’s the point of being stuck in a body if not to feel? What’s the point of being surrounded by so much mess and beauty if not to learn as much as you can from it? It’s cruel to take it for granted. And it’s cruel to hurt someone in a way that they cut themself off from anything good they might find in their tiny little existence.”

She fingered the tall, young grass as she spoke. She could never settle on a memory to give its strange, invisible touch more substance. When she was a child in Houston and her mother would send her into the yard to practice her alchemy, the grass was thick and sharp. It prickled her feet so badly she’d check her heels to see if they had cut her. They never did. So maybe the grass was like dull needles, or like tiptoeing around the rules, since she would often do her exercises slowly or skip steps on purpose so she could do them over again and make her time out last longer. Long enough to see the stars appear, but before the mosquitoes ate her up.

“But yes, I was really bad at keeping my distance,” she went on. “Which made for a lot of good experiences and a lot of hurt. Honestly, I wish I’d taken more risks, made more kinds of alive-memories to hold onto.”

She couldn’t help but beam at hearing the boy talk about Bex. Nothing he said was news to her, but it was nice to see her kindness reflected in someone else’s eyes. “Bex is staying with me right now. Has been for a while. Well, me and my girlfriend. We care for her as if she was ours, as best as we know how, anyway. So I know,” she grinned. “You’re not breaking supernatural club rules if you want to talk about her.”

Eddie wanted to agree with Morgan, to say that life was something precious and cherishable, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Death looked a lot more appealing to him whether or not he made a triumphant return as something a little less human. “Cruel or not, people do it anyway,” he said with a shrug. “I’m coping with it the only way I know how.” Granted, his coping looked a lot more like sabotaging.

Eddie didn’t think much of the grass, it was just grass; everywhere and unextraordinary. All it had to offer him were stains, the thought of which made him shift uncomfortably. He felt that way about a lot of everyday life’s mundanities. They didn’t exist unless they caused a problem. Morgan had a point when she warned him against taking things for granted, but Eddie didn’t realize it. How could he?

“I bet that’s weird,” he said. “Everything changing, but also not. I don’t know much about zombies, obviously, but I know coming back is rough for a lot of ghosts. I’d tell you that there’s still time to take those risks, but I get the sense you didn’t come to Jericho Hill looking for silver linings. At least, not ones given to you by some random guy with a foot fetish.” He ended on a joke in the hopes that it might lighten the mood, praying she didn’t think he was serious.

A sigh of relief passed Eddie’s lips. “Beamed a heaping helping of trauma right into my head,” he explained. “She didn’t mean to, of course, and I’m not exactly mad about it, anyway. Knowing her is worth a little muss and fuss. That said, I learned my lesson. No more alleyways for Bex.”

“Eddie, and I mean this kindly, with the kind of empathy that comes from experience--” Morgan prefaced her words softly, giving Eddie a look that pitied and understood too well. “Putting all your attention on other people’s problems so you don’t have to look at your own doesn’t make them go away, or get smaller. A lot of the time it just makes them grow heavier and sink their roots deeper into you.”

She reached out and gently flicked some of his long hair out of his eyes. “Worrying about me isn’t coping. What’s so bad about turning all this nice attention on yourself? I know people haven’t been kind, but whatever they said or did, they weren’t right about you. You deserve kindness. And love. Being here is hard enough without being cruel to yourself too. But--” She grinned wryly. “You didn’t come to Jericho Hill for a pep talk from a walking dead lady.”

She picked up her Pyrex and ate the last bit of lunch and dusted herself off. “I’m going to go home and prep some raccoon bones for my next art project, if you want to come. Bex has some really great pieces she’s made too. But we know each other now, so I hope you won’t try and disappear just because I know what song you’re playing.”

Eddie listened as Morgan spoke. Meanwhile, his stomach twisted into anxious knots. He didn’t want to hear that putting others first wasn’t the answer. Tackling his problems head-on hurt too much, especially considering he rarely had help. “Yeah, so I’ve noticed.” His gaze fell to the ground. Eddie couldn’t bring himself to say more, it might inspire her to confront him with even more difficult truths. It was nice feeling like she cared, he didn’t expect that from someone he just met, but it was also heavy.

Eddie let out a soft huff of laughter when she flicked a strand of his hair. Such a simple gesture, but the familiarity of it inspired a gush of affection. “Maybe not, but I’m glad that didn’t stop her from giving it to me anyway.”

“Are you kidding?” Eddie asked in disbelief, rising to his feet. “You’re a bone-art making, pep talk giving zombie with a weirdly comforting southern accent. Good luck getting rid of me, you’ll need it.”

#c: morgan #wickedswriting #brainberry picking #/// HNNGH I LOVE MORGAN #kat really blessed us with her existence #and this is actually very wholesome #it gets a little heavy conversation-wise #but i don't thiiiink anything mentioned will be particularly triggering?

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mybiasisexo · 4 years ago

Text

Bet

Genre: angst | roommate!au | exlovers!au

Pairing: Lay x You

Length: 6.9k

Warning: Unfinished | Language | Adult Themes

Summary: Having a roommate isn’t a strange concept, but when that roommate is your ex? Things can get a bit complicated, especially if said roommate isn’t completely over you....

Author’s Note: For some reason, Yixing brings out the angst in me? I feel everything I ever try to write for him it’s highkey angsty like Jesus!! But this one ended fluffy. I just felt like, idk, it got boring? It got to cliche? I just didn’t like the way it was turning out and instead of trying to change the ending, I just scrapped the whole thing lmao. Really like the first half though, like I really did something there, huh? haha

MASTERLIST

credit

It was late evening and you were spending the time unwinding from a long day at work. A glass of wine at your side, you sat comfortably on the couch reading peacefully to yourself.

That was until the sound of a key unlocking the front door shattered the calm atmosphere.

Peeking over the rim of your gold reading glasses, you take in the intruder’s form. After stepping out of his shoes, his head swiveled around to meet your gaze, probably from sensing your stare. He nodded in greeting before dashing down the hall towards his bedroom, his door closing with a soft click.

It wasn’t always his room.

The mood you were in before he got there was now tarnished, as if you’d lost your appetite. With a sigh, you gently shut your book before leaning over to snatch ahold of the fragile neck of the glass holding the wine you had been sipping on. You downed every last drop of the blood red liquid, grimacing as it uncomfortably sat in your belly. Once that task was done, you leave to your bedroom—a room you once shared with the man currently inhabiting the one across the hall.

It’s safe to say that your life had gotten rather challenging lately.

After another particularly draining day at work, you dragged one of your fellow coworkers, Kim Jongin, back to your condo for dinner. It wasn’t anything romantic. The two of you formed an instant bond after realizing you were the youngest people at the office you worked, thus leading to you getting closer, especially as of late. You usually would have dinner out or at his place, but made the impromptu decision to hold it at yours since he was whining the whole day about never being invited.

As you both crossed the threshold, his eyes widened in awe. “And I thought the outside was nice. I knew you were rich.”

Rolling your eyes, you led him deeper into the building. “My roommate makes a lot more money than I do, but we manage to live comfortably.”

“’Comfortably’.” Jongin scoffed, still taking in your home with a dazed expression.

After giving him a tour, you both settled on the couch in your living room, ordering takeout from three different places and putting a movie on. Once the food arrived, the two of you chatted and ate until you felt like puking and hung out like regular friends did.

About a couple hours in, you heard that dreaded sound of a key opening your front door. You stiffened anxiously, but Jongin didn’t sense your drastic change of mood, as he was too busy laughing violently—there really is no other way to describe the way he laughs—at the scene unfolding on the television screen. He did the whole bit: stomped his feet, slapped the pillow in his lap, and tumbled onto your own.

That was the position you were found in.

The clearing of a throat jolted Jongin upright. It was silent as he caught his bearings, wiping the tears that had fell down his cheeks as he regained his breath. Once he was composed, he blinked up at whoever made the sound.

Zhang Yixing stood beside the couch; scrutinizing your visitor who had sobered up completely with the dark look aimed his way.

“Um….” You scratched the back of your head awkwardly, not knowing where to start and hyper aware of the fact you were sat between both men.

“I see you have a guest,” Yixing finally spoke lowly. He pulled his gaze away from Jongin long enough to pin them on you. You gulped. His eyebrow lifted accusingly and, for some reason, shame overwhelmed you, as if you got caught in the act of something sinful. It caused you to slump into the couch and stare at your hands that were resting on your thighs. “Well, don’t let me intrude. Continue on.”

His words were friendly enough, but the tone revealed otherwise. He bid you both a farewell before taking off into his side of the flat.

Awkwardness flooded the area like a bad smell as Jongin and you shared a glance.

“Your roommate, I take it,” he said, throwing you a knowing look that didn’t go unnoticed.

You confirmed his statement with a simple nod.

“He seemed…like more than a roommate?”

You winced at his assessment, turning the other way in an attempt to hide your reaction. He sensed your reluctance to reveal anything and called your name, beckoning you to spill your secrets. With a groan, you gave in and spun around to face him.

“Fine! He just so happens to be my ex-boyfriend! Happy now?” You snapped. You had been hoping to avoid this conversation, aware of how bizarre your current living situation was. Not wanting to explain yourself was the main reason you hadn’t brought Jongin over in the first place.

The gears in his head started turning and you watched him process the information. With an almost audible click, he gasped dramatically as the truth dawned on him. Going as far as dropping his jaw and covering his mouth with his hand in shock. He pointed a shaky finger at you accusingly. “He…. You’re roommates with your ex-boyfriend?”

You brought your knees up to your chin, wrapping your arms around your legs, letting out a breathy, “yeah.”

“How, if I may ask, did that happen?” Now that he was aware of what was going on, he seemed more apathetic towards you.

“Oh boy.” You leaned your head against the back of the couch, staring up at your ceiling as if it held all the answers to life’s problems. “Yixing and I had been together for four years. Funny enough, we met the day of our college graduation. Went to the same college and didn’t even know until it was over. Anyways, as we grew closer and started our lives together, we, as most adults do, got super busy with our jobs. He’s really passionate about producing. He makes beats and instrumentals and sends them to huge entertainment companies. It wasn’t until he decided to send his lyrics in as well that he started getting picked up. In the past year, he’s kind of become a huge deal. He writes and composes songs for all kinds of major artists on this side of the world. You might’ve heard of him, his artist name is Lay.”

It took another moment, but then Jongin’s face fell into another one of shock. “I thought he looked familiar!”

“Yeah, he hangs out with all the famous people and has actually been preparing to debut as an artist himself.”

“So, is that why you broke up?”

You shrugged. “In a way. I got this new editing job and am starting to make connections myself. We both had been so busy trying to build our careers; we rarely had time to build on our relationship. One day he came home and I told him I wanted to break up. It’s not that I didn’t love him anymore; it was more like I loved him enough to realize I was hindering him, holding him back from becoming something great. Music is his main priority, the one thing he loves more than anything, loving me took some of that away.”

Jongin said your name softly, caressing your shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s fine,” you assured before continuing. “He took it very well. Almost too well. It stung a bit, I mean, he agreed almost faster than I could get it out! But it happened and the real issue arose: who kept the condo? Neither of us wanted to move. This place was our home, our sanctuary. The first real adult purchase we made together and it was filled with precious memories I didn’t want to move on from just yet. We argued over it for two days, until finally deciding it would probably just be easier for us to both stay. I mean, both our names are on the lease; it’s too expensive to live in alone and forget trying to find another roommate! This house is as much his as mine, so he just simply moved down the hall, into the old guest room he was using as a studio anyways, so it wasn’t like it was a drastic change for him. It’s been around ten months now and we’re amicable. I mean, the only thing we share is this living room and the kitchen and we rarely run into each other. It’s nice, I guess, all things considered….”

The past ten months replayed in your mind. The first two months were uncomfortable, to say the least. The shift from being lovers to simply roommates wasn’t as easy a transition than you led Jongin to believe. Seeing your ex-boyfriend everyday while cradling a wounded heart was beyond difficult, but you somehow managed. Threw yourself deeper into your work, hung out with both old and new friends, and joined a yoga class to keep yourself preoccupied. Before you knew it, the harsh sting of loss faded into a healing bruise that only hurt once pressure was applied. Seeing Yixing, as little as you did, wasn’t as bad anymore.

“Are you sure he doesn’t have any more feelings for you?” Jongin questioned hesitantly. “He didn’t seem too happy to see me here.”

Yixing’s deadly glare from earlier swam back to the forefront of your mind and you wondered briefly if he did still love you, but you immediately shook the thought away with a laugh.

“No. I highly doubt it. We’ve both had time to move on.”

“You sure?” Jongin asked again.

You nodded confidently. “Oh yeah. We’re just roommates.”

Jongin left soon after that conversation, not completely sold on Yixing not having feelings for you. Once he left, you got ready for bed. Yixing found you in the kitchen a little later, pouring a glass of water for your bedside table. You didn’t see or hear him enter, he’s always been a silent mover, constantly startling you with his sudden appearances.

Once you turned and saw him a mere breath away you flinched with a yelp.

“Yixing!” You scolded, clutching your chest to quiet down your speeding heart.

“Ah, sorry,” he said, scratching his head. He was also cladded in his pajamas like he would be retiring to bed soon.

You reassured him it was okay before digging in the freezer for some chocolate—a late night snack. He was still hovering around the counter, not attempting to get anything and it confused you. When you glanced at him, he was staring at you intently.

“Do you…need something?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he began with a start. “I was just curious to know, well, since when did you start bringing other men into our home?”

The question left you flabbergasted. He said it casually, but you could see the restraint in his neck. He was holding in his anger.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It’s really none of your business, being you and I aren’t together anymore.”

“We may not be in a relationship, but this is my house just as much yours and I would like to know who is in it—especially when I’m not here.”

“It that the problem?” You questioned, remembering Jongin’s questions from earlier. “Would I still be interrogated like this if I had brought a girl over instead?”

“I—It—” He stumbled over his words and you rolled your eyes. That seemed to set him off. “We were together for four years! Yet it only took you a few months to move on to somebody else? Right in front of me?”

His words were biting, and had the same effect on you that yours had on him. “I’m not! As I said before, it really is none of your business, but if you must know, Jongin is just a coworker and he has a girlfriend! I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to have male friends, especially since you didn’t have a problem with it when we were together.”

“Of course I’d have a problem with it now,” he snarled like it was an obvious fact. When Yixing was angry, he didn’t get loud, he got quiet, and it was terrifying. “And if you can’t understand the reasoning, you’re blinder than I thought.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked.

“You know what? It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” He started backing up until he had exited the kitchen. He stormed back to the confines of his room, hollering as he went, “invite whoever you want! Have an orgy for all I care! It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. It never does!”

His door slammed shut behind him, causing you to jump again.

What the hell was his problem?

~*~

The following week was filled with stiffness. You hadn’t thought much about the conversation had with Yixing until you woke up the next day restless and unsettled. You couldn’t even bare to look at the man you lived with.

It had been the first time you both had a real conversation since the break up and it was riddled with things left unsaid. What had Yixing meant when he said you were blind? Why was he so angry at the thought of you bringing home another man? You understood if he felt uncomfortable having strangers in his house without his approval, but it didn’t seem like a good enough reason to garner such a reaction. Would it? It appeared deeper than that—his hurt. Yet, as much as you racked your brain, you couldn’t figure out why.

Deep down you knew, but were too petrified at the implications to humor it.

Instead you did what you do best and ignored the whole situation. You also ignored the strange empty feeling in your chest every time you thought of Yixing.

Saturday came and as soon as the elevator opened to your floor, you felt the bass of music vibrating throughout the hall. Your neighbor must be throwing a party. Great! Just what you needed after a long day of work.

As you got closer, you realized the music was not coming from next door, but in fact, your place.

Your mind goes into overdrive as your steps slow. Yixing hadn’t mentioned anything about a party. Sure, you weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment, but you had a right to know if he was going to be doing something like this.

The need to get answers spurred you into action, ripping the door open in record time. The cacophony of party noises nearly blew you back. Every surface was covered in drinks and food and you had never seen so many bodies in your home. After the shock wore off, you pressed on, diving head first into the sea of people.

As you searched for that one familiar face, you were stricken by how many other faces you recognized. Was that Dean in your house? You paused to get a closer look before recalling your mission. Determination overtook you and with a new sense of purpose, you continued squeezing through the crowd.

Yixing was nowhere to be found.

After checking the most congested areas twice, fear started blooming within your gut. Did he leave? Was this party done without either one of your knowledge? Before panic could properly set in, you saw someone who could probably help you out.

“Byun Baekhyun!” You roared over the music, causing the smaller man to visibly shake. He took you in with wide eyes before stuttering your name nervously.

Oh, he was in trouble.

“Would you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?” You said, closing in on him. He had been leaning against a kitchen counter, red cup in hand.

“I…. Yixing didn’t tell you?”

“Does it look like he did?” You asked, fuming.

“It’s a team party.” He didn’t waste anymore time stalling. He also wasn’t slurring his words and his face wasn’t as red as the cup in his hand, both tell tale signs of his intoxication, meaning he was sober. “Since Yixing is the founder of Zhang Studios, he took it upon himself to hold the event at his place. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you, it had been planned months ago….”

“Speaking of Yixing, where is he?” You continued interrogating the poor man.

Baekhyun did a weak scan of the area before shrugging. “Room maybe?”

Letting out an annoyed groan, you left Baekhyun and decided to give up for now. This time, when you saw Dean again you caught his eye and nodded in greeting, silently fangirling when he smiled and bowed slightly in return. Wow, he was beautiful. Relief flooded you upon realizing your room hadn’t been touched. You took a brisk shower to wash away the day and then made yourself as comfortable in your bed as you could. There was no way sleep was going to come, not with the way the walls were reverberating from the bass intermingling with the sounds of drunk people outside your room. That wouldn’t stop you from at least trying. As you lay there, you imagined all the pieces of your mind you were going to give Yixing once you finally saw him.

Somehow, between all the scenarios playing in your mind, you dozed off, only made aware of the fact when you were jerked awake by the door colliding into your wall, the chaos from outside pouring in. You sprang upright, catching the man of the hour stumbling in. He caught the door and slammed it shut, leaning against it tiredly.

You cursed yourself for forgetting to lock the door.

Yixing soon noticed you on the bed, straightening up at the sight of you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, voice croaking from lack of use.

“I…it was too loud out there and my room is currently occupied.” The way he said that had you guessing whoever was in there was making good use of his mattress.

“So my room was the best choice, Lay?” You questioned, growing irritated the longer you looked at him. “It’s your party, just tell everyone to leave.”

“Oh, so I’m Lay now?” He questioned, ignoring the second part of your statement. He shook his head before making his way over to the foot of your mattress, gingerly sitting on the end with his back facing you.

This was the closest you had been to him in months.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were throwing a party?” You asked.

“The same reason you didn’t tell me you were inviting men into our home,” he shot back instantly.

You scoffed. “You’re really still hung up on that? I already told you it’s not like that between Jongin and me.”

“Of course I’m still ‘hung up’ on that.” He sounded tired, as if he were exhausted with having to explain himself. He took a deep breath before suddenly turning around so that he was facing you. “I…I miss you.”

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline before you laughed dismissively. “You must be drunk.”

“No, I’m not. I’m being serious. I miss you.”

It was your turn to shake your head. “You see me pretty much every day.”

��That’s not what I mean.” He licked his lips before crawling closer until he was directly in front of you, knees pressing against yours through the comforter. “I miss your laugh and your lame jokes. I miss your cooking and the way you always hum when you’re really focused or nervous. I miss your friendship and your warmth. I miss you.”

“Yixing….” His confession was overwhelming and that odd sense of emptiness you had been feeling all week in the pit of your stomach was back in full force.

He closed his eyes and hummed appreciatively. “I miss the way you say my name also.”

When they reopened, they were alight, practically glowing in the darkness of your room.

“I---this…. Where is this coming from?” You questioned, nearly speechless from his words.

His features softened as he stared at you as if you held his world. It was a look you hadn’t received in months—if not over a year. Your throat tightened as he lifted a hand to rest his fingertips against your cheek, his thumb rubbing the soft flesh gently. He grinned and your heart stuttered.

“I’ve been holding back for a while because I didn’t want to make things weird, but I don’t know how much longer I can refrain myself.”

“Yixing, you’re drunk,” you repeated. “You’re not in your right state of mind. You can’t possibly mean any of this.”

“Do I look drunk?” He asked. The only thing he looked was offended. “Do I sound drunk? You know how I get when I’m intoxicated, I would have been sleeping in a corner somewhere hours ago if I were.”

“How can I possibly believe any of this when you agreed to break up?”

“I did it because I thought that’s what you wanted,” he informed. “I always put you first. If you were unhappy in this relationship, I wasn’t going to hold you back, no matter how I felt.”

“So, you didn’t want to break up?” You asked, tears starting to blur your vision.

“Of course not,” he whispered brokenly. “You have always been the most important thing in my life. You still are.”

“I just don’t know.”

He moved even closer, his nose barely brushing yours as he slightly tightened his grip on your face. “Let me prove it.”

And with that, he kissed you.

The first contact of your lips was just a whisper, him testing the waters. When you didn’t protest, he went in again, latching onto your upper lip with added force. His scent of pine and sweat and something that was solely him traveled up your nostrils, bringing you back to simpler times. His presence comforted you, allowing you to fall into his embrace. Your hands went up to cup his face and return the kiss with more fervor, prompting him to deepen the kiss. God, you missed him too, more than you would ever allow yourself to believe. He was everything you ever wanted, everything you ever needed, and right now proved that. His hands wandered up and down your sides and you shivered at his touch, starved from it for too long.

He pulled you mouth open with his, moaning slightly as he nudged your tongue with his own and the action seemed to break the spell you had been under.

You yanked his head back and your lips made an audible pop as they separated. It took him a second to grasp what happened and then he was gazing down at you with a hot yet dazed expression that made you want to kiss him again, but you held on. His dark hair was sticking up at all angles from the force of your ravaging fingers and his lips were starting to swell slightly. He looked a mess.

He looked delicious.

“Get out,” you murmured, glaring at your legs.

“What?” Shock was evident in his voice.

“I said ‘get out’!” You yelled, angry with yourself as tears formed in your eyes.

“But I thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong. Please,” you begged. It was silent for a long moment, but then he was moving. He quietly shuffled off your bed and walked to the door, hesitating for a second to peek at you before leaving with a heavy sigh, the door clicking lightly behind him.

With his presence gone, you were able to move, diving into your covers and burying your head into your pillows to muffle the screams before trying to calm down.

The music from outside died abruptly, the silence helping you swiftly fall asleep.

~*~

You wake up before your alarm the next day and head to work hours before your shift actually began. The last thing you wanted to do so early in the morning was be caught in the same area as him.

Jongin was pleased to know his suspicions were correct when it came to Yixing and tried to talk you into just going for it when it was obvious you still felt something for the man, but you declined.

Yixing was in the past.

It was for the best—your separation. At least, that’s what you had been telling yourself.

When you got home, you were met with a spotless place. All evidence of the party was gone, leaving you wondering if you had dreamt the whole thing. Making your way further into the house, you run upon Yixing with a Swiffer in his hands, mopping the dining room floor. He straightened up with a sigh, stilling at the sight of you.

You bounced on the balls of your feet, a nervous habit, under his scrutiny. His expression was unreadable, but that was as much an answer as any.

“Hey,” you let out in a breath after the silence had drawn on for too long.

“Hey,” he replied, voice reserved.

“You cleaned—”

“Look, I’m—”

You both stopped abruptly as you spoke over each other, another silence filled the air as you hesitated.

“You go first.” He finally urged gently.

“You, uh, you cleaned up.” You pointed out the obvious, gesturing around you to the shimmering house.

“Yeah, I—I wanted to apologize for last night,” he revealed, running a hand through his hair. “It was wrong of me to throw a party without talking to you first. Not to mention, what happened after….”

You cleared your throat awkwardly at the fresh memory.

“It wasn’t my intention to hurt or make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry for that. I was out of line and I really don’t have an excuse….”

His eyebrows furrowed as he continued rambling nervously. He appeared worried at first; leading you to believe maybe he was scared at the thought you were planning on kicking him out.

His sentence faltered, but you knew he wasn’t finished, so you didn’t say anything. The fear that once coated his voice was nowhere to be found when he opened his mouth again.

“That being said,” he began. His tone was lower and his eyes were a few shades darker than before as he examined you with a steady gaze. The whole shift of his demeanor sent chills down your spine. “I had a lot of time to think and I’ve come to this conclusion.”

He set the mop aside and approached you until he was an arm’s length away. “I want you back.”

You eyes widened in shock, though in the back of your mind you should have known this was coming.

“Being with you last night,” he continued. “I meant what I said about missing you. We work better together and I can’t believe I’ve allowed this to go on for so long.”

“Yixing, what are you going on about?”

“I want to be with you again! This ‘arrangement’ we have going on is pure torture! Having to see you everyday, but not being able to touch you. Hell, nowadays it’s like I’m not even allowed to look at you! I just… don’t know for how much longer I can do this.”

“We both decided it was for the best to be separated for the moment,” you said, taking a safe step back.

“Yeah, but the moment’s past. I can’t keep living like this. Being with you, but not with you! Especially in this place where we built a life together.”

“That’s too bad!” You said, voice rising slightly with irritation. “I don’t think I want to change what we are now!”

“I knew you’d say that,” he revealed. “So, I came up with a plan.”

You lifted an eyebrow quizzically.

He took a deep breath. “Tomorrow is the first. Give me one month to win you back and, if by the end you still honestly believe you don’t want to be with me anymore, I’ll leave.”

“Leave?” You asked, voice scratchy.

He nodded in confirmation. “Yeah. I’ll move out and you won’t ever have to see me again.”

“Why?” You felt like the room was spinning and the urge to sit was strong.

“I already told you,” he said gently. “I can’t live in this house with you just as a roommate. Not when I’m still in love with you.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but found no words would come out.

He smiled sadly before closing the space between you, leaning in to leave a lingering kiss on you forehead. You gasped at the gesture. He pulled away and leaned his forehead on the spot he just kissed. “One month. That’s all I’m asking. Just one.”

The way your heart pounded against your chest felt like a weakness and, if there was one thing you hated most, it was feeling weak.

“Fine.” You agreed, shoving him away so that you could actually breathe and focus properly. “One month. And if by the end your plan doesn’t work—which I’m sure it won’t—you’re out of here.”

He smiled, a wide joyous thing and pointed at you. “I’m going to win you back!”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, rubbing your temples as you retreated to your room.

~*~

Yixing wasted no time in his scheme of seduction.

The following morning, you were awoken by the beautiful sent of breakfast cooking. You stumbled out of bed; eyes still sealed shut from crust as you made your way to the kitchen only to be met with Yixing.

Shirtless.

If that wasn’t enough to wake you up, you didn’t know what was.

“Morning.” He grinned once he spotted you, taking the pan from the stove and shoveling eggs onto two stacked plates. “I made breakfast.”

“I see.” You slid onto a stool by the dining room bar as he stood across from you, setting a plate before you. It was loaded with the works and your stomach growled. You wasted no time stuffing your face, having to hide a moan of pleasure. You missed his cooking. “You haven’t cooked for me in a while.”

“I know. I thought now would be the perfect time to.”

You gathered what he was saying between the lines and chose to ignore it, just like you were ignoring the fact that he was still shirtless. He wandered about, taking a bite of food before cleaning the dishes and putting things away. When his attention was diverted, you peeked up at his lithe frame, taking in all the taunt muscle wrapped around his torso. It looked just as firm and strong as you remembered it and now your mouth was watering from something else besides the food. His six-pack was still visible despite him being in the middle of eating and how come his abs were directly in front of you?

He cleared his throat and you coughed, choking on your food a little. Once you sipped on some water you built the nerve to meet his gaze. He was studying you with a knowing smirk.

“You should put a shirt on,” you grumbled, attention back on your nearly empty plate.

“But I thought you were enjoying the view?”

“Shut up.”

His chuckles echoed as he went back to his room to fulfill your request.

So, this was how he was going to play?

The following three weeks were more or less the same. Yixing would come up with ways to get you to fall for him once again. Cooking meals, asking you about your day, massaging your back after a long day of work. Jongin’s eyebrows blended with his hairline the day you came to work with a ginormous bouquet of flowers on your desk sent by a Zhang Yixing. He questioned you for the rest of the week, with you only pushing the subject away.

As much as you wanted to deny it, Yixing was creeping back into your heart. You were beginning to remember all the reasons you fell in love with him in the first place and he was right when he said you worked better together.

But, at the same time, you were too stubborn to give in.

The last day of the month approached faster than you thought possible and you were kind of disappointed. You liked having Yixing’s attention again, liked the feeling of being wanted by him. But, after today, he would be moving out and once he was gone, there was no way you would be able to afford it, so you would have to move out also and this chapter in your life would be over for good.

It was bittersweet.

You tried not to be in your feelings as you opened the door after work. As you entered, you froze as you took in your surroundings.

All the lights were off except one lamp and the dim lighting cast a romantic glow over the red rose petals that laid on the floor.

“Welcome back.” You heard from the darkness, catching Yixing off to the side.

“What’s all this?” You asked.

He shrugged, taking a few hesitant steps towards you. “It’s the last day.”

You felt a pang in your chest from his words, but tried to hide the pain from him. “So what do you have planned today?”

Wordlessly, he took your hand, leading you down the hall that lead to your bedroom. He paused just outside of your door, where the small square above the ceiling was open, a ladder leading up into the attic.

“After you,” he murmured, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You threw him a skeptical glance, but climbed ahead, knowing exactly where he was taking you. Once inside the dusty attic, you went to the small triangular window, pushing it open to the roof.

You’re left breathless at the sight in front of you.

Yixing had already been here, coating the small area in the roses that lay below you as well. There were a couple small lanterns illuminating a purple plush blanket with pillows thrown haphazardly over it. In the center was a basket that you knew had your favorite dishes in it, being you could smell them. Ahead of you, the twinkling lights of downtown glittered like stars.

This used to be your spot.

“Do you like it?” Hands are on your shoulders as Yixing climbed in from behind you, his breath tickling the hairs on your neck and you gulped.

“It’s beautiful,” you revealed, eyes watering slightly from his efforts.

“Come.” He grabbed your hand again, dragging you over to the little picnic dinner he had made. Once you two were seated, he opened the basket, revealing that he had in fact brought your favorites.

You just stared at him in awe, blown away by the amount of effort he put in so far.

“Stop staring at me,” he said with a laugh, handing you a plate. “Eat.”

“I can’t help it,” you said after taking a bite. It was delicious. “I just can’t believe you’ve done all this.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” He asked.

You shrugged. “It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this.”

He’s quiet for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. The way the light from the lanterns bounced off his features made him appear way more beautiful than you remembered.

Once he swallowed, he gave you his undivided attention. “I wanted to take us back to the times when we first moved in. When we first found this little spot. I thought that maybe you would remember what it felt like….”

“What what felt like?” You asked.

He rubbed his neck nervously before meeting your gaze. “What it felt like to be in love with me too.”

And as you both watched each other, you thought you were beginning to.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, finish your meal before it gets cold.”

You do as he orders, smiling contently as you watched the view and listened to the hustle and bustle of the city below. A bottle of wine somehow made its way out, and before you knew it, you were a little tipsy.

“I wanted to show you something.” Yixing said after all the food was gone. He pulled a corner of the blanket back, revealing his favorite guitar. “I’ve been writing.”

He tuned it quietly before taking a deep breath and brushing his fingers against the chords, a beautiful melody transforming from his hands. It was amazing, slow and romantic, making you picture Spain or some other magically romantic location. He was so passionate when he played; it was something you hadn’t seen in him for so long, not until this bet happened. He began humming along, slowly building his sound until he began singing.

You missed his voice so much; you forgot just how beautiful it was. Goosebumps raised on your arms; more growing once you heard what he was saying. He sang about a forgotten love, a one sided love. Yearning to turn back the clock, to go to how things once were. It was obvious what he was singing about, who in particular he wrote it for. And the pain he had been suffering through was evident to the point where you could feel it in your heart.

He got to the bridge of the song, lamenting about the past, hitting a high note that made you shiver before changing notes swiftly, to a song that rang more familiar.

He was now singing your song.

The one he wrote for you on your first year anniversary. The one he always sang to you whenever you were alone.

“Who am I without my melody? Just a hopeful song, lyrics to sing along to….”

Suddenly it was three years ago, when he first sang it to you. You knew at that moment that he was the One. The one you were going to spend the rest of your life with. How optimistic of you? How sad.

The last chord rang into the night, being carried away with the breeze and then you were on top of him. He froze for a second uncomprehendingly, but then you heard the clang of his guitar hit the cement ground and he was kissing you back with fervor so intense it felt palpable. All that could be heard was gasping and lips smacking and it was nearly dirty--your want for him in that moment.

His hands slid under your shirt, pulling buttons open with his wrists until they rested right below your chest, his thumb brushing against your swollen flesh teasingly.

“Bedroom,” you growled between kisses and he wasted no time hiking you up so that you were able to wind your legs around his waist, pressing yourself as close to him as possible so that you could feel his hard torso through his shirt.

It was a struggle, but he was somehow able to get you both back into your house without you ever having to get off, the only thing being you had to kiss other parts of him besides his lips, but neither one of you seemed to mind.

You felt the sheets underneath you as he gently placed you on the bed before resuming what was started. He was everywhere around you, overwhelming all of your senses, leaving your body on high alert with every touch of his fingers, even his breath left you shaking with need.

“I love you,” he whispered into the skin of your stomach. “I love you so much.”

As a reply, you pulled at his hair, dragging him over you so that you could look him in the eyes. “Show me.”

~*~

Pressure on your face brought you back to reality the next day. You heard chuckling as you opened your eyes to the brightness of the day.

“Morning, Love.” You heard Yixing’s voice and glanced up to see him smiling down at you. How much wine did you drink? You could barely remember what happened the night before, but your body was sore and oh no….

You ran your hand over the sheets to check that you were indeed naked and bit your lip. How did you allow yourself to break like this?

“I was just about to jump in the shower…” Yixing said, lifting his eyebrows suggestively. “Would you like to join me?”

“Um….” You took a deep breath. “I’m okay. You go first.”

He pouted dejectedly, but got up. You tried not to stare at his bare ass as he left.

Boy, oh boy, were you in trouble!

You swiftly got up, yanking the first articles of clothing you could find and groaning once you realized the shirt was Yixing’s. Needing a distraction, you found yourself flipping pancakes in the kitchen. But, it had the opposite effect because your mind was open. You had no idea what you felt for Yixing anymore. Of course there was always affection, you were together for four years, of course there’s affection.

As you turned the tenth one you made, you felt hands on your waist and lips on your head.

“You made breakfast.”

You spun around, taking in Yixing as he wore only basketball shorts and a towel around his shoulders and gulp. “Yeah….”

He made a plate, sitting in the same spot you had the first day of the bet. “So, when should I move my stuff back into the bedroom?

#lets just say it gets hella angsty after this oop #lay scenario #lay scenarios #yixing scenario #yixing scenarios #exo scenarios #exo scenario #yixing #lay #lay oneshot #exo oneshot #exo oneshots

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whumpthisway · 4 years ago

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Huck and Stephen - Acceptance

This is a series - link to 01. Masterpost here <3 (which needs updating sorry. if you can’t find anything, send me an ask and i’ll link you)

A/N: This one is set directly after Unwanted, with Huck being discovered down in the basement by the police. Please check the tags and do ask me for specific tags, further details, or warnings if you need them or I miss something. If you have opinions, questions or thoughts, feel free to send me an ask :3

Huck and Stephen’s story can now be read on my AO3 here, and this new chapter is here.

Content warnings: abuse, panic attacks, needles, fear of death/believing they’re about to be killed, hospital setting, doctors being assholes

Huck/Pet POV

They must’ve fallen back into unconsciousness after they’d been found by the police, as the next thing they knew was that the floor was rumbling under them.

Whining quietly even before their eyes were open, Pet winced and blinked, briefly blinded by the daylight, and looked around in confusion. They were in a car, another car; lying with their cheek resting against warm leather. Waking up sharpened the pain of their injuries to an unbearable degree, the motion of the car quickly making them feel sick, and Pet started to cry in silent, tearless sobs that shook their shoulders painfully.

Where were they being taken? There was nothing good about car rides, and Pet was damaged beyond repair, now. No-one would want them. Not even Kiaran had thought them to be worth anything, since he hadn’t bothered to come back for them.

A gentle hand smoothed over their ears, startling them from their thoughts, and Pet twisted painfully around to find a woman sat beside them in the back of the car. At least this time they weren’t jammed into the footwell, and the woman’s touch was kind as she carefully untangled their matted fur with her fingers. Her other hand was settled on her stomach.

“Easy there, little one,” she soothed. “Not far now.”

Pet whined quietly. Not far to where? Maybe they were returning Pet to Master. That would… be okay. Far better than they deserved. Pet sighed, resting their head on their paws as they tried to ignore the pain emanating across their chest, and the agonising throb of their tail. They couldn’t imagine how furious Master was going to be at the state of them.

Time passed fuzzily and Pet lay curled up on the back seat, fighting the nausea in their belly. The woman gently gave them a little more water before she took it away again. The water sat uneasily inside them and Pet tried to remember what it felt like to be uninjured and comfortably full.

Pet stirred when the car pulled to a stop and flinched when the car door nearest to them clunked open, letting in a rush of cooler air and light. The woman climbed out of her side of the car and the thud of the door shutting made Pet cringe.

“It’s alright now, we’re going to get you some help,” the woman said, standing at the open door nearest to Pet, and Pet blinked blearily up at her.

The woman turned away, towards the man who’d been driving the car. “Can you carry them okay?” she said quietly to him. “Or I can get a wheelchair?”

“I got it, Mariann.”

Pet drew in a horrified breath when a man, bigger and even meaner-looking than Harrison, leaned suddenly over them. They cried out, just once, as they tried to scramble further inside the car and almost falling into the footwell in their panic.

“Hey, woah, easy.” The man patted the air as if that was any reassurance at all.

Pet’s frantic movement and fast, terrified breathing sent spikes of pain through their ribs and they went limp with a wheezing whimper, shaking. Just no more, that’s all they wanted, no more pain, no more humans, no more fear. They’d never been so overwhelmed, so overstimulated, whilst at the same time so apathetic and so exhausted.

“I’m not going to hurt you buddy.” The man cocked his head and tried to smile. “Just going to take you somewhere warmer, and safe.”

Pet, their ears pressed flat to their head, pressed their head into the crook of their arm and went still. What was the point of resisting anyway? Pet would just be grabbed eventually and being a brat about it, as Master used to snap at them, only ever made the humans angrier.

After a moment of Pet staying small and limp in the back of the car, the man cautiously ducked inside and gently gathered them up. He wasn’t rough or cruel about it but the feeling of hands on them, in their fur, jarring their agonising rib injuries, their tail, their pounding head, made Pet cry harder, though they tried not to. Crying made creatures weak, disgusting and unlikeable, and Pet was already all of those things, without weeping everywhere.

The feeling of being lifted up into the air only made their nausea worse too and they had to drag in snatches of air through clenched teeth as they tried not to retch. Pet didn’t want to think about what this man would do if they threw up all over him.

“Now don’t claw me, alright?” the man said. “I’m only trying to help.”

Pet kept their eyes tightly shut both against the blinding sun and in fear of the man carrying them. They carefully curled their claws tightly up against their furred chest, because they didn’t trust themself not to scrabble for the man carrying them if he dropped them, even as they shuddered at the thought of what this man would do if they tore his clothes with their claws, or worse, cut him.

They could hear the woman, Mariann, following alongside with little clicks of her shoes, keeping up with the man’s long stride.

The went into a building and a bright white space where the air smelled badly of sweat and pain and chemicals. It was full of humans, many of them with creatures at their feet and Pet couldn’t help but stare; they’d never seen so many creatures in one place, nor so close by. There were several smaller ones who looked like them, with dark fur and cupped, wolf-like ears, as well as ones so big they came up to their owner’s hip even when they were sat down. There was a creamy-white one, several greys, multiple shades of brown, one pure black and one an almost pinkish-red, with different types of fur and tails and ears. Pet hadn’t known creatures like them could look so varied.

But the more Pet looked, the more they realised that the other creatures all looked injured and sick, exhausted and defeated, and none of them were looking around. Many were on leashes or harnesses and some wore bulky collars that Pet recognised with a feeling of dread. Master Parry had threatened to get them one of those; one that’d shock them whenever they were bad. One pet had a muzzle strapped to their face, like a dog. What was this place? Were these people taking Pet to be put down? Because they were a lost cause that no-one wanted?

“No need for that,” the man said, his voice rumbling in his chest against Pet’s shoulder when Pet’s breathing hitched and new tears came, though the scruff at their neck was already damp with it. “You’re safe now.”

Pet assumed the man’s words meant that he was getting tired of their crying and tried to stop. They were too tired and dehydrated to cry for long anyway and the man’s warmth, however threatening he was, was making them drowsy.

After a short wait, Pet was carried further into the white building, the corridors panelled and identical and the whole place feeling cold and hard.

Inside a large room with two lines of beds packed close together, many of them occupied, Pet was laid down on an empty bed near a window. They whimpered softly in pain as the unforgiving mattress pressed against their ribs and their tail was jolted. But the man stepped away, to talk to Mariann, and Pet was relieved by that.

The humans talked somewhere off to the right and Pet, curling up, drifted in and out. It ought to have been too bright and frightening to sleep but they felt like sand was weighing down on them. Sliding into unconscious took less effort than trying to stay awake.

Pain met Pet first when they awoke, and then a strange man in white leaned over them and Pet yelped. They tried to scramble away, but their shoulder thudded into the bed’s metal railing and sent a wave of pain across their chest and sides and back. They curled into themself, gasping.

“Calm down, now,” the strange man sounded displeased and stern and he reminded Pet of Master Parry. “Is it usually so twitchy?”

“They’re a rescue,” a familiar woman’s voice said firmly and Pet’s ear pricked up. “After what they’ve been through, it’s a wonder they’re as functional as they are.” The woman, Mariann, stepped closer in her little shoes and Pet didn’t find themself to be too afraid of her. She’d done nothing to hurt them, and had only gently petted them in the car. She looked down on them with a soft look and Pet blinked and quickly lowered their gaze. “They’ve been very strong and good,” she said, clearly more directed at Pet than the frosty man in white. Pet couldn’t help but feel warm at her gentle praise, though they could hardly agree with her.

She looked nothing like Alyse; Alyse had been almost as tall as Master Parry with blonde hair down to her ribs, where Mariann was petite and her stomach noticeably curved outwards; pregnant, Pet thought, recognising it from women they’d seen on TV. The two women didn’t look alike, and yet they’d both been kind to a filthy, broken creature when they didn’t have to be. Pet felt a rush of relief that she was here beside them and hadn’t left them alone.

“Be that as it may,” the man said sharply, “if I am to examine it, it’ll have to be drugged or restrained.”

Pet whined and curled their arms around their head, their paws pressed into the fur by their flattened ears. The humans kept talking around them, Mariann sounding angry, but it was muffled and Pet didn’t want to know what they were planning to do to them. They couldn’t stop it, so there was no point in knowing.

A cool hand took their wrist after some time and Pet flinched away, but didn’t try to get themself free. A sharp pinpoint of pain at the crook of their elbow followed and Pet’s eyes flew open as they dropped their paw from where it was covering their face. What had the humans done? Looking quickly down, Pet saw a different woman pulling her hand from their arm, an emptied needle in her hand, and Pet stared in horror.

Once, Harrison had gleefully told them that when his father bored of Pet, Pet would be killed with a jab of a needle. He’d mimed convulsing on the floor, screeching in pretend pain, while Pet had stared, shaken and horrified. Harrison had sat up and grinned, taking great pleasure in poking them with pencils at random intervals for weeks after, just to see them startle, and then pretended to inject them, making them feel sick every time. That’d been years ago but Pet had never forgotten.

Whining softly, Pet started shaking and even Mariann’s expression of concern and kind words weren’t enough the stop their panic when they began to feel drowsy. There wasn’t the pain Pet had expected but they weren’t ready to die, they didn’t want it- But, exhausted as they already were, there was no use fighting it and, as always, the humans got what they wanted.

“They’re not ready to be discharged!” The words were hissed, sharp and angry but trying to be quiet. Still, Pet’s heart up-ticked and they tensed. “Look at them, they’ve been beaten to hell and back and they’ve been here less than six hours-”

“We don’t have space,” a male voice cut in, unemotional and hard. Pet couldn’t tell if it was the same man from before or not. “Its healing well. Pet healing is on average 6% faster than-”

“Bullshit.” It was Mariann, Pet realised after a moment. Her voice sounded different when she was so obviously furious and Pet had to force themself to keep still. Mariann and the man weren’t talking to them, probably thought Pet was still asleep. “They need this bed, and they-”

“No. It doesn’t.” The man sighed. “Listen. You’re clearly new so I’ll explain this once. I discharge this creature and I know it’ll go with you, to a shelter or to be fostered. It won’t end up on the street.” He paused, lowering his voice. “That one there? Brought in by the owner for two broken legs. He then broke the creature’s nose in front of me, when it didn’t lower its eyes fast enough. Do you understand? Creatures like that need beds here far more than your creature does. I have to prioritise.”

Mariann was silent for a long moment. “What time? When do they have to leave by?”

“This afternoon. Before three o’clock, the earlier the better.”

“What pain meds will they get? Follow up treatment?”

“None. Didn’t they explain this to you?” He sounded irritated and impatient. “This is emergency treatment only. The government pays, but only barely. They look after creatures that’ll die otherwise to stop bad PR, but that’s it. I’m sorry, but after this, if it needs more care, your charity will pay for private care or you’ll use a first aid kit.”

The man’s footsteps receded down the hall and Pet lay still, pretending to be asleep while their mind churned. Mariann was part of a charity? A charity that’d look after Pet?

“You heard that?”

Mariann’s voice startled them; they hadn’t even heard her approach, and they inhaled sharply in shock, before descending into a coughing fit. Their throat was achingly dry.

Pet was gently coaxed, half-lifted, up to seated and a cup pressed to their lips. The water was heavenly. When it was finished, Mariann pulled over a chair and Pet sat and stared blankly at the blanket covering their legs.

The pain was there but it felt distant, their mind a little floaty, and they struggled to accept that they weren’t dead. The injection hadn’t killed them at all. Another thing Harrison had lied about to scare them, Pet supposed tiredly.

“How long’ve you been awake, sweetie?” Mariann rested a hand on the swell of her stomach and considered them.

Pet ducked their head in shame. Mariann had helped them and Pet had already been bad, even though they’d barely been awake ten minutes. They’d eavesdropped, and deceived-

Mariann set a hand on top of their paw and Pet twitched. “I don’t mind, okay?” she said. “How’re you feeling? Can you speak for me?”

Pet quickly shook their head. Talking brought nothing but more trouble and more pain.

“Alright, that’s fine, you don’t have to.” She patted their paw before taking away her hand. Pet missed the warmth of it. “What’s going to happen is you resting up for a little bit longer. In a few hours, we’ll move you out of here and take you to a creature shelter, somewhere safe and not too far away. What’ll happen then depends on how you’re feeling, so we’ll take it as we go. Sound good?”

Not knowing what else to do, Pet nodded. It was clearly the right thing to do because Mariann gave them the kind of warm, soft smile that made Pet’s heart thud and tears well up involuntarily. Being looked at like that was something they wanted so much that it hurt, but which terrified them just as much.

“Okay,” Mariann said, seeming to come to a decision. “I’ll leave you to get some more sleep. I’ll be back in a little while.” She looked at them seriously. “You’ve got nothing to worry about now. Nothing bad will happen, I promise.”

That was an impossible thing to promise, Pet thought, but they nodded silently all the same. Mariann was being kind, and maybe she even meant it.

She helped them drink some more water before helping them lie back down, propping up their pillows like their comfort really mattered. Pet was glad she left after that, because they didn’t want her to see them cry, rendered weak and pathetic over a tiny bit of kindness.

The room they were in was full of beds holding other injured creatures, who groaned or cried out at times. Humans in white or blue hurried around, sometimes wheeling a creature away or leaned over them and did things that Pet didn’t understand.

Pet didn’t sleep, but lay still and stared up at the ceiling, which was peeling at the corners. They thought about dying. About Mariann promising them safety and protection. About the men who’d stolen them, Ry who’d left them in the basement, and Alyse who’d cared for them. About Harrison’s cruelty and Master’s loathing.

And here was Pet, at the mercy of all of them. Hope felt like a dangerous thing and they ignored the feeling with as much determination as they put into ignoring the pain in their tail. Maybe Mariann would make sure they were taken care of, or maybe they’d fall into the hands of a human far worse than Master. Only time would tell.

i’ve written a bit more and we are so so close to Huck and Stephen being reunited, im excited <3 my inbox is always open for thoughts, requests, feedback and ideas!

If anyone wants to be added to the taglist or taken off it, pls do send me an ask or DM! :D

Tagging (tagging people I love u all): @smolnarwhal @free-2bmee @ffaerie-dustt @mortifiedwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpity–whump–whump @quirkykayleetam @oracle-of-maybe @whumpersworld @quoththeraven-what @halibellecter @usernames-suck-but-i-like-whump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @pennsss @whumpqhs @whumpzone @deluxewhump @haro-whumps @redstainedsocks @gimmethatsweetwhump @redstainedsocks @newbornwhumperfly <3

If you like my work, I have a Ko-Fi account

#whump #medical whump #needles tw #mine #huck and stephen #huck and stephen acceptance #fic #panic attack #fear of death #mariann #being a sweetheart #she's a spitfire to stephen #but that's because she's maternal at heart and was rly pissed at stephen for not wanting to help huck as much as she did #ofc stephen is fully won over now lol

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kyria-nico · 5 years ago

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Fair Game Valentine’s Fluff

Everyone at Beacon High thinks that Qrow despises Valentine’s Day due to a misunderstanding from his freshman year. Every year, the student council hosts a Valentine’s Day event where students can buy Valentine’s cards and flowers for other students. Every year, Qrow gets none.

Until one year, he does.

Qrow hated Valentine’s Day.

Or, at least, everyone thought he did. Every year, the school council ran a Valentine’s Day event where students could send their friends and partners Valentine’s cards with a candy and a rose attached. In his freshman year, Qrow had received one. He had been happy at first, as he didn’t really have any friends beyond his sister, until he opened it and found that it only read “cheer up emo kid”.

He had ripped it up and thrown it out, and forgotten about it. Until the next year, when the morning announcements mentioned that orders for the valentines would be opening up soon.

“Don’t send one to Qrow! He’ll just rip it up and throw it out!” Tyrian had called from the back of the room, prompting giggles from the rest of the class. Qrow had just rolled his eyes, but the rest of the day he had people asking him why he had ripped up the valentine from last year. Too embarrassed to admit the real reason, he had just shrugged it off. Until Tai and Summer had started badgering him about it.

When they wouldn’t drop it, Qrow had turned on them, practically shouting, “I just hate Valentine’s Day, okay!?”

Unfortunately for him, that had happened in the middle of a crowded hallway. The din from the other students had stopped for one terrifying moment, before exploding in laughter and gossip. Qrow had just turned on his heel and walked out of school, completely skipping last period and resolving to forget about it. He had figured no one would remember it.

He had figured wrong.

It was his senior year now, and his “hatred” of Valentine’s Day was legendary. The story of him ripping up a single Valentine had morphed into him burning a massive pile of Valentines while ranting about how Valentine’s Day was just a bullshit corporate holiday designed to sell chocolate and greeting cards.

Now, anyone who looked at Qrow would have no reason to assume that he would feel differently. He dressed mostly in black, with ripped jeans and heavy boots that wouldn’t look out of place at a punk concert, and he had a sarcastic sense of humor that led most to think he was apathetic or cynical. Nothing about his style or demeanor really screamed “romantic at heart”.

The problem, though, was that Qrow actually liked Valentine’s Day.

Sure, he wouldn’t deny that there were plenty of companies trying to make money off it, but that was the case with most things. He had always thought it was sweet that humans had decided it was important to have an entire day just to tell other humans that they were important to them. He had always enjoyed watching people get Valentine’s cards, liked watching the way their eyes would soften or light up as they read the messages their friends or partners wrote for them.

Not that he could really admit to it at this point. The only one who knew was Raven. And she, unfortunately, was not sentimental enough about Valentine’s Day to try and correct people’s misconceptions.

“At least you’re graduating this year,” Raven said when he complained about the story circulating again. “It’s not like this’ll follow you after high school.”

->—

It was the day before Valentine’s Day, and the torture had already started. Qrow stood at his locker, watching from afar as a flustered Tai shoved a gift into Raven’s hands. Raven was staring at it with her customary disdain, but Qrow could tell she was secretly pleased by it.

“It’s sweet, isn’t it?” A voice came from the locker next to him, and Qrow turned in surprise. Qrow recognized the guy as Clover, a junior that was quite popular among students from every grade. Everyone called him the good luck charm of the school, and credited him for leading their famously bad baseball team to the state finals. Qrow had long admired him from afar, not just because he was good looking (although he was), but because he seemed to be the opposite of everything Qrow was. A “lucky clover”, indeed.

He realized he was staring. “Uh, yeah. Sweet,” he said, trying to sound noncommittal, wondering if Clover was gearing up to ask him about ‘the incident’.

“Do you like Valentine’s Day?” Clover asked, and Qrow raised an eyebrow. Didn’t he know the story?

He was so surprised by the question, which sounded genuine, that he answered honestly. “Yeah. It’s not bad, as far as holidays go,” Qrow said, inwardly bracing himself for the inevitable follow-up about him using a flamethrower on a thousand roses in the parking lot, or whatever the current rumor was.

“Do you have one?” Clover asked.

Qrow found himself off balance again from the unexpected question. “Have what?”

Clover grinned, a hint of pink blooming in his cheeks. “A Valentine.”

It was Qrow’s turn to flush at that. He shook his head. “No. I — uh, well, no one’s ever asked me. Guess maybe the universe is trying to tell me I’m better off alone,” Qrow said, letting out a little self-deprecating laugh to try and play the uncharacteristically honest words off as a joke.

“That’s a shame.” Clover had clearly finished with his locker, and yet he was still standing there, his bag slung over one shoulder, a slightly crooked grin on his face. “I don’t think there’s anyone that’s better off alone. Well, I’ll see you around.”

Qrow watched his kelly green backpack disappear into the crowd of students with wide eyes, wondering what the hell had just happened. Had he really just admitted his existential crisis about loneliness to a complete stranger? He rubbed a hand over his face, as if he could wipe the whole interaction from his mind, and threw his books back into his locker. He knew he would catch hell from Summer for skipping bio, but he didn’t really care.

After that, there was no fucking way he would be able to focus anyway.

->—

“Come on, Summer, I promise this is the last time!” Qrow was reduced to begging, clasping his hands together and trying to move into Summer’s line of sight. She kept stubbornly turning her nose up at him. She was trying to look stern, but she really only managed something close to haughty.

“That’s what you said last time,” she said, turning away from him again. “And I told you then that if you skipped bio again, I wouldn’t give you my notes!”

Qrow deflated, grumbling and shoving his hands in his pockets. Tai clapped a hand on his shoulder so hard that he almost fell over. “I suppose you can borrow my notes,” Tai said, as if he were a magnanimous King granting a prisoner his clemency.

Qrow glared at him, brushing his hand off. “Your notes are unreadable.”

“If he even bothers to take them,” Summer added, and she and Qrow grinned at each other while Tai pretended to be hurt.

“So, you’ll let me copy your notes?” Qrow gave her his very best puppy dog eyes (which were pretty damn good, despite his sometimes edgy appearance), and Summer let out a long sigh.

“Fine,” she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out her notebook, handing it to him with a stern look (although it was somewhat diminished by her fond smile). “But this is definitely the last time!”

->—

Qrow was so absorbed in copying Summer’s immaculately organized biology notes, that he missed the entrance of the student council completely, not realizing what was happening until he heard the first squeals of happiness from the other side of the room. He looked up, surprised to see that Clover was there, standing next to Robyn and James. He had forgotten that Clover was on the student council, although he couldn’t remember what he was. Robyn was the President, James was the Vice President, and Clover was…walking towards him?

Qrow flicked his eyes to either side, trying to figure out why Clover could be approaching him. He intentionally sat in the very back corner of the room, and he always had a couple seat buffer around him in the classes he didn’t share with Tai or Summer. There was a pretty blonde sitting a couple seats in front of him. Surely Clover meant to approach her, not him.

But Clover wasn’t looking at her. He was looking directly at Qrow. Qrow swallowed nervously. What could the school’s lucky clover want with its resident bad luck charm?

“I have a Valentine here for Qrow Branwen.” Clover had stopped right in front of his desk, and was smiling down at Qrow with a gentle smile on his face. He reached into his basket, and the classroom had gone so quiet that Qrow could hear the sounds of Clover’s fingers brushing against the cards. He could feel the stares of the rest of the class on him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Clover as he placed the envelope on his desk, followed by a bag of chocolates and a single red rose.

Qrow thought he might actually prove the rumors true and set the Valentine on fire, but only because he was pretty sure he was so flushed that his skin was becoming a fire hazard. Even the tips of his ears burned, and his throat dried up, leaving him completely speechless.

Clover winked at him, and then he was gone, sweeping out of the room with James and Robyn following close behind. The room was still silent as Qrow picked up the envelope, sliding his fingers under the little heart shaped sticker and pulling out the card inside. It was decorated with a little cartoon crow sitting on a branch, with a speech bubble that read “Won’t you be mine? BeCAWS I think we’d go together like velCROW!”

Qrow could do nothing but smile like an idiot and bury his flaming face in his hands as the entire class erupted in shock.

->—

The story of Qrow’s sentimental reaction to Clover’s valentine spread through the school like wildfire, and it was the end of the day before Qrow could get away from the crowd of students clamoring to know why he had pretended to hate Valentine’s Day all these years. It had been a hard day. People he knew, even people he didn’t know, kept pressing chocolates and flowers into his hands all day, apologizing for never giving him anything.

Summer practically cried, clinging to his neck and wailing promises to make him a mountain of chocolate and let him copy her notes whenever he wanted to make up for all the years they’d missed. Raven had to step in and physically disengage Summer’s grip on Qrow. She gave him nothing more than a long look, but he understood exactly what it was she wanted to say anyway.

Go get him.

Qrow’s chest felt like it was filled with feathers and his knees felt unsteady and weak as he walked among the hallways, looking everywhere for a glimpse of Clover. He wasn’t even sure why he was looking. One valentine didn’t really mean anything. It could be Clover didn’t know the story, and just felt bad that Qrow never seemed to get any cards or flowers. He was a popular guy, and it would only make him look better to take pity on the weird goth kid. By the time Qrow had circled back to his classroom, he had convinced himself that the whole thing was nothing more than a nice gesture.

He pushed open the door to the classroom, and the leaden disappointment that had started building in his stomach evaporated instantly.

Clover was there. He was sitting in Qrow’s seat, and he stood up so fast he nearly knocked the desk over. Qrow felt frozen for a moment, suddenly completely unsure of how to proceed. “You know, you completely ruined my reputation,” he said, and inwardly berated himself for falling so quickly back to sarcasm.

Clover just grinned. “So you liked it?”

Qrow grinned back. “It was a little cheesy.” Clover’s smile fell a bit. “But, yeah. I liked it.”

“Everyone was so convinced that you’d hate it, I almost chickened out,” Clover said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Qrow tilted his head. “Why did you give it to me? I thought everyone believed those stupid rumors.”

Clover laughed, “I saw you. Last year. That Summer girl you always hang out with was giving everyone else but you a Valentine. You just looked…sad, I guess. I thought maybe you didn’t hate Valentine’s Day as much as everyone said.”

Qrow’s face got hot at the idea that Clover had been watching him closely enough to get a read on his emotions, his throat suddenly feeling dry again.

“So…what’s your answer?” Clover asked, and Qrow blinked in confusion at him.

“To what?”

Clover laughed again, and Qrow caught himself thinking that he really liked the way it sounded. Qrow swallowed as Clover walked across the classroom, coming to stand directly in front of him. His face was flushed too, and he looked nervous. “Will you be my Valentine?”

After what had happened freshman year, it was the last question Qrow had ever expected someone would ask him, and his stomach flipped at the words. He reached out, taking Clover’s hands in his own, and he smiled with a lot more confidence than he felt. “Only if you’ll be mine.”

Clover dropped his hands, moving forward and pulling Qrow into a hug so tight that Qrow almost felt his feet leave the ground. Clover was practically giggling, and Qrow found he was too, his whole body buzzing with frantic energy that made his chest feel like it was going to explode.

When they finally pulled apart, Clover rested his hands on Qrow’s waist, meeting his gaze with a fondness that made Qrow’s chest feel tight.

“Why me?” Qrow whispered, and Clover looked confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you have everything. You’re popular, you’re handsome, you’re—you’re like a good luck charm.” Qrow couldn’t keep the bitterness from seeping into his voice, the rest of his feeling clear even if he didn’t say it out loud. Everything that I don’t have. Everything I’m not.

Clover shrugged. “I saw you on my first day,” he said, his fingers tightening a little on Qrow’s waist. “You were sitting up on the roof, feeding birds. You had this look on your face, like you were just completely at peace. I think—well, I just knew I wanted to get to know you better.”

Qrow laughed. “And you decided to wait until I was about to graduate to do it?”

“It took me a while to work up the courage,” he admitted, smiling wryly. “But I’m glad I finally did.”

Qrow wrapped his arms around Clover’s neck, pulling him in close and pressing a kiss to his cheek, enjoying the way Clover’s fair skin flushed as he did. “Lucky me,” he whispered in Clover’s ear, feeling his answering laugh as it vibrated in his chest.

“Lucky us.”

#fair game #rwby fair game #luckbirds #luckycharms #lucky charms #rwby #qrow branwen #clover ebi #qrover

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