#they all sound REALLY CLEAR so my brain catches each little part instead of mushing it together as one sound | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fireblaze5555 · 4 years

Text

Fire Away: Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Honey, I’m Not Afraid

Summary: This chapter is pretty much just sex.

Karen changed into more comfortable clothes, stretchy shorts and a tank top before she threw herself into her research, focusing on Vanessa's activities. It didn't take long for David to get Mrs. Fisk’s schedule sent so she memorized that as best she could to have an idea of Vanessa's movements. She tried not to let her mind wander back to Frank pinning her against the wall. Or the look on his face when she told him how resigned she was to dying at Fisk's hands. Her heart physically ached at the helpless look in his eyes. But then he shocked her, roughly grabbing her and with all the intensity that was Frank Castle, made her understand, really understand, that her death was not acceptable to him. Something he had made very clear through his actions in the past but never been quite so articulate about before.

Shaking her head, Karen got back to work, she could think about that stuff later. First, she had to figure out how she was going to persuade Vanessa Fisk to cancel the contract on her life. Then she needed to decide if she should tell Matt about this development. She knew she would, it was a matter of how to go about it without him and Frank killing each other.

Since Fisk's arrest, Vanessa had gone nearly radio silent in the public eye. She would host frequent small art gallery shows but Karen figured that was more for keeping appearances than anything else. There were several phone calls scheduled to Rikers Penitentiary, more than a typical inmate would be allowed which didn't surprise her in the least. She stopped suddenly, eyes catching on a particular phone call. The call had occurred and the next evening there was an art showing. Not terribly unusual, except scanning back through the phone calls after nearly every call, an art showing was scheduled for the next day. It may be nothing but it was worth digging further.

She emailed David back, asking if he would be able to get a guest list for the events before disappearing back down the rabbit hole of research. She was vaguely aware of the condo door opening and Frank coming back in. She verified with him that there was nothing out of the ordinary and saw him move into the kitchen out of the corner of her eye. David had been right, some major crime families had become more active and it did seem to align a little too closely with the art shows Vanessa was hosting. Once she received the guest list she could cross reference the activity with those that attended and she may begin to really have a solid base to work with.

Her laptop was slowly closing and she moved her fingers just in time for it to click shut. Frank stood at the edge of the bed looking at her expectantly. Did he say something? As if he knew what she was thinking he gestured to her side, where a plate holding a sandwich and a cut up apple sat. She had no recollection of that being placed there.

Frank must have read the confusion on her face because he quirked an eyebrow at her with a little smirk, "I put that next to you an hour ago. You need to take a break and eat something."

Karen gave him an apologetic smile, replacing her laptop with the plate, "Sorry, I got a little sucked in. Thanks for the food." He just nodded, turning to step back down into the living room where he was reading. She barely tasted the sandwich, her brain was still whirring, thinking of possibilities and different angles to the information she had found so far. Before she knew it, the plate was on the nightstand and the laptop back in her lap.

She had put together a fair amount of information when her burning eyes finally made her look up from the screen. Frank was laying across the couch, shirtless she noticed with appreciation, with an arm tucked under his head and his mouth slightly open as he dozed. Karen couldn't help but smile, he looked so at peace. She was shocked to see that it was dark outside and Frank had turned on the lamp next to her at some point. Happy with the progress she had made, she closed the laptop and set it to the side rolling her shoulders to gain some circulation back.

Karen let out a gasp when her shoulder seized up in a cramp. Bringing a hand up to try to massage it out, she let out a quiet curse when she couldn't quite reach. Frank woke with a small start, quickly assessing his surroundings for danger. When he looked over at Karen, he quickly stepped over the back of the couch to reach the bed.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?" His voice was laced with concern as he stood close to her.

"I'm fine." Her voice was strained, "Just a cramp in my shoulder, I think I stayed in the same position too long. I thought this stuff was supposed to happen when you are old."

Frank scoffed with amusement, swatting her hand out of the way to locate the source of her discomfort. It only took him a second to find the knot, causing her to hiss and shrink away from his hand a bit. He gave a sympathetic grunt but held her steady as he slid in behind her for better leverage. Karen chewed at her lip doing her best not to curse, he was being as gentle as he could but it still hurt like a bitch as he pressed into the knotted muscle trying to loosen it up.

After a few moments, she felt the muscle slowly start to release, a sigh of relief escaping her. Karen thought once the cramp had subsided, Frank would move off the bed but he continued to massage her shoulders, using both hands now and moving past the offending spot to rub relaxing circles into her neck before massaging down her shoulders and back. Coherent thought was getting more and more difficult, his strong hands soothing every bit of tension out of her neck and shoulders.

Frank was very adept at massage, his hands sure as they moved over her and unbidden to her, an image of his hands moving over the rest of her body had her flushing. Karen was in an interesting dichotomy of turned on and turning into mush. She felt herself relaxing more and more until it was all she could do to keep herself upright. She was also trying not to embarrass herself by making any undue noises. However, when he pressed just right into a spot between her shoulder blades, she let out a quiet moan that had his hands stilling for a split second.

Cursing herself mentally, Karen tried to think of a way to recover from the embarrassment when his hands slid up from her midback to brush her hair from her nape so he could place a delicate kiss there. It was her turn to go still, hardly believing what she had felt. She could feel Frank behind her waiting to see if she deemed it acceptable or if he needed to make himself scarce.

As an answer, she slowly leaned back into his chest until they were both propped up against the headboard, his legs bracketing her while his hands gently stroked her arms. Karen rested her head lightly on his shoulder, trying to keep her breaths even but he had also nuzzled into the crook of her neck, his stubble dragging over her skin deliciously and raising goosebumps all down her arms.

She hummed when his hands went from stroking her arms to rubbing slow patters up and down her sides. They left a scorching trail, his callouses catching on the delicate material of her shirt from time to time causing it to ride up. Before long, one hand had come to rest at her hip while the other ran featherlight touches over the exposed flesh of her stomach, causing a small shiver to run through her. Karen was getting restless in his arms, each little touch stoking a flame in her belly that she couldn't control. Not that she wanted to. The air kept getting stuck in her lungs with each little circle Frank's calloused thumb drew on her side, inching her shirt up. The hand that rested on her hip was gently kneading. He felt solid behind her, the muscles of his chest and abdomen flexing with every intake of air and he had his leg bent at the knee to brace her. She could feel his breath, hot against her neck and when he placed a slow dragging kiss where her neck met her shoulder she couldn't help but let out a breathy sigh.

Frank's hand was hot as it skimmed up over her ribs under her shirt and when a long finger brushed the underside of her breast, Karen's hand reached behind her to bury her fingers in his hair lightly.

His voice was smoke and gravel in her ear,"Is this alright?"

If she wasn't so incredibly turned on she would have turned around and shaken the man. Instead she settled on a firm, "More than alright." Punctuated by her nails running over his scalp.

The answering growl was so quiet and low she wasn't sure if she heard it or just felt it reverberate from his chest. She didn't have much time to contemplate it though before his hand moved the rest of the way over her breast. She bit her bottom lip to keep from making the wonton sound she really wanted to make. Frank's large hand completely cupped her, a low reverent noise escaping him, then he was running the pad of his thumb just around her nipple but never quite stopping there. He was careful with every movement, giving her the chance to slow things down or stop them if she wanted. She didn't.

With each pass of his thumb, Karen arched a little more into his touch. It seemed like an eternity before he ran his finger over the stiff peak. She couldn't stop the moan that escaped her and it rose in volume when he rolled the nub between his thumb and forefinger before giving it a languid pull. Arching her back to lift her chest more firmly into his hand, Karen almost didn't notice his other hand sliding from her hip to low over her belly.

She watched with avid fascination as his scarred hand dipped beneath her shorts. Karen was nearly in a daze, she was sure she was going to wake up any second and this will have just been another one of her Frank-centric wet dreams.

However, the haze lifted when a thick finger slowly parted her and slid over her clit. She had truly forgotten how to breath.

"Goddamn Karen, you feel so fucking good." His finger dipped lower, teasing around her entrance and his voice was pitched so low it made moisture gather at her center. When he placed a light bite to her shoulder, it broke Karen out of her stupor. Suddenly she couldn't sit still. She used the hand in his hair to ground herself as she moved along with his hands, arching into the one that continued to wreak havoc on her breasts and twitching when his other stroked her clit just right.

Karen watched with hooded eyes where his wrist disappeared in her shorts. It flexed and rolled as he worked over her. It was such an exhilarating experience, watching the hands she has seen fight and kill give her so much pleasure.

He kept muttering encouragement in her ear with every moan she released. When she rolled her hips back and felt his arousal the groan he released, breathy and deep, sent her into a fever pitch. Karen began rolling her hips back in earnest trying to hear that sound again. She heard it again but she released a similar noise when he sank a long thick finger into her.

"Fuck, Frank." He answered with a sucking kiss to her pulse point and the slow drag of his finger before adding a second. He curled both fingers while dragging his palm over her clit and she could feel the pleasure coiling low in her abdomen. She was so close but when she tried to articulate that it merely came out as a whimper.

Frank must have understood because he gave her a couple more slow drags of his fingers before bringing those fingers up to rub fast circles over her clit. Still kneading her breasts with the other hand he nipped the shell of her ear and growled, "I want to see you come, Karen." So many exquisite sensations and his sultry voice in her ear had Karen falling over the edge. Her whole body seized up and all she could manage past her lips were sharp exhales of his name.

He moaned as though he could feel her pleasure for himself, "Attagirl."

Frank slowed his fingers, pulling the hand from her shorts to sling low over her hips while the other hand slid from her breast to run up and down her ribs in a soothing manner. Karen, for her part, was still gasping for air. She can't remember the last time she had an orgasm like that, if she had ever had one. He was trailing slow kisses down her shoulder when she gave a slow stretch, sighing her contentment. She still felt his arousal in her back and knew she was not finished with him yet.

Karen rolled in his arms, sitting up on her knees to face him. His arms fell to his side so she could see the muscled expanse of his chest. Sitting back on her haunches she had to stare for a moment. Holy shit. Frank's pupils were blown so wide with desire his eyes were nearly black. His chest heaved with every breath, she could see every muscle flex with the effort it was taking him to sit still. He was holding himself back and that just wouldn't do.

Grasping the hem of her tank top, Karen pulled it over her head, tossing it over the edge of the bed. Frank's eyes immediately dropped to her bare chest and his gaze was so hot on her skin she was surprised she couldn't see flames. He met her eyes again when she leaned forward, placing a hand on either side of his hips to support her weight, until her face was only a breaths width from his. He was the first to move, leaning forward slightly to rest his forehead to hers. They never broke eye contact and whatever Frank was looking for in her gaze he must have found it. He brought a hand up, burying into the loose blonde hair at her nape and pulled her into a searing kiss. His lips closed over hers, then he was angling his head the other way to kiss her again.

Karen ran her tongue over his full bottom lip, bringing a sexy noise from him before he opened up to her. They devoured each other but neither's hunger was satiated. She ran her hands up from his waist, feeling his abdominals tense as she kept moving up until her palms rested on either side of his strong jaw. She pulled back for air and looked down between them to appreciate his body below her. God, the man was perfection. Compact muscle punctuated with scars, each one telling a different tale. Broad shoulders that carried the weight of his grief and guilt but also stood tall and proud in the face of danger.

When her eyes finally made their way back to his face there was a small cocky smirk on his lips. Damn the man. Karen ran her fingers over his lips, fascinated when the smirk fell and he was nipping at her fingers.

"Frank." Her voice was barely recognizable to her own ears. It was low and husky, rough from holding in all the things she wanted to tell him.

"Karen." His voice was no better, rough at the edges and full of something she was afraid to name. She slid her hands back down the expanse of chest running a fingernail over a dusky nipple before they rested at the waistband of his jeans. She could see the outline of him, straining against the denim and it was driving her crazy to be rid of the barriers between them.

He watched her intensely with dark coffee colored eyes and she didn't waver as she gripped him firmly through the material.

Frank hissed, jerking into her hand. His eyes narrowed on her before he was pulling her into another kiss. She wasn't going to let him distract her though, her fingers deftly pulled at the button of his pants despite his wicked tongue. The button gave suddenly after a bit of a struggle causing her to leave a red welt from her nail on his stomach. Neither seemed to notice or care.

Without preamble, Karen began to tug the jeans down by the waist Frank jumping in to assist quickly. She knew the moment he was free of the cloth because he let out an almost imperceptible sigh against her lips. Glancing down, Karen's mouth went dry. He just had to be a beautiful specimen in all regards, didn't he? She sat back slightly, biting her bottom lip again before taking him firmly in her hand. Frank had been watching intently but as soon as she touched him, his head fell back against the wall, a raspy moan falling from his lips.

He was thick, she ran her thumb up a corded vein as she slowly stroked him, and longer than Karen had experienced. She never minded going down on a guy but, goddamn, she would beg for the privilege of pleasing Frank if she had to. She started to lower herself down but Frank caught her by the chin, cupping it gently, his voice was soft and urgent, "That will end this before it even starts and I really don't want that."

Karen gave him an understanding smile before stripping off her shorts, Frank following suit, peeling his own pants and boxer briefs down his muscular legs before kicking them to the side. His eyes wandered over her as she climbed over him, straddling his hips. The reverence in his gaze humbled her and made her feel both self conscious and incredibly sexy. His hands were dark and rough to her smooth pale skin and she shivered when they ran up her sides to grasp either side of her face. It always amazed her how tactile Frank was. As much as he fought to keep distance between them, once she was under his guard he was always touching her somehow. She held his gaze when she gripped his cock and slowly slid over him. His eyes drift closed and he let out a long exhale as he entered her inch by inch. Karen reveled in the delicious stretch of him inside her. Her wet dreams never prepared her for the reality that was intimacy with Frank Castle.

When she was fully seated against him, Frank's eyes opened again to meet hers. They stared at each other for a moment, both silently acknowledging that things have changed. For better or worse, there was no denying what was between them.

Slowly at first, Karen lifted herself off of him before sliding tantalizingly down again. The delicious friction had her gasping in no time, her hands wandering from nape to navel on his skin and back again, making him shiver. There it was again, that tremor in his muscles that told Karen he was trying to rein it in, keep himself under control. He was currently watching where their bodies met so Karen swiveled her hips in a slow circle, grinding torturously on him.

Growling he gripped her ass with both hands, following the motion as she did it again.

"Goddamn." He muffled his curses and pleasured sounds against her collarbone, neck, breast, anything he could reach with his mouth. Trailing kisses and licks where he could. Raising up once more, Karen came down harshly, bottoming him out inside her. It caused her to cry out, fissures of pleasure shooting through her. It broke Frank's resolve.

Banding an arm around her back Frank sat up completely against the headboard, pulling her flush against his chest. His other arm lifted her hips off of him before slamming her back down, tilting his hips up as he did. Karen gasped his name, he could see her coming undone. He repeated the motion again and again, Karen holding on to his shoulders for dear life. She was on fire, sure that she would combust from the pleasure of it.

She couldn't help but let out a whimper when he used his strength to stop her mid-stride. Holding here where just the tip of him remained in her. When he showed no sign of letting her down, only continuing to lave at her breast, Karen pleaded huskily, "Frank, please." He looked up at her through those dark lashes, god she could come just from the look in his eyes. Frank ran his tongue from her nipple to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, giving it a hard suck.

She was sure that was going to bruise but didn't have time to think about it further as he jerked his hips into her.

"Oh, fuck." Now she was cursing, she couldn't control what was coming out of her mouth any more than she could control his pace at this point. He held her stalled again before quickly slamming back into place.

The anticipation coupled with his hard re-entry had Karen seeing stars and she was right on the edge of another orgasm. Apparently he was feeling it as well because Frank abandoned any pretense of teasing, suddenly and rapidly pounding into her. Karen let out a scream, her release ripping through her so powerfully she swore her vision went white, her nerve endings all firing at once.

As she started to come down she felt Frank's thrusts getting sporadic, his breath panting against her collarbone. Placing a hand in his hair she tugged his head back roughly and bit and sucked at his jaw. He came undone with a cursing moan. Her name fell from his lips as he jerked into her, riding out the last of his intense release. Seeing Frank Castle let go was a vision Karen would not soon forget.

His head fell forward, forehead resting on her breastbone. Karen wrapped her arms loosely around his neck while he secured his around her hips. They both just sat there for a moment, letting their high wear off, basking in each other's warmth. She was the first to move sitting back just enough to tip his head up to her and give him a long lingering kiss. Frank grunted appreciatively but she saw his brows come together, his demons already coming back.

Tsking, Karen smoothed her fingers over the deepset lines between his brows, determined to erase them, "That's enough of that." She said it quietly and almost teasingly, kissing where her fingers had just been, "You don't get to give me the best sex of my life and then immediately regret it Castle."

He scoffed, that cocky smirk returning just a little bit, "I don't regret a goddamn thing. I'm just waiting for you to regret it."

Karen shook her head at this hopelessly dense man, her voice even softer but a seriousness in her tone, "I never regret you Frank."

He just looked at her in bewilderment, flashes of wonder and something akin to pain crossing his features before pulling her in for another long kiss, this one slow and sweet, more just a press of their lips.

They quickly took care of the post-coital unpleasantries, Karen not bothering to put anything back on as she climbed in next to Frank who was already under the covers. He pulled her tight to his chest, one hand cupping a breast while the other served as her pillow.

His voice was tired, slurring at the edges, "I'd give a lecture on the impracticalities of sleeping naked if someone were to attack but I think I can let it slide this time."

She gave a quiet laugh, her own exhaustion apparent, "I appreciate the leniency."

The last thing she remembered before dozing off into oblivion was a soft kiss to the back of her head.

Also on Ao3: Fire Away: Chapter 7

#kastle #frank castle #Karen Page #frank castle and karen page #smut #they have the sex #fanfic

16 notes · View notes

carbrakes-and-stakes · 4 years

Text

Two brains are better than one | Morgan & Alain

Morgan insisted on going to the butcher herself sometimes. The stores of brains at home were plentiful enough, Morgan couldn’t remember a time when there hadn’t been a few specimens in the shed out back. But since accidentally having a taste of what, as Deirdre gently reminded her, she was meant to feast on, she found herself speeding up the time between meals, hoping that if she stuffed herself with enough squirrels and deer and racoons she might forget that people taste like a three course dinner meal at midnight. That angst didn’t even take into account that she was trying to space out her feedings a little more so she wouldn’t be caught with puny, mortal strength with a hunter again. The whole situation was a mess. But, as a reasonable, grown-ass zombie girl who was definitely not resenting the blandness of squirrel brain, she could go to the butcher and top herself off easy. She rocked on her feet in line, her number pinched between her fingers as she waited.

Sometimes she liked to wonder how many of the customers were like her. A woman had just left with a hefty tub of pig’s blood. And the man at the counter now was asking for brains too. Morgan watched him take his number and mosey to where she waited, comfortable as anything, if not a little tired in his bones. Had he been dead for long? Was it a new death weight, or something much older? Morgan smiled at him. “Don’t see a lot of people asking for brains around these parts,” she said. “You cook like that a lot?”

Alain did not use to have a thing for cooking offals, but as years passed and he became more sensitized to the consequences of the meat industry, but could not bring himself to give up on eating meat, he had decided that he would start using parts who were usually doomed to end up to the trash, and to turn them into savoury dishes. Veal liver was one of his favorites, but sheep brain was a close second, and exactly why he had pushed the butcher’s door today. Fidgeting idly with his fingers, he waited for his turn, not paying too much attention to his surroundings but rather thinking of who had died instead of him. He had managed to convince himself that it was just an elder who was passing by the shop as Regan screamed, but not knowing for sure was far from pleasant.

He picked up the number given to him and moved to the side to wait. He eyed at the woman smiling at him and refrained a frown. Instead he raised an eyebrow, and scoffed in surprise as she started to talk about his order. Well, it was nice to see that he was not the only one who had taken in interest for pieces that most people would have deemed disgusting. “Oh. Ahem,” he cleared his throat. Well if this did not make it obvious that he was not good at small talk, what would ? “I do, actually, what about you? I’m planning to make Pad thai with it,” he explained, uncrossing his arms and relaxing a bit in his stance. Talking about cooking was a nice way to start a conversation with him for sure.

Morgan was warmed by the man’s awkwardness more than anything else. Maybe if they had a secret sense, like the fae did, it might all be easier. Here there was no instant safety and, heck, for all she knew, there were hunters trolling the parking lot or working in the shop. It was only paranoia if she was wrong, right? She let out a breath, remembering that this was not the time to let her body return to its natural resting state of death, and smiled again. “Pad Thai?” She asked. “That sounds way more appetizing than the casserole I have planned. I’m uh, still kinda new to cooking this way. But you—“ she couldn’t get a sense of him beyond that he mostly wanted to go home, and who could blame him? “You sound almost like a pro at this, yeah?”

“Southern Asian cooking is really interesting,” Alain replied as she mentioned that she had planned to make a casserole with her purchase. It was not a bad idea, but she would get tired of it, eventually. “I’ve done quite a few casserole with those,” you could tell from his tone that he was not exactly thrilled about these anymore. “I would not say I’m a pro, although I did place second in the pie contest,” he scratched at his cheek and shrugged. He had not expected a win, considering his pie was possibly the most simple in the contest but he’d been glad to see that taste mattered more than aspect to the judges. “Anyway, I feel like cooking is about being able to turn something no one likes, into something great that people will want to eat no matter the ingredients.” Calf sweetbread was another one of his favourites, and it made him wonder if brains could be nice in a vol-au-vent. “I think you should try making Vol-au-vent with those. That might work well,” he assured her, a bit too enthusiastic perhaps, than one should be about brains.

So brain casserole wasn’t a thrilling time for other zombies too, not just her. Morgan smirked at his knowing tone. It was kind of a shame. Nothing was more of a staple from her childhood suburbias like a baked casserole. She should have made more when she was alive. Now that brains were the only worthwhile food, all she could see them as were wasted tubs of mush. “Wait, you won the pie contest?” She asked, a little heartened that at least it was someone who had a hard time tasting. “With what? Don’t tell me a brain pie. Did you at least get a fun prize?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about his philosophy. She liked working with things she knew people would like, especially when she could taste so little of it herself. If she managed to taste anything that wasn’t brains or ‘why yes, my tastebuds can still catch fire,’ it was the kind of ghostly whiff of flavor she was used to getting at the bottom of a seltzer can, which was, more or less, nothing. “Okay, prize winner guy,” she said. “Tell me what a--” she hesitated, certain she was going to butcher the syllables, they were already turning fuzzy in her head. “Vole-a-vent? Is? And I’ll give it a try. Soon, even, with this order.”

“I’m pretty sure a brain pie would have earned me a place in the flop 3,” his shoulders jolted up as he held back his laughter. If Alain could avoid having the whole butcher shop look at him, he would avoid it. “I made a tatin pie. Apples, sugar and butter. I used to have that all the time when I was a kid,” he scratched at the stubble on his cheek and shook his head at her next question. Nope, a karkinoid was not really the kind of prize he wanted to win in a contest, but the certificate was nice. “A goddamn lobster. Not a big fan of seafood, unfortunately,” he gave her a shrug and let his eyes wander toward someone who was picking up bones for his dogs. Heh, now he remembered what he had forgotten to ask the butcher for. “Mmh?” He held up his finger and repeated slowly “Vole o vent. It means flies in the wind, in French. It sounds fancier than it is. It’s puffed pastry and a creamy sauce with sweetbread. I think you can replace this with brains and perhaps, to really enhance the taste of brains, you could mix some directly into the sauce,” his brows furrowed. This should work. It probably would make one hell of a recipe for people like them who enjoyed those parts the rest of people sulked at.

Morgan took out her phone and started taking notes on her phone. It sounded decadent. The texture of the pastry would at least shake things up, and a sauce--she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything for herself that came with a sauce. As she took it all down, she felt an odd twist of guilt, it was a lot of trouble for something she had to eat by herself. Maybe she could share it with Remmy if they would ever talk to her again, but that was a fat chance. She smiled kindly at the French zombie all the same. “It sounds like you’ve really got your stuff together,” she said. “Um, can I---” She hesitated and searched the shop. No one around screamed hunter, at least. “I just kinda wonder, don’t you ever find it hard? Getting up every day with your real life behind you, trying to figure out how to put all the days in front of you into some kind of sense. Even if it’s longer than what you had before it’s not the same. And you can’t really explain it to most people, because they’ll never understand what it’s like to be like you in the first place. Uuh...it’s okay, if this is too forward. We don’t actually know each other and---” She checked the order counter. One second, three seconds, five-- “Yep! That’s my number, so, we can be good, really.”

“Wow, this got quite existencial really fast,” scoffing to himself, he brushed his laughter hand with a motion of the hand, making it clear that he was not making fun of her at all, but rather surprised by this turn of event. “But to answer to your question, I make do. Besides, you never know what tomorrow might be made of,” he shrugged. Part of what she said made him raise his eyebrows. Could it be possible… that she heard about the banshee scream? It was true that he had more time left than a week ago… technically. “How did you…” he shook his head. Nevermind how she knew. “You’ll send me pictures of your vol-au-vent ? If you need tips, I can send you a copy of my recipe notebook,” he offered. She went to pick up her order and he nodded politely at her. Alain, who had never been one for small talk, had started chatting more easily with others recently. Maybe being happier had helped him open up to people. Either way, it was nice and he couldn’t recall the last time he felt as if things were nice. “It was lovely talking to you.”

“Sorry, just been thinking too much to myself probably,” Morgan said lightly. She hadn’t realized that he didn’t put together the connection between them and it was far too awkward, too public to say, oh, I’m a month and change on the other side of death, how about you? But she gave him a warm look and hefted her brain supply for good measure before tucking it into her woven grocery bag. “Oh, you know, lucky guess,“ she said. “I can be too forward sometimes, I know. But we can chit chat on main, like normal people, if you want. Even without the existential angst! I’m Morgan. And you are—?”

“Who doesn’t,” Alain brushed it off, and glanced away from her, looking up at the order counter. It would not be long for him either, now. The piece of paper with the number on was now all crumpled from him fidgeting with it. He took his eyes back to her and watched her pack her purchases. “No harm done. I tend to be the exact opposite of that, so that’s a nice balance,” he almost smiled. Still there was kindness in his eyes as he nodded in agreement. “Let’s. Be normal people with the right amount of existential angst only,” his lips pursed before he replied. “I’m Alain.”

#chatzy #para morgan #wickedswriting

10 notes · View notes

miss-tc-nova · 4 years

Text

Wish I Wasn’t - Bragi x Reader 1/2

I...This isn’t what I planned when I started this...And this probably wasn’t what you were expecting when you asked...I’m so sorry...

~~~~~

Part 1: Unconvinced

Anxiety gets the better of me—the shop closes early; it’s not like I was going to have many more customers on a Wednesday night anyway. Not even the books I’ve built my living off can bring me any comfort this time. The door is locked, munny is put away, and the lights go out before I slump upstairs to my apartment where I spend too long in the shower hoping the water will wash away the worry—it doesn’t. I feel so heavy, like I’ll just hit the floor at any moment and suffocate beneath the pressure.

The white fabric crumpled beside the bed catches my eye. It’s soft between my fingers and I can imagine the night he spent here: dragging fingers through my hair, talking nonsense while we stared at the ceiling, and the sound of his heart as I drifted away. Addiction drives me bury my face in the cloth and complacency rolls through me; a waft of cinnamon spice throws a blanket over my fretfulness—nothing ever could compare to the relief I feel surrounded by his scent. I’d say it’s a shame I had to return the fluff-coat—he always took it when he had something important to do—but I could really use the sedative right now. Doing the best with what I’ve got, I pull the t-shirt over my head and curl up on my bed.

He told me he would be fine and the first time, he was. But this time, the faint nervousness in his expression sent mine skyrocketing. It’s only been a few days and my brain has already imagined a million terrible scenarios. I can’t help but worry so much that it brings tears to my eyes.

~~~~~

Eyes snap open, showing me my shadowed room. Everything is perfectly still and I consider I had one of those ridiculous falling dreams. But I was wrong: another round of knocking comes from the door leading to the alleyway.

Heart pounding in my chest, I flip the light on, slide from my bed, and bring with me the knife I keep for emergencies. My eyes check the locks on the door which are still securely in place. Leaving the chain intact, I release the second lock and open the door just enough to peak through.

There’s a young man standing on the other side. Even half shrouded by darkness, there’s no mistaking that wild hair and fur-lined jacket.

The knife clatters to the floor, abandoned by my fingers fidgeting with the chain. When I’m able to throw the door open, I launch at the boy. The grimace is ignored in favor of consuming all the relief I’ve been craving. It doesn’t matter that my eyes burn or my head is throbbing—he’s here.

“Geeze, were you gonna stab me? What a terrible way to be welcomed back.” Of course the first words out of his mouth are some smart-ass comments.

“It’s the middle of the night. How else do you expect me to greet an unexpected guest?” I mumble into his chest.

“Okay, fair enough. Now get inside.”

My victim is reluctantly released and let into my home. An over-dramatic groan fills the room as he finds the bed; I earn another from him when I chastise him.

“Oi! Smarmy Fluffcoat! Your shoes!” With a roll of my eyes, I grab his foot and pull. Shoes tossed by the door, I come back to Bragi throwing his jacket across the room too—I’ll be taking that later. “You bum. You’ve been here thirty seconds and are already making a mess.”

“I am sooo tired.” Having thrown his second shirt across my home, he flops onto his back.

I love seeing Bragi in this skin-tight sleeveless shirt; he’s far more toned than one would expect with his choice in clothing. My hand pauses, hovering over his chest—peeking from under his shirt is a purple spot. The concern instantly takes over and I start tugging at the fabric.

“Ack! Wait-Hold on!” The red-head pulls the last shirt off himself and the sight becomes clear; stretching across his chest is a massive, violent blotch.

My hand immediately goes to my mouth, only to fall again in my outburst. “What happened?!”

That simper doesn’t ease my nerves as much as he probably thinks. “Just got into a little scuffle.”

“A little?! This bruise is bigger than my arm!”

“The Heartless got in a good sucker punch. What can I say? I got a little over confident.” Those eyes scrutinize me, not finding what he hoped to instill in me. Finally, he lowers the aloof attitude. “Look, I’m okay, just a little sore. I promise.”

This is never going to reach a point where I’ll feel better about the situation but there’s nothing I can do about it now except deal with the aftermath—no matter how much it bothers me. Letting lose a sigh, I amble towards the fridge for ice. The homemade ice-pack and a bottle of water are shoved into his hands and I double back to the kitchen for some pain relievers.

By the time I return, my head reminds me that I’ve been worried sick over this kid. His dose is administered before I take mine.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, giving up the bottle.

The pills go down with water. “You—you’re what’s wrong with me.”

“What did I do?”

“I haven’t seen you in days,” I retort, returning the pain killers to the kitchen. “The last I heard, you were off on a mission looking for missing students who may or may not have been killed. Do you know what that kind of information does to someone who cares?”

“Aw, you care?” I could slap that smirk off. “Okay, not the time to joke around.”

That smarmy persona sloughs off with a heavy exhale, leaving behind someone who’s spent far more than he had. An arm extends to ask for me. The moment my fingers slide into his hand, Bragi pulls me into his lap. Engulfed in his grip, I can feel the tremors he’s been trying to suppress. He hides is face like a child trying to block out the world and I know whatever happened out there scared him more than he’ll ever tell me. He assured me he would be fine; sure he came back to me in one piece but having him rattled and shaking is not fine.

Combing fingers through his hair, I try to sort out the things I want to say. It’s well past midnight when the trembling dies out. Maybe it’s a subject that should wait until morning, but I need him to know: “I want you to quit.”

For a moment, nothing happens and I wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he lifts his face to me. Remnant tears clinging to his eye lashes do nothing to argue my stance on the matter, but Bragi genuinely seems to think I’m crazy. “What?”

He’s been training for this his whole life; it’s been his dream to see other worlds and he’s always bragging about protecting the world order—and I hate it. The words are bitter, however, because I know he would never say such things to me. “I want you to give up being a key bearer.”

In disbelief, his head shakes. “No, I-”

“Look at yourself,” I plead. “You’re all bruised and shaken up and you’re not even a master yet.”

“I know I’m still a newbie but I’m sure it’ll get easier.”

“No, it won’t.” He frowns at my harshness. “The better you get, the harder the jobs will be. This is only the beginning and things are going to get worse.” Taking his face in my hands, I need my intentions to get through. “I can’t stand to see you like this. Please, Bragi, I…I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“…I’m sorry.” Those aren’t the words I wanted to hear. “Look at me.” A gentle nudge guides my gaze to meet his. “I’m sorry for scaring you, but I’m alright—it just caught me off-guard. I’ll get stronger; this will get easier. I’ll be okay.” A finger silences the argument before I can make it. “I’m not giving up just because of a few bruises so early in my career. Besides, there are people depending on us; my friends would never let me hear the end of it if I quit now.” The hair gets brushed from my face. “We can talk about this later if you want but I’m done for the night. Also, is that my shirt?”

I look down at the garment. “Yeah. It made me feel better.”

His chuckle instantly lightens the mood. “I want that back tomorrow.”

“What? Why?” My complaint is more genuine than expected.

Having recovered from the depression, he pulls me back in, nuzzling into my shoulder. My heart feels a million times lighter at the touch of his lips against my neck. “For the same reason you like to steal my coat.”

His tongue flickers and goosebumps shoot across my skin. “You know about that?” I murmur, subconsciously giving him more room to work.

“Of course I do,” he says between kisses. “Why else do you think I let you have it for days at a time? It smells just like you when I take it back.” A shiver ripples down my spine; instead of a small taste, Bragi drags his tongue from my collarbone to my jaw. I’m ashamed to have given him the squeak that encourages this behavior. He always knew exactly how to make me fall for him and he’s destroying all my composure as if it were made of sand.

Teeth sink in. “Ow!” All I get in response is a mischievous laugh that never breaks contact. The longer his mouth works the spot, the worse it’s going to be but I honestly couldn’t care less right now—I just want to enjoy this and forget my fears for a while.

Relinquishing his hold at last, Bragi seals the mark with one final lick before admiring his work. The molten amber in his eyes, that haughty smirk, the confidence radiating from him: I love it all—I love him. Taking my chance, I push him down onto the bed and kiss him like my life depends on it.

For a while, he lets me have the reigns, giving all that I ask for—he likes to play me like that before flipping the table and turning me to mush. A glint of a predatory expression on his face is all the warning I get before he easily switches places with me to take control. A nip at my bottom lip—purely out of courtesy—gives him full access to my mouth.

The make-out eventually dies to lazy kisses and simply enjoying each others’ presence. He drifts away before I do, leaving me with my thoughts. I hate his job and the risks he takes but I’ll never be able to convince him out of it. There’s no limit to what I’d give for him to be safe, not that he’d accept it. Unfortunately, I have to settle with worrying about him and hope that he’s right: that he’ll get stronger and it’ll become easier.

Letting the thoughts flow past me, I hide away in his arms. The steady beating of his heart reminds me that he’s here right now and that he loves me.

#bragi #kh bragi #khdr bragi #smarmy fluffcoat #bragi x reader #kh dr #khdr #kh dark road #novas requests #gender neutral reader

4 notes · View notes

purplepersnicketywrites · 5 years

Note

Purbbbbb what about a quirk accident fic. E.g. one of them is hit by a truth quirk, or a mindreading quirk, or theyre turned to a kid so babysitting ensues. Cliche-ish but you write the cutest things so itd be fun to read lzhxhxuf

MAPLE!!! Yes!!

hhhhhhh truth quirk hhhhh

Eijirou felt like he had been punched in the stomach. Or, uh, maybe he had? Everything was a little hazy. Kinda vague. Was his vision cloudy? He blinked a couple of times and it began to clear. Augh, his stomach was killing him.

Someone shook his shoulder, roughly. Who was it? Eijirou looked up and saw a blob of mostly black. Whoever it was had blond hair, though.

“Oi, Kirishima! Hey! Are you okay?”

Huh, the voice coming from the blob sounded familiar? Eijirou shook his head. “Feel sick. Stomach bad. Can’t see well.”

Some of his nausea lightened as he spoke - he guessed that having something to focus on was helping?

“Ah, shit. He got you, didn’t he?”

“I don’t remember,” Eijirou said, squeezing his eyes shut. “And I’m not totally sure who you are?”

“Fuuuck, okay,” said the person, kneeling down in front of him. “Do you know your name?”

“Kirishima Eijirou,” Eijirou said. He was pretty sure of that.

“Good. How old are you?”

“Um, sixteen?”

“Yep, right. What school do you go to?”

Eijirou thought about that. “Yuuei.”

“Okay, do you know the names of your classmates?”

Eijirou squinted at the blob-person again. His vision was getting better, and he made out a pair of bright red eyes, staring at him with a concern that didn’t normally occupy them.

“Oh,” Eijirou said. “Bakugou!”

Bakugou grinned at him. “There ya go. Dumbass.”

“Ugh, I feel awful,” Eijirou said. “I still don’t remember what happened. Feel like I got punched! But my quirk should’ve stopped that, right?”

“Idiot, we got briefed on this,” Bakugou said, standing up and hauling Eijirou to his feet. “The guy we were after has a contact-activated quirk. Doesn’t matter if you were hardened or not - you’re still gonna be affected by it.”

“Oh, so, was this a brain-mush quirk?” Eijirou asked.

Bakugou shook his head. “The fucker has a kind of speech quirk. If you don’t say enough true things, it fucks with you.”

“True things? Like, the sky is blue? Grass is green?” Eijirou felt the haze over his thoughts lifting even as he said the words. “Oh, it’s working.”

“Yeah. Better get you back to Fat Gum and Suneater,” Bakugou said. His hand was around Eijirou’s elbow, and he pulled Eijirou along with him as he started walking.

“But what about the guy we were supposed to, uh,” Eijirou blinked. “Oranges are orange. Lemons are yellow. Bananas are yellow. Aha! We were supposed to catch the guy, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, but who the fuck knows where he went after he got you, at this point,” Bakugou said, fingers tightening just a tad. “It’s whatever.“

Eijirou squinted at his friend. “Strawberries are red, raspberries are pink.”

“Why are you obsessed with fruit?” Bakugou asked.

“Hush, I’m just trying to find easy true things to say,” Eijirou said, and that was true, too. His memory of the morning was trickling back as he spoke. “Lettuce is green, cabbage is green, celery is green, uh, leaves are green, my hair is red, um, blueberries are blue!”

Aha!

“Hey!” Eijirou cried. “You were there! You were just behind the corner of the building! You could’ve gone after him!”

“What, and I shoulda left your sorry ass on the ground for anyone to find?” Bakugou scoffed. “The pros can handle the villain. Or what are they fucking for?”

“Wow,” Eijirou said. “That’s surprisingly mature and attractive of you.”

Wait.

Bakugou stopped.

Wait, no-

“What?”

“Uh,” Eijirou said, faced with a Bakugou with one of his eyebrows arched like that. “I said you were being mature?”

“And the other part?” Bakugou asked, voice as flat as a sheet of paper.

Eijirou said nothing, and then winced as he stomach started hurting again.

Bakugou must have noticed, because he scowled and used his grip on Eijirou to tug him closer. “Say it again.”

“It,” Eijirou said, matching Bakugou’s scowl at the word. “Don’t use this quirk against me, man.”

Bakugou let go of his arm and took a step backwards.

“That’s not-” he began. Eijirou watched his frown morph into frustration. “Let’s just go. Can you walk by yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Eijirou said, honestly. The pain in his stomach subsided. Alright, so this quirk was officially Annoying.

Bakugou growled and seized his elbow again.

Eijirou sat at the edge of the bed in the school hospital wing, kicking his legs back and forth and glaring at the floor. Fat Gum had sent him back to Yuuei, and Recovery Girl had inspected him thoroughly. “Apples can be different colours. Apples can be red, apples can be green, apples can be yellow.”

He heaved a great sigh. There wasn’t really anything that anyone could do about this quirk until it wore off. Eijirou had asked if there was a truth-compulsion aspect to it - something to explain why exactly he’d said what he’d said to Bakugou earlier - but it wasn’t on the villain’s records. That didn’t necessarily mean that there wasn’t, only that it hadn’t been noticed in other victims.

“Ah, Kirishima! You may return to your dorm room,” Recovery Girl said, walking into the room from her office. “Though come back at any time should you feel like the effects of this quirk are overwhelming you.”

“I will!” Eijirou said. “Thank you.”

“I believe that a friend of yours is waiting outside for you as well,” Recovery Girl said.

Oh?

Eijirou thanked the old woman again and walked out into the hallway. Ah. Bakugou. He was leaning on the wall across from the nurse’s office and scowling into the middle-distance, though he looked up at the sound of the door. Eijirou’s stomach flipped, though maybe not entirely because of the quirk.

“Hey,” Eijirou said. He wasn’t sure of Bakugou was going to bring up that thing he’d said earlier or not.

Bakugou nodded at him. and turned to start walking down the hall. “You got the all-clear?”

“Yeah, as long as I keep saying true stuff!” Eijirou said, jogging a couple of steps to catch up to him. “I’m thinking that I’ll load up Wikipedia and just, like, read it aloud as needed until the quirk wears off.”

“Huh,” Bakugou said. “Smart.”

Eijirou felt himself flushing. “Ah, not really.”

Bakugou eyed him, and then his expression turned furious. “You actually believe that you- Ugh. Coming up with that shit is fucking clever. Don’t sell yourself short like that.”

“Uh,” Eijirou said. “Um. Thanks.”

“Whatever,” Bakugou scoffed. They continued walking in silence after that, Eijirou’s heart pounding far too wildly in his chest.

They stopped outside Eijirou’s door, but before Eijirou could open it, Bakugou put a hand on his chest to stop him. Eijirou turned and he knew his eyes were probably too wide, but Bakugou’s hand was warm even through his t-shirt.

“Hey, leave your door unlocked,” Bakugou said. What? “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?!” Eijirou’s voice squeaked out half an octave higher than usual, ah fuck.

“Just- Forget it. I don’t know what time limit is on this stupid quirk bullshit, but you’re gonna need to sleep,” Bakugou said. “And if it turns your brain to mush again while you’re sleeping then someone’s gonna have to go in and talk you into clarity.”

Eijirou hadn’t thought about that. “Oh. Makes sense.”

“Mm,” Bakugou said, his fingers splaying a little on Eijirou’s chest before he pulled his hand away. “So shout if you need me, Kirishima.”

Bakugou flashed him a grin - a grin - and twisted away to his own room. Eijirou was left standing there, unsure if the butterflies in his stomach were quirk induced or not.

“Bakugou is so cool,” Eijirou whispered. Not the quirk, then.

“Hey! Hey, can you speak?”

“Nn… Yes.”

“Good. Do you know your name?”

“Uh…”

“Fuck, okay, how are you feeling?”

“Bad. Real bad. Hurts.”

“When we catch this fuck I’m gonna kill him.”

“Bakugou?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

There was something heavy on each of his shoulders. Eijirou groaned and felt himself fall forward onto something warm. “I got hit by a quirk.”

“That’s right.”

“I gotta say things that are true,” Eijirou said, pressing his face into the warm thing.

“Or your brain shorts out worse than Dunce Face, yeah,” Bakugou said. Weird, the warm thing had rumbled along with his words.

…

Eijirou opened his eyes. Huh, yeah, his face was currently buried in the crook of Bakugou’s neck. It was Bakugou’s hands he could feel on his shoulders. Eijirou took a moment to assess the whole situation as best he could. The light in his bedroom was on, but he had no idea what the time was. He was sitting up, well, slouched forwards a little. Bakugou was kneeling over his legs on top of the duvet.

“Uhhh,” Eijirou said. “What are you doing?”

“There you are,” Bakugou said from somewhere just above Eijirou’s ear. Eijirou let Bakugou push him backwards. “You were screaming, so I come in to stop you.”

Eijirou couldn’t say anything for a moment, distracted by Bakugou’s eyes roving his warming face. “Augh, I don’t remember. What time is it?”

“Like, four or some shit.”

Eijirou groaned.

“Tell me some more fruit colours,” Bakugou said. “Until you’re completely here.”

“It’s four in the morning, I’m not gonna be completely here,” Eijirou grumbled. Bakugou just looked at him. “Fine, uh, Limes are green, pineapples are yellow on the inside and brown on the outside, dragonfruit are pink with white flesh.”

“Good. Go back to sleep,” Bakugou said. He was still sitting on Eijirou’s legs.

Eijirou pressed his hands into his eyes. “This sucks.”

“I’m staying here,” announced Bakugou, finally rolling off Eijirou’s legs and coming to rest between Eijirou and the wall. Wait, what? “I’ll be closer to head this thing off before you get bad again.”

“You don’t have to,” Eijirou began, watching Bakugou slide himself under the covers with a feeling of dumbfoundment. “Do… That…”

Bakugou snorted. “This shit is stressing me out, so I’d rather be here than anywhere else.”

Eijirou had no idea how to take that, so he tried to joke about it instead. “Aw, Blasty, are you worried about me?”

“Yeah,” Bakugou said, without hesitation. Eijirou felt himself go red - redder. Well, there went Eijirou’s last chance at retaining his composure. “Stop thinkin’ so hard and go the fuck to sleep.”

Bakugou rolled over to face the wall, back to Eijirou. Okay. Okay. Without Bakugou’s eyes on him he could probably manage to sleep. Yeah. Only now he could hear Bakugou breathing, and the heat radiating off of him was stronger than Eijirou had imagined.

Maybe he’d imagined this a little too much.

“I can hear your brain whirring,” Bakugou grunted. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“You’re warm,” Eijirou said, without thinking. Whoops. Maybe it was the speech quirk.

Eijirou imagined that Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Hah? ‘Course I am, it’s part of my quirk.”

“I, uh,” Eijirou swallowed. “I never noticed before.”

“Is it too warm for you to sleep?” Bakugou asked.

Eijirou thought about that for a few moments. “No.”

“Then what’s your fuckin’ problem?”

Eijirou shook his head, even if Bakugou couldn’t see him. “No problem, man. I’m just overthinking.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou snorted, and reached behind to elbow Eijirou’s chest. “Like I said. Go to sleep.”

“Alright,” Eijirou said, though he wasn’t sure if his racing heartbeat would help with that or not. He suspected the latter. “Night, Bakugou.”

“Night, Kirishima.”

Eijirou had sort of been hoping to wake up and see Bakugou still sleeping next to him. The early morning sun would have been shining, enough so that a sunbeam shone through a chink in the curtains and turned Bakugou’s hair into a halo of gold. Eijirou would have drawn in a gasp at the sight of it, and Bakugou’s eyes would have fluttered open and met his. Bakugou would have been soft with sleep for a moment, and Eijirou would have given him a shy smile and a ‘good morning’. Eijirou had been picturing it for quite some time now.

Instead of all that, however, Eijirou woke up to a cold bed and a blinding headache.

It was sort of how he imagined waking up to a hangover must feel like. He groaned, one hand flying to his forehead. “Ow, fuck.”

There was a sound from across the room, and Eijirou squinted over to see Bakugou just turning to look at him from Eijirou’s desk chair. Oh! He was still sort of here! Maybe he’d woken up early and got bored? Had he been doing work while Eijirou was asleep? How long had Bakugou been up?

“The sky is blue, grass is green,” Eijirou said to try and clear the headache away. He glanced at the clock. “Wh- It’s eleven! I overslept! We’re late to class!”

“Nah,” Bakugou said, and Eijirou paused in his mad scramble to get out from under his duvet.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been pulled out of classes for a few days until this quir wears off. You need to say stuff out loud too often and it could be ‘disruptive’,” Bakugou said, with a derisive snort.

“Right,” Eijirou said. That made sense. However… “Why are you still here, then?”

“Someone needs to babysit you,” Bakugou said, turning back to what he was working on and moving some of the paper around. He stood. “Aizawa gave me the worksheets for today, if you’re up for it.”

“What, now?” Eijirou blinked.

Bakugou snorted and made for the door. “No, dumbass. You need to get dressed and eat something first.”

“Oh,” Eijirou said. He couldn’t tell if his brain was frazzled from the quirk, from just waking up, or the way Bakugou smirked at him when he left through the door.

He left through the door.

Eijirou lurched upwards and staggered towards his door. He wrenched it open, a ‘wait’ building on his lips, only to be met by one of Bakugou’s raised eyebrows and a pair of crossed arms.

“I said get dressed,” Bakugou said, sounding a little amused. “Once you are, come downstairs.”

“Uh huh,” Eijirou said. He stood there, staring at Bakugou for a few more moments.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, grabbed Eijirou’s shoulders, and twisted him around to face his room again. Bakugou shoved him - not hard - and Eijirou walked back into his room.

“Clothes, Kirishima,” Bakugou said. Eijirou looked down at his Crimson Riot pyjamas. “And say some true stuff!”

“I’m screwed,” Eijirou whispered to himself as he heard Bakugou’s stomping footsteps fade towards the lift.

Eijirou was pretty sure that he’d like, fallen into an alternate universe or something, because the universe itself was catering to his whims. Maybe this was some sort of karmic reward for having to go through this speech quirk. Maybe it was all a happy accident.

Eijirou wanted to spend time with Bakugou? Well, here, have a few days of his undivided attention where he cooks you meals and tutors you and your knees and arms keep brushing. Here, he’s now taken to sleeping in your bed so you don’t go through a brain mush attack. Here, he’s even sticking around when the rest of your friends bundle into your room after classes, where normally he’d wrinkle up his nose and leave them all to be loud.

Why Bakugou hadn’t thrown up any complaints about missing classes was a question that weighed a little on Eijirou’s mind, but, well. He hadn’t. Eijirou had tried to ask him about it, but Bakugou had deflected by saying that he didn’t care, and that they could catch up with after-school lessons, and that Eijirou’s brain function was a little more important than a grade. So. Eijirou just had to assume that this was the full-throttle version of Bakugou’s worry about him.

It was fantastic, and really sweet actually, but Eijirou’s poor gay heart was suffering. It was working overtime, all the time. And… Eijirou was beginning to suspect that a lot of this was intentional on Bakugou’s part.

Ever since Eijirou had slipped and called Bakugou attractive, it almost sort of seemed like Bakugou was being, well, flirty. It was a word that Eijirou hesitated to use, because it was Bakugou, and flirty was not a word Eijirou ever would have associated with him.

Like, right now, Eijirou was in his room and sat on his bed. Bakugou was next to him, leaning on the headboard with his legs stretched out next to Eijirou’s with a book in his hands. Kaminari was at the foot of the bed, sitting with his legs crossed and chattering away about what had happened in lessons today. The only problem Eijirou had with this was that he couldn’t concentrate on what Kaminari was saying.

Bakugou’s foot was moving. Against Eijirou’s ankle. It was the kind of movement that might be unconscious on his friend’s part, but it was also Bakugou’s foot on his ankle. Well, Bakugou was wearing socks - black ones with a gaudy flame pattern that Eijirou had bought for him - but that only added to the sensation. The soft fabric was lighting up part of Eijirou’s Good Feeling section in his brain.

Eijirou watched Kaminari explain something Iida said, mimicking the class president’s unique hand motions, but none of the words managed to slide into his ears. Or if they did, they didn’t linger much. Bakugou’s foot kept moving, rhythmic, in slow circles. Eijirou was pretty sure he was gonna die.

Nausea curled though his gut. At least he’d figured out that he could just say the same true thing over and over again to stave off the steadily-dwindling effects of the quirk. “The sky is blue, ah, sorry Kaminari! Keep going.”

“No prob, man,” Kaminari said, continuing his spiel. Eijirou tried his best to listen this time. “Uh, so. I said it probably wasn’t possible, y’know? But the Prez said it again and he sounded all sure of stuff so now I think I’m gonna sign up for classes at least? Maybe not now, but, at some point. Maybe I’ll turn out as good as you once I get some practice in!”

Eijirou blinked. “As good as me for what?”

Kaminari raised an eyebrow. “Man, you’re really out of it, huh? Art, man! I doodle stuff but I’ve never been serious about it. You’re like, hella good at that stuff.”

Eijirou tried not to notice Bakugou nodding to that.

“Ah, I mean, I don’t think I’m that good,” Eijirou said, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand.

Bakugou grumbled something under his breath that Eijirou didn’t catch. Kaminari’s eyes widened slightly. Had he heard what Bakugou had said? Eijirou opened his mouth to ask, but Kaminari began speaking too soon.

“Naw, your stuff’s great! You’ve obviously put work into it,” Kaminari said. He pulled a face. “You agree with me, right Bakugou?”

Bakugou looked up from his book and eyed the other blond. Eijirou almost laughed at the twist of emotions on his face - and they were there, if you really looked. Bakugou wanted to refute Kaminari’s claims - the idea of actively being called to agree with anyone else on anything rankled at him constantly. On the other hand, he knew Bakugou had a Thing about Eijirou putting himself down and approved of trying to fix that by offering compliments.

“Ugh, I guess,” Bakugou said, eventually. He glanced at Eijirou and Eijirou’s heart fluttered. “If you put that much fucking intent into revision, you’d be top of the class.”

Eijirou updated his mental Cause of Death form with ‘cute boy told me I was clever in a roundabout way’. It was one of the frequent offenders. “Aww, thanks dude! Ah, both of you!“

Kaminari snorted. “Oh, I’m used to the favouritism you two have for each other by now.”

Eijirou felt himself turn red. Bakugou’s foot didn’t stop.

“Ooh, and I have homework to catch up on!” Kaminari said, winking. Winking? Really? “So I’ll leave you two alone, yeah?”

Eijirou didn’t even have time to bluster weakly before Kaminari was out of the room. “Uh.”

“He thinks we’re dating,” Bakugou said, in the most conversational tone that Eijirou had ever heard from him.

WAIT WHAT?

“He- He what?” Eijirou sputtered. “Where- What?”

“I said,” Bakugou was speaking slowly now and fixing Eijirou with a strange, challenging glare. “Pikachu thinks that we’re dating.”

“Dating?” Eijirou breathed. “B- Uh.”

Bakugou looked back down at his book. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Eijirou’s brain came to a screeching halt, and he just gaped at his friend. His friend whose foot was still drawing circles on his ankle. This- This was definitely flirting, right? Bakugou was flirting with him? What was he supposed to do? Flirt back? Ask him out? Did Bakugou want to date him or was this, uh, something else?

“We’re not dating, but,” Eijirou said, pausing for a moment to swallow. Bakugou’s eyes flicked back up to his. “Would you wanna fix that?”

Bakugou closed his book and threw it off the side of the bed. “You askin’ me out?”

Eijirou nodded, not trusting himself to speak out loud.

“Then yeah,” Bakugou said, glancing away for a moment and looking back at Eijirou. “That’d be good.”

Eijirou felt kind of like a hot-air balloon. He felt warm all over, and something in his chest was expanding and growing lighter than air. He felt like he could soar, and float above the world, and he would want for nothing but to rise higher and higher with the roar of Bakugou’s fire being all that he needed.

He twisted from where he sat, grabbing at Bakugou’s shirt and bringing their foreheads together. He couldn’t fight the smile off his face - not that he wanted to - and it seemed like Bakugou was in the same boat.

“Can I kiss you?” Eijirou asked, and he knew his voice was a little too breathy but he really didn’t care.

“On one condition,” Bakugou said, reaching up to hold either side of Eijirou’s face. “I get to kiss you first.”

Eijirou was about to remark that, yeah, that’s kind of how kissing worked, but then all thoughts fled from his mind as Bakugou’s lips brushed the corner of his mouth. Oh. Eijirou’s eyes fluttered closed as Bakugou laid his kiss there. It was so soft, so sweet, so tender, and the balloon of joy in his chest swelled and swelled. He was pretty sure he’d hit the upper atmosphere by now, because his breath had been well and truly stolen.

Eijirou opened his eyes when Bakugou pulled back, and they stared at each other for a few long moments. Then Eijirou tugged on Bakugou’s shirt and pulled him into the kiss he’d been dreaming of for months.

A few days after that, and the speech quirk had worn off completely. It was a relief. The relief was doubled when Fat Gum texted Eijirou to let him know that the villain had been apprehended. Eijirou would have to attend court as a witness during the judiciary process, but that was all part and parcel of hero work anyway. It’d be interesting to get that sort of experience.

Eijirou was, however, already worried about how he was going to wear his hair for such formal proceedings.

Telling their friends and the rest of their classmates that Eijirou and Katsuki were now dating had gone smoothly. Well, it hadn’t so much been telling anyone as it had been that Katsuki was as unconcerned with onlookers as ever. He had no qualms about PDA, and had kissed Eijirou at the end of a class hero exercise where they had been teamed up together and won.

So, that was one way to get the message across.

Eijirou curled his fingers into Katsuki’s as they sat down for lunch outside under one of the trees. Katsuki squeezed Eijirou’s fingers back and left their hands linked as he tucked into his food.

Eijirou smiled.

#kiribaku #bakushima #fanfiction #my fanfiction #drabble #reply #maplefudge #THIS WAS REALLY FUN TO WRITE

203 notes · View notes

dashielldeveron · 5 years

Text

Viper V: de Futuro.

Warnings: violence, swears, the law.

Summary: the famous sewer scene, like they have in every rom-com.

Day five of the bomb threat. It was confined to Manhattan now, although no one could be certain. Bomb threats tended not to last so long, but this one had reason to extend: all of the sewers in lower Manhattan were backed up, and so far, no one could locate the cause. Authorities had the inkling that the bomber—Isadora’s kidnapper, your identity thief, twice—had blocked the sewers off somewhere downtown, maybe linked with the subway.

Which meant NYC was in uproar, mostly for transportation issues. The streets never cleared, and all attempted to avoid being outside for long due to the rank smell—but when one lives in an overpopulated, urban area, that tended to be difficult to evade.

All applause for your identity thief. He’d turned the city upside down with a few, simple actions. If he weren’t directly aiming and igniting this in your direction, you’d be impressed.

Too bad Tom was being a little prick. Wanting to be thorough in initiating you to be consigliere, he wasn’t letting you have a spare moment to yourself, and when you collapsed on your bed at home each night, your brain transformed into mush.

“Who should I give this job to?” Tom tossed you three profiles across his desk and kept striding towards his liquor cabinet.

“Sydney,” you said, picking out his file and setting it in front of his chair, “He’s got the subtlety that Moss and Murtagh don’t. Also, Bauman called; he wants to hire you to plan an operation for him across the Hudson, and Judge Le sent you this package in the mail.” You pulled a slender rectangle out of your blazer pocket and threw it his way. “It’s weighted like a fountain pen, probably in thanks for your help last week.”

Tom caught the package without looking away from his liquor cabinet and unwrapped it as he chose his bottle. “Excellent. I want you to look at Bauman’s initial operation to see what your instincts are. If you can’t figure anything out, give it to me. Text Sydney that he’s going to Harlem for the next five days. Tell him to leave his rings at home.” He dug his fingernails into the crack where the tape didn’t cover the cardboard and forced it open, and he tapped the opening into his palm. “You’re right,” he said, holding up the fountain pen, “Engraved. Put it with the rest.” He threw it back to you.

Catching it with both hands, you slid it into the pen cup. “Also, Holland, we should get the New Jersey representatives on the payroll soon. They’re trying to introduce a local law that’d let them gerrymander more often, and we want them in our pocket, if they have that power.”

“Get on it, then,” said Tom, and he poured an unhealthy amount of whisky into a tumbler. He held up a hand. “Wait. I don’t want them if they haven’t passed that law. Get them in our good graces but don’t commit to anything serious.”

You jotted that on your legal pad. “Got it. Are Z and Haz still going to the Heights today?”

“If the streets are manageable.” Tom took a deep drink and winced. “Fuckin’. Fuckin’ bomber.”

“Are we doing anything about that?”

Tom drained his glass. “You bet your arse we are.”

***

“You’re the worst,” you said, attempting to rest your weight by the pads of your index and middle fingers on the grimy wall of the sewer so that the pressure was removed from your heels for even a moment. “I’m not doing this again.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Tom muttered, waving the flashlight in your direction.

“I could be touching the Gawain diamond right now. Maybe. It’s unclear when it’s coming in.” You pushed off of the wall and rubbed the grit between your fingers. “Instead, I’m living like a goddamn ninja turtle.”

“If you want pizza after this, just say the word,” said Tom, “but stop fuckin’ complaining. Come on. I’m hearing voices in the distance.”

“You could have sent some lame-o soldier to do this.” You leapt over a sopping puddle underneath a grate but managed to land in a deceptively squishy moss.

(Harrison had also voiced this sentiment. Why would the don and his consigliere go perform a humiliating task? “I want her eyes on everything they can be when it comes to this case,” Tom had said as if you hadn’t been present, and he loosened his tie enough to slip it off but keep the knot. “And I’m not letting her out of my sight.”)

“Yet I want you.” Tom peered around a bend, holding out his arm to keep you back.

“Yeah, well,” you said, “You may need my brain, but if it’s scrambled from not relaxing, it may not be on its best behaviour.”

“We’ll see about that,” Tom said under his breath, and he stood upright, dropped his arm, and beckoned for you to follow him farther. Before he could take could take more than three steps, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ, Viper, if you wanted time off, all you have to ask. Not—not now, of course. Gotta get situated. But once things calm down, you can…” Tom turned towards you, and in his face was an exasperation you hadn’t seen since you missed your mother’s birthday: weak, raised eyebrows with a mouth open simply because it didn’t take any muscles for it to drop and eyes with the suggestion of watering.

You shook your head. “I don’t want any time off.”

Tom shook his head in tandem, biting his lower lip and furrowing his brow. “Then what do you want?”

A series of shouts came from down the sewer, and Tom’s hand shot to his gun over the clatter of running footsteps from the other direction. You hissed at him that he couldn’t shoot in the sewer; he’d ruin their ears. Tom reluctantly withdrew and trudged forth.

You came upon a capacious, underground crossroads with tunnels going in six directions. Tom began to speak, but your hand on his shoulder silenced him as you listened.

“The police,” said Tom, “are down that one.” He gestured towards the one towards your left.

“Agreed,” you said, placing your chin on the back of your hand; Tom took a deep breath. “But listen: what’s the tinny sound? I’d say it’s chains dragging on the floor, but it’s not sixteenth century Spain.”

“There are so many things I want to say to you right now, but none of them are appropriate for this situation.”

“Tell me later,” you said, “Someone’s gotten to the blockage before we did.” You approached the tunnel, Tom close behind. “Ffffffuck. We won’t see raw evidence.”

Another shout and water rushing—holy shit, more like a fuckin’ deluge—surging your way.

“Oh, my God,” you said, and you grabbed Tom’s hand and ran—which tunnel did you come in? That one, sure. You chose that one.

Tom ran past you, but he came to a halt when you couldn’t keep up. You made the grossest decision of your life to take off your heels and run in the sewers in your bare feet. (“I’m gonna get the plague, and it’s gonna be your fault. I’m gonna get the plague, and hepatitis, and all my organs are gonna fail.”)

Shouts and watery footsteps from behind. An instruction to split up. A gunshot reverberated down your tunnel, the bullet skimming the wall, and you stuck a finger in your ear and twisted to pop it.

You came to a fork in the tunnel and bolted down the left path (“That’s how you get out of a maze,” you said, “you just keep your hand on the left wall.”), and Tom glanced back when you yelped at having stepped in a wet moss. A low pipe struck the back of Tom’s head, and his knees buckled, his hands flying to his scalp.

“No, no, no, it’s okay,” you said, peeking back down the sewer, “Come on. Stand up. We’ll be out soon. Arm around my shoulder. Let’s go.”

Tom put his arm around your waist, and his palm tightened around the spot where it curved into your stomach. Wrenching him upright, you urged him to put as much of his weight as he needed on you, mostly because you were a masochist who wanted to drop dead right there, and if this is the closest to romantic contact you’ll get, you’ll take it.

You came into another open crossroads and let him lean against the sewer wall while you stretched, water trickling in after you, not yet covering your feet but rising.

“Firehoses,” Tom said, his hand flat against the sewer (that had better not be the one he touches you with), “The chain dragging noise. Firehoses. They must be trying to blast out the blockage with water pressure.”

Nodding, you rolled your shoulders backwards. “If you say so. Which is—”

“Don’t say anything,” said Tom, “I hear someone coming.”

From another tunnel approached the manic splash of a runner—panting. Heavy panting. When he entered the crossroad, he doubled over and tried to breathe. Dressed in black. Hiding his face. Gotcha.

His head snapped towards you when you moved towards Tom, who snaked his arm around your waist again for support. He whipped out a gun, and though it’s too dark to make out what type it is, you get the feeling it wasn’t the one fired earlier.

“The fuck are you?” he barks, and it’s natural; it’s not the same person as before, who was very careful to conceal his identity. His gun shook for a second before steadying.

Tom opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You spoke for him. “You don’t know me?”

“You’re not with the police?”

“Are you with the bomber?”

You heard a click. “What’s it to you?”

“Personal interest.”

“A chick with personal interest. Not police.” He cleared his throat. “What up, Viper?”

You reached towards Tom’s holster and aimed his gun at the grunt before he could protest, but Tom did let out a choked sound: the barrel had grazed the outline of his cock—and you cocked his gun, hand never trembling. “Tell me about my identity thief.”

“You already know everything,” said the grunt, edging backwards and stumbling on sewage, “Precision like Mozart and justice like it’s judgment day. And if I can shoot you now, then the first part of my boss’s justice will be served pretty hot.”

“Justice,” you said, staring for a moment at the sludge between your toes, and you flexed them. “Then you know it’s not justice for me to shoot my hostage right here and now.” You pulled Tom into a chokehold and dug the barrel into his forehead. “You wanna get out of here, huh? Go on, then, before I blast this concussed fireman’s brains out.”

Tom’s hands gripped at your forearm, initially trying to pry you off but falling still. The grunt was hesitating, but his gun was lowering.

“C’mon. Don’t make me come over there.”

He bolted. Your grip on Tom’s neck loosened, and your arms fell to your side. Panting, Tom ran his fingers through his hair, only a suggestion of gel left. He shook his head at you, his eyes wide and jaw dropped.

“You are,” he said between breaths, “the craziest woman I’ve ever come across. And that’s why this is working—mmf!”

He inhaled sharply at your return of his gun to his holster, and you, grinning with a glint of wickedness in your eyes, glanced at his belt, jerked the holster back to its place at his side, and lingered with your fingers in his belt loops (the leather kept his pants fabric a little tighter to his skin than necessary, and you bet if you cared to, you could easily feel around for the v of his hipbones).

You were close, so close, and he couldn’t make himself look anywhere besides into your eyes. “Who’s talking here, Viper or the adrenaline?” he asked under his breath.

You yanked his belt loops to your hips. “Are you saying this doesn’t turn you on?”

“Is scared to death in the realm of turned on?”

“Sometimes,” you said, stepping away. It was the adrenaline talking. You had no idea how your aim was; you don’t shoot the guns, and Tom had been helpless in your arms. Pure luck had never felt so sexy. You shifted your foot on the edge to examine the underside, and grimacing, you said, “We’re getting out of here before I obtain several parasites. How’s your concussion?”

“Unsure if it is,” said Tom, his hand flying to the back of his head, “I wish I could see the bruise when it appears. Still not the best on my feet at the moment.”

“Well, lean on me, then, if you need to.”

***

Warm water bubbled up to your ankles. The foot soaker thing had been commandeered from a secretary in the business side of Osseous, and you were going to stay in it until you burned and scrubbed away the first five layers of skin.

Tom clutched an ice pack to the back of his head, and he hunched over to scroll through his phone on his lap. “I can still order that pizza, you know.”

“Let me have some semblance of professionalism around you, Holland,” you said, writing down the sewer events on your legal pad, “Besides, I have leftover hibachi at home.”

“Please order the pizza; I’m starving,” said Haz, untying his boots and removing them.

“Put a vegetable on it, for the love of God,” Zendaya said without looking up from her phone, “How you eat is abominable.”

“I eat vegetables.”

“Potatoes are a starch,” said Zendaya, “Have you guys been on twitter today?”

“What’s going on?” Tom popped his back and folded both his arms behind his head.

She flicked down her phone with her index finger. “A twitter account for Epiales, that political writer, was created this morning.”

“It’s fake,” you said on reflex.

“How do you know? It’s verified.”

“It can’t be.” You began to stand but sat again. “I’m not getting out of the foot bath. Come over here,” you said, frowning.

Z obliged, and she scrolled through the tweets for you. Shaking your head, you said, “It’s bogus. Total bullshit.”

“How would you know?” Haz asked from the liquor cabinet.

Oh. Um. “Look at how the sentences are structured. Epiales has flawless grammar. I don’t even have to go through all of them; there’s a comma splice in this tweet. Rookie mistake. That’s not something you do once you know it’s wrong. Plus, didn’t Epiales say on his website that anything not on the website, in that law journal, or in the Times wasn’t him?”

“Yeah, he did,” said Tom.

Zendaya pursed her lips. “So, who’s this fuck?”

***

When you got home that evening, you smushed your face in Trout’s belly for as long as she would let you. Simple and soft. She wiggled loose and trotted off to your bed before you felt okay again.

After reheating the hibachi, you settled into bed to write down that day’s plant records so that you could watch Netflix. Trout reacquainted herself with your freshly scalded feet.

Normal stuff. A couple of names you missed—you added those to your notes. A standard run-through, except for the conversation that occurred soon after you left.

You trudged through your own conversations; did your voice really sound like that? Z had departed for the day; you listened to her goodbyes, but Harrison and Tom loitered in his office.

“Something’s gotta be up,” came Harrison’s voice, distant but distinguishable, “Viper’s a little too smart for her own good.”

“She already has Dr. Prine,” said Tom, his voice muffled, like he was pinching his lower lip, “Who’s to say she doesn’t have other connections in high places?”

“What if she’s behind the bombs and kidnapping?”

“No. She wouldn’t want herself out in the public eye.”

Harrison sighed. “But how’s she know where everything is? No one’s that clever.”

“She is.” Tom paused. “The latest Epiales article—the one on the website. It did mention something about the mob.”

Shit. Shit! That had been the one you’d written in Tom’s childhood bedroom, the one where you were desperate to finish and needed something. You’d slipped.

“You think she knows Epiales?”

“I’m thinking the interview wasn’t a coincidence and that there wasn’t a burner phone. She’s got to have a way to contact him.”

“What if she’s feeding him information about us?”

“Epiales hasn’t done much with the information so far, if that’s true,” said Tom.

“Tom,” said Harrison, “She knew that the twitter was fake. Completely convinced. She knows exactly what to say to everyone and can act like a chameleon in any situation, seems like. I like the girl, but how do we find out if she’s a snake in the grass?”

“Well, Haz, you know what you do with snakes,” came Tom’s voice after a beat, “Charm them.”

***

de Futuro: concerning the future; at a future date.

***

taglist: @hollandroos @starksparker @pparkerwrites @qxeen-of-hearts @stealth-spiderr @presidentbttrflyfreak @parsleysbaby @madmadmilk @paradoxparker @gryfinpuffs @bi-writes @astronomyparkers @wheremyotpat @infamous-webhead @laurfangirl424 @softspideys @gendryia @plethoraofpuppies @laucontrerasv @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @spiderboytotherescue

#tom holland #tom holland/reader #tom holland x reader #mob!tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #mob au #mob tom #Mob!Tom #viper au #dash it all

45 notes · View notes

olivesilverlock · 5 years

Text

mush | amajiki tamaki x reader

a super, super, SUPER late fic a.k.a. part 2 of @denkis-kaminari‘s secret santa gift

summary: a drabbleverse of your relationship development with tamaki, from middle school to a rather unique confession of sorts over the phone a few years later

themes: high school au, friends-to-lovers, reader likes to make tamaki laugh… and blush :’-)

warnings & notes: there’s some crack in this, you can easily tell ahdsdjaklkal but other than that, please enjoy??? // also gender neutral!

(i.)

It was in homeroom that you learned that Amajiki Tamaki got into U.A. High School. The reason you knew about this was because of one Togata Mirio.

Mirio was loud and big in everything he did and right now his big hand was patting Tamaki’s back, supposedly in reassurance that his decision to go to U.A. with him was a good one. But Tamaki was having second thoughts.

“Can I just return my letter of offer? I don’t want to go anymore; I want to go home,” Tamaki said.

“Ya can’t go now because we’re in school and I don’t think you’re the type to skip school, right? And you’ll be fine anyways! I mean, you did get one of the most-improved scores in the cohort.”

Being Mirio’s friend was both a blessing and a curse; a blessing because he was really good at getting people out of their shell and a curse because he was a little bit too optimistic sometimes.

Tamaki quietly sunk his head onto his desk and mumbled. “Ok,” he sighed. “If you say it will be fine then maybe it will be fine…”

It was not fine.

Lunchtime came around and Tamaki wanted to hurl (himself into the trash can). He felt like garbage and oddly enough, you were the one student to witness him like this. At first, you panicked. Mirio was nowhere to be found and usually he was the one who would be comforting Tamaki in a crisis like this. But this time around, there was only you and you had never really spoke one-on-one with the timid boy.

Fortunately, your nervousness was short-lived when you realised that Tamaki’s face was getting paler and paler. As cautiously as you could, you cleared your throat.

“Amajiki?” Tamaki was startled to say the least and when he looked up through his bangs to see your furrowed eyebrows and slight frown, he retreated further into his seat.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” You gently asked. Tamaki could only nod, too shocked at the interaction to speak up. Though you didn’t expect him to respond immediately anyway.

You tried not to stare directly into his eyes, just in case you sent him into overdrive, and settled for unpacking your lunch as you spoke.

“Hey, um, are you okay, Amajiki?” You asked, gulping down a mouthful of food. Tamaki’s eyes locked onto yours and you were taken aback by the brief intensity of them. Just one look had made you a flustered mess already.

“Uhh, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Amajiki,” you said quickly.

Tamaki looked down at his food and said something that you didn’t quite catch.

“Sorry, what was that?” You leaned a fraction closer and Tamaki gulped.

“I’m fine, just tired,” he said softly. You leaned back into your chair and nodded.

“Ah don’t worry I understand. It’s a very tiring process, preparing for high school and all. But for you in particular, Amajiki,” you paused, sighing before you continued, “you must feel like a heavy burden has been placed on you to uphold the school’s reputation, right?”

Tamaki was puzzled about how you deduced that from the way his body seemed to curl into itself. His lip quivered as he struggled to find the right words to respond with while you tapped your chin and kept nodding to yourself.

“Mm, I think it’s okay to be nervous about things like this, Amajiki.”

Tamaki actually felt a little calmer now that you were sitting there casually talking with him.

“Ahh, about earlier, I-I’m better now,” he said. You simply smiled at him and continued eating in companionable silence. “Also, thank you for asking me if I’m ok.”

Tamaki sent you a small smile that made your heart quicken at the sudden movement.

“Amajiki…” you started.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you with a small smile.

“Um, you can call me Tamaki, if you’d like.”

Your face heated up at the sudden burst of confidence. Tamaki really didn’t know how much of an effect he had on you.

“Ahhh I don’t feel like I know you well enough to use your first name though,” you croaked. Tamaki looked back down, his shyness returning in full force.

“It’s okay, y-you can use it.” And when he looked back up again, it seemed as if you were radiating warmth from your entire being.

(ii.)

Tamaki really loved heroes and he really loved talking about them with you because you would nod excitedly and listen for hours to everything he gushed about. It was rare to see Tamaki unabashedly talk without stuttering or slipping one bit and you were glad to be one of the people he felt comfortable being around.

When he met the pro-heroes from U.A., he would call you up first to gush about every single encounter he had, and today it was about All-Might.

“All-Might really does smile all the time. It’s cool and kind of scary. I don’t have a lot of classes with him though so I wouldn’t know for sure. But from what I’ve heard, he can get pretty fired up too.”

“Kind of like Mirio?” You suggested.

“Now that I think about it, yes. Exactly like Mirio.” Tamaki chuckled and your cheeks hurt from grinning. You could get used to this; talking on the phone with Tamaki after school and making him laugh without even trying… that hard.

“Ugh, I miss you guys. Nejire too. I think we need to catch up soon so I can be revived from the hell hole that is work-study.”

“I think you need more than just us to be revived.”

“Excuse me, all I need is to do is be around Mirio for at least five seconds and absorb his energy; only then will I feel completely rejuvenated,” you deadpanned.

“Are the rest of us just extras?” Tamaki sounded like he was actually offended by the seriousness in your voice.

“No!” You protested, then added, “I love each and every one of you equally.”

“H-hey now, that’s just cheesy.”

“It is, but seriously, can you ask Mirio to send me some of his energy? I’m dying here and I really need him.”

“Are you serious?” spluttered Tamaki.

“Yeeees, I can’t live on caffeine alone. I’ll have whatever Mirio’s having.”

“Ok, I’m hanging up now. Bye.”

“Are you jealou—”

Beep.

And that was the very first time that Amajiki Tamaki had ever hung up on someone.

(iii.) It had been a while since you last caught up with ‘The Big 3’ and Nejire wanted to buy enough snacks so that you’d all be full (of junk food) by the time you reached her house. After today’s workload, cooking was the last thing on Nejire’s mind.

“Is Mirio coming?” You asked Tamaki, who had his back against the wall.

“Mirio can’t make it because he has work study today,” Tamaki replied.

“Ah, fair enough.” You sat down on the curb outside the convenience store and patted the space next to you.

“Sit next to me?” You said, smiling up at Tamaki. He didn’t reply and instead seemed preoccupied with the ground beneath his feet. He’s overthinking again, you noticed. It was clear to you that Tamaki was subtly calculating where he should sit and how close he would be next to you.

You wanted to guide his hand downwards and make it clear that you wanted Tamaki to choose to sit just close enough so that when either of you slightly moved, you would bump shoulders. It was a mushy thought, but you couldn’t help it, you just liked being next to him. But you wanted to pretend for a bit longer.

You sat and watched patiently as Tamaki slowly lowered himself down onto the curb… a whole lot further way than you expected. In fact, Tamaki was exactly two seats away from you and judging by the conflict on his face, from the anguish at his miscalculation to his reluctance to change his seating position, he didn’t mean to be.

Tamaki was regressing back into his thoughts again, so you took this opportunity to snap a photo of him but didn’t realise the sound was on. You jumped at the noise, your eyes finding Tamaki’s slightly panicked expression mirroring your own.

You laughed nervously, “Sorry! It was really good lighting and I didn’t want to waste it.” Great cover, you internally groaned.

Tamaki, whose face was slightly pink, muttered, “You always take bad photos of me.”

“They’re candid thank you very much and anyway, at least they’re not as bad as Kirishima’s.”

Tamaki giggled and you grinned at the lovely sound. You were glad that you could get him out of his head for a bit.

“Anyways, that’s not entirely true,” you said as you got up to take a nice photo of the sunset behind you. “I have some cute ones of you too, I’ll send them if you’d like.”

And with your back turned to Tamaki, you had failed to notice how his blush deepened.

(iv.)

Tonight you could not stop thinking about Tamaki. He was in every corner, shop window display and person you came across. It was Christmas and the elves were EVERYWHERE. Every time you saw an elf, you would stare at their ears, and then your brain would automatically associate them with Tamaki’s slightly pointed ears that were the exact same shape, only cuter. You didn’t know how many times you’ve freaked out a Santa’s little helper elf by staring at their ears and blushing every shade of red. You didn’t know what to do about it. Though one thing did come to mind.

You grabbed your phone out of your pocket and dashed out of the shopping centre after collecting a pair of complimentary elf-ear headbands for you and your little sister.

“Can we eat ice-cream now?” Your sister whined as you fumbled about with the headband. When you got it to sit as perfectly as it could on her small head, you clicked your tongue and replied.

“Wait!! I have to take a photo first and send it to my friend.” You snapped several shots of your sister, who posed for them despite her eagerness for the ice-cream you had promised her several hours ago.

“Ok that’s cute enough,” you said and sent the best ones to Tamaki.

“I’m always cute,” your sister bragged. You snorted. That was true, but you didn’t want to tell her that again just in case you made her ego bigger than it already was.

You took your sister’s hand and navigated through the packed crowd for some well-deserved ice-cream. As you waited in line, you couldn’t help but check your phone every ten seconds for a reply from Tamaki.

“Are you waiting for your boyfriend to text you back?” Your sister teased.

“Ha-ha no. I’m waiting for Tamaki to reply.”

“Same thing,” she muttered back. You glared at her but rolled your eyes when she shrugged her shoulders in response.

Ping!

The notification rung and boy you had never unlocked your phone so fast in your life.

Tamaki 🐙💞: she looks like she was forced to wear that

You had drawn little hearts around the elf-ear headband on your sister’s head and sent it without context.

You: ummmm it’s cute. plus it reminded me of you

Tamaki 🐙💞: how??

You: you have the same ears as the elves i keep seeing everywhere. tamaki… i think i may have found your long-lost family

Tamaki 🐙💞: okay weirdo

You scoffed. You were glad that you could banter with Tamaki without him getting self-conscious now. But sometimes the easiest way to get a reaction out of Tamaki was to compliment him. And you could never get sick of that flustered face of his.

You: don’t worry tamaki, you’re still the cutest elf boy in my eyes 🥰🥰🥰

Tamaki took a few seconds longer to reply to your message. You could tell by all the backspacing he was doing with whatever he wanted to respond with. You could already picture him blushing while reading your text and it made you smile at your cringey text in satisfaction.

From the corner of your eye you could see that your sister was judging you silently, but you paid no mind.

(v.)

“You know, Tamaki, you’re pretty consistent with the people that you choose to interact with,” you said over the phone. Tamaki had called you, saying that he couldn’t sleep because he felt worn out. When he asked if you were busy, you had reassured him that you were definitely not busy even though you were stuck on closing duty at your part-time job. No one else was on the closing shift with you, so you had decided to put your earphones in and talk to Tamaki to pass the time.

“How?” He asked.

“Tamaki! Haven’t you realised that you tend to gravitate towards people with, well, sunnier dispositions than yours?”

“That doesn’t really narrow it down though because that could be anyone.”

You cracked up laughing. Tamaki seemed to be funny when he wasn’t supposed to be.

“Okay, I’ll give you that. But, ok, I mean Mirio is basically sunshine personified and although he’s laidback, the guy is a hard worker! Then there’s Nejire, who has pure confidence and honestly, I would too if my speed, technique, intelligence and communication statistics were so well-rounded. How is that even possible? I don’t know. Her resilience knows no bounds.”

Though you couldn’t see it, hearing you talk about his friends with such enthusiasm and admiration caused a faint smile to appear on Tamaki’s face.

“And they’re both so weird!” You sighed deeply, “Tamaki, I think you have a thing for weirdos.”

Tamaki tried to suppress his laughter. “Does that mean you’re a weirdo too?”

“Oh no,” you mumbled to yourself, pretending to have a dawning realisation. “What have you done to me, Tamaki!?”

This time, Tamaki couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping his lips.

“Oh, wait, Tamaki, I’m putting you in my pocket ok?” You heard an ‘ehh??’ right before you stuffed your phone into your pants and finally locked up for the evening.

You talked on the way home, while you washed up and right until you winded down for bed.

“Tamaki,” you began.

“Mm?” He yawned softly. He was getting sleepier now which was a good sign.

“Um, how are you feeling now?”

“I still can’t stop thinking about what happened today,” Tamaki answered wearily. You felt your heart ache.

“If you keep worrying about what other people think of you, you’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I know.”

“Yeah, sorry. I know you do, and I know it’s hard as well when your mind is just constantly buzzing. I would offer you my bed, but I don’t think you’d be comf—”

Tamaki made a strangled noise from the other line, “U-Um, that’s okay.” You waited patiently for him to continue, eyes bulging in anticipation for what he was going to say next.

“But can you stay on the phone with me?”

Your heart soared at his request. “Of course, Tamaki, I’ll stay on the phone with you for as long as you need.”

Tamaki thanked you and there was a brief pause because he couldn’t think of what to say next. Lucky for him, you picked up on this difficulty a while back and easily slid into the next topic of conversation.

“You wanna know something, Tamaki?”

“Mm?”

This was it; the point of no return from where your harmless crush on Tamaki would change for better, or for worse.

“Back then, I wasn’t one of the people who ignored you on purpose.” You could feel your cheeks heat up the more you thought about what you were going to reveal to Tamaki. “I noticed you all the time…”

“W-what? Why, or how? I, uhh, huh?”

“Are you sure? You better brace yourself, Tamaki.”

“Uhh yes? You’re the one who started this conversation?”

“Tamaki!!! Are you ready or not!?”

“Yes, yes, I’m ready.”

“This is going to sound so shallow and cheesy, or both, oh my god, ok. OKAY,” you raised your voice for no reason in particular; the excess energy in your body screaming to be let out. Tamaki laughed softly and that sound eased your nerves for about a millisecond.

“Tamaki,” you began again, but in a stern voice this time.

“Yes?”

“I always thought you were cute—like really, really, really cute, especially when you played around with Mirio. You always had this small smile on your face when you were with him and I—hold on a second.” You really felt like you were going to tear up for some stupid reason and so you paused to take one deep breath and exhaled… a jumble of sentences.

“I felt so lucky to have always seen that smile up until middle school. Tamaki, you don’t understand—I even thanked Mirio at some point, for being your friend and whatever else, I don’t even know or remember what I fully said. Oh god. Maybe it is selfish of me, but Mirio’s friendliness towards you helped me to become your friend too.” Your voice had barely held up the sternness it begun with; instead, it had turned to mush once you started gushing about Tamaki.

“But then you transferred to UA and I didn’t realise just how much I had missed seeing you in person. And Nejire used to say that I had a ‘thing for shy boys’ and I didn’t know what she meant by that! I only told her that I liked you so much and that I COULDN’T HELP IT. Or maybe I did think you were cute because you were also shy, but you’re more than the sum of your parts, Tamaki. I think I’ve always known that. I just—I just wish I had known you sooner.”

On the other line, you could hear almost every single breath that Tamaki took.

“Maybe I do have a thing for weirdos,” Tamaki contemplated.

Now you were confused. “H-huh?”

“I think it’s like you said; I admire the same kind of people. Y-you and Nejire don’t really have a filter when it comes to discussion topics; you both tend to speak your mind.”

You nearly choked on your saliva. You did not expect this response at all. Maybe a rejection or something but this? You didn’t know what this was.

“What about Mirio?” You managed to whisper.

“You and Mirio are both very warm people. Literally though, the both of you are like walking heaters.”

“TAMAKI WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?”

“Umm, well, these are things you have in common with the people I like, as you said before. B-but what I’m actually trying to say is that high school isn’t the end of the world. It’s only a short time so you aren’t missing much, except… m-me.” Tamaki’s breath nearly caught in his throat at the prospect of staying on your mind for the past year or so.

“Besides, I’ll still be there with you after high school i-if you’ll have me.”

You cupped your mouth in an attempt not to squeal at the cheesiness coming from Tamaki’s mouth instead of yours this time. Once you calmed down as much as possible, you cleared your throat and replied.

“Tamaki, does that mean you accept my long-winded confession?”

“Yes?”

“YES?” You repeated in mock outrage.

“I mean, yes—I like you too AAAHH.” The tips of Tamaki’s ears were burning now.

You burst out laughing. “I’m surprised you could understand what I was trying to say.”

“I always understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Aww Tamaki, you’re so cute,” you gushed once again. “I’m glad you like me too! Now please go to sleep before I come over there and put you to sleep myself.”

Tamaki passed out instantly.

#tamaki #dailybnha #tamaki x reader #bnha imagines #Tamaki Amajiki #amajiki tamaki #but also i'm 95% sure that this will have a part 2 in the works bc i feel like it's lazy writing and that ending??? i'm gonna continue it dw #and part 2 will be more of tamaki's pov and post high school !#i hope tamaki isn't too OOC here AHHH #am open to feedback

5 notes · View notes

stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 6 years

Text

with you [5/6]

Summary: Clementine pops the question.

Preview:

“Ruby’s going to see Clem, and the others are in the music room, so steer clear.”

Louis doesn’t know how he did it, but he actually convinced Aasim to let him wander off.

Of course, he promised that he wouldn’t go near the music room or go see Clementine, and he practically got on his hands and knees and begged to leave the comfort of Aasim’s room.

Aasim eventually gave in once Louis was dressed in the attire picked out for him; a dark green button down shirt tucked into his jeans and his signature jacket.

The yard is empty with the exception of Willy on watch. Before the young boy spots him, he makes a quick turn to the right and heads down the sidewalk towards the graveyard.

All the graves have fresh flowers on them, white ones with long stems. Louis places himself on the ground, not bothering to care if dirt clung to his jeans or jacket.

“Hey, Marlon.”

Warnings: Louis has a disturbing nightmare. Aasim can’t dance. Ruby’s super oblivious [or is she...?]. Mitch still doesn’t know how to handle gross feelings. Marlon’s grave makes an appearance. Clementine and Louis are separated because Ruby’s superstitous about bad luck, I guess.

Author’s Note: Y’know, it’s amazing any of you still follow me because I am a big dummy liar pants. After playing ep4, I went back to work on this and get more ideas to fully tie it together but as I was, it became ridiculously long. Too long to even be enjoyable to read. So. Here we are.

Thank you for all the nice comments and messages I’ve gotten for this story. The support you guys have given my dumb ass has turned me into a little ball of feely mush that can’t express words, so... thank you. Really. Every read, every like, every comment has meant so much. Hope you enjoy, and I’ll see ya next time!

---

There’s a heavy pressure building up in his ears, damn near deafening the sounds of excited voices and off-key piano. The weight of his own head brings a throbbing ache along his neck, falling forward to gaze through lidded eyes down at the wooden floors.

He’s in the music room. No question there. Several pairs of feet shuffle by in a blur of muted colors, stopping in front of him every so often before turning away to continue their business.

Whoever’s playing the piano clearly has never pressed a proper key in their life, instead opting to slam both hands over as many of the keys as they possibly can. The sound, so awful, so quick it’s enough to make him sick, spoiling the insides of his stomach until the acids are boiling up.

Louis swallows, though his mouth is so dry and sore that nothing goes down to ease the bitter burn bubbling in his throat. His tongue feels swollen, too heavy for his jaw to handle, too plump to allow the necessary amount of air to push through.

The stress pulsating in his ears and head worsens when the music grows louder, harder with each slam of the keys. Louis’ legs buckle, giving out and sending him backward. No one wandering around seems to take notice of his fall, still hurrying and still chatting gleefully. He tries to fully open his eyes, to see their cheerful faces, but the effort to even do that has left him drained, sore.

The shoes that approach him, oddly pristine, take hold of his focus. The figure standing before him isn’t threatening, nor is it kind. It’s just there, waiting patiently for his undivided attention.

Louis can’t bring himself to look. His arms, the only things holding his upper body up, tremble violently with his vain attempt to not completely crumble.

The figure kneels down before him, a gentle hand reaching out to lift his chin.

His father smiles at him.

It’s cold, unnatural.

His once handsome face is practically gray now, gaunt and leathery, and his teeth are rotten right down to his bleeding gums. His eyes, now sunken and bruised, are dull, clouded over.

Louis’ chin quivers as the heat spreads behind his widening eyes and down his nose. He takes a shaky breath, lips trembling without a sound as he tries to say, ‘Dad?’

He coughs, tries to clear his throat, tries to speak.

And that’s how he knows none of this is real.

He never has a voice in his dreams. He never makes a sound, no matter how hard he tries.

‘Dad…?’

His father’s boney thumb brushes his cheek, leaving a chill and a rise of goosebumps along his flesh.

Louis reaches out an unsteady hand to grasp the front of his father’s suit, trying to hold on with all his might, but he’s just too damn weak. His whole body shudders as his father fixes the tie around Louis’ neck, straightens his suit jacket, and stands. Louis’ arm falls useless into his lap as he hunches over.

‘Da-dad…’

He’s sobbing, unable to breathe as he silently wheezes and coughs. The tears burn hot against his skin, slipping over his cheeks and jaw, down his neck. His nose runs, and no amount of sniffling prevents it from dripping.

Blurred through his teary vision, he can make out his father’s offering hand. Louis blinks up at him, trying to see his face, his smile.

“C’mon, Lou, get up.”

His father’s voice is garbled, almost robotic.

Something glistens, catching Louis’ eye.

It’s the dented and loose band around his father’s finger. A wave of emotion crashes over him, shooting straight through his heart as he holds up his hand to admire his own ring. He’s horrified to find it rusting, tainting the surrounding flesh down to the bone.

The keys pound, harder and harder, and the chatter grows louder to compete.

Something hits his thigh, and when he looks down, he sees his father’s severed finger with the ring still attached, oozing dark blood and staining his pants.

He gasps, chokes and kicks his leg out to get the finger off him, snapping his eyes up to his father’s.

That cold, pseudo smile stretches unnaturally, his jaw dislocating and slowly gaping, tearing the flesh of his cheeks before falling onto Louis’s lap.

As Louis tries to find the strength to scoot himself away, crying out in both silent terror and agony, his father falls apart, limb by limb, soaking his suit and beating down against his legs.

‘Shit! Shit-no! Dad!’ he tries to scream. ‘Please, no!’

Squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head so hard it rattles his brain, putting him in a dizzy haze, Louis tries to wake up.

‘I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry!’

There’s clapping, sharp smacks that beat in time with his hard and fearful heart.

They’re standing, all of them, applauding. Faceless figures, familiar and slathered in shadows.

Banging on the doors. Shaking wood, muffled crying. More bangs.

Louis covers his ears by tucking his head between his knees, frantically murmuring, ‘Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!’

The doors open, and there’s a heavy thud of a body crashing through.

When Louis dares to open his eyes, that dread rushes black, heavy and throbbing, through his veins.

Clementine’s beautiful white dress is shredded, hanging loosely over her shoulder and falling over one side of her torso. On her hands and knees, arms and legs bruised and scratched, she’s crawling towards him with pleading, golden eyes. The wound, the bite, rots the skin around her neck and shoulder.

She gasps out, “Louis!”

But, he can’t move. He can’t go to her. He can only watch her collapse in front of him.

He’s shaking, shaking, shaking-

“Hey-!”

-shaking, shaking, shaking-

“Louis!”

-shaking-

Louis jerks up, gasping for air.

Firm hands grip his arm. Instinctively, he pushes away, crashing to the ground and taking the chair he sat upon with him. His calf smacks hard against the leg of the table, sending a jolt of pain through his thigh and up his side.

“Dude, shit!”

Louis scoots away disoriented until his back hits the closet doors. Heart racing, smashing brutally heavy in his chest as he takes in as much air as his lungs can handle. The muscles of his neck and back are tense, tightening with each movement. He grasps at his throat as his wide, teary eyes search desperately within the dark room for his father, for Clementine, but all he sees is Aasim’s panicked face.

“Louis, calm down!” Aasim kneels in front of him and raises a trepid hand, hesitating to actually touch him.

“ Shit -” Louis croaks out, coughing. He rubs at his face, wiping away the cold sweat clinging to his skin and tries to settle his breathing. He can feel Aasim move close, tentative and confused.

Under that questioning gaze, all Louis can give is numerous heaving huffs as he tries to calm himself down.

“You knocked over my pencil can,” Aasim says slowly, leaning forward to try and read Louis’ expression. “It woke me up. You were freaking out and- shit, you scared the hell outta me. I thought-”

The sudden pause is obvious, as is the confusion melting into deep concern. When hotness drips down his cheeks, Louis realizes that he’s crying. Not the choking, can’t breathe kind of crying, but one stemmed from shock and humiliation. Quiet, slow tears.

“Hey…” Aasim’s voice is soft, unsure. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Shame warms his skin as Louis glances away, lowering his head and wiping his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry.” His throat is so unpleasantly hoarse that it hurts to speak too loud. “I’m sorry.”

Aasim scrambles to a stand, pausing only briefly to shoot Louis another apprehensive look before grabbing his water bottle off the nightstand. This time he sits cross-legged in front of Louis as he offers him the drink.

“Here.”

Louis only looks at it until Aasim motions it towards him, silently telling him to take it.

He takes a small sip, grimacing at how hard it is to swallow, but after a few attempts, he’s chugging the whole thing, no longer caring how desperate or foolish he looks.

Louis breathes in deeply, mouth and throat sated and his pulse beginning to calm. He avoids Aasim’s eye, instead glancing over at the mess of pencils on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again, sniffling.

“Uh,” Aasim scratches at his scruffy chin, “Are you- uhm…”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, coughing, “I should’ve warned you, but,” he cuts himself off, biting his bottom lip.

Fuck.

It was stupid to think he could have a peaceful rest the night before his wedding. Luckily, the dream wasn’t one that paralyzed him, unlike ones he’s had in the past. Parts of it were already beginning to fade, leaving only the prominent details to haunt his mind.

His father, or rather, the thing that resembled his father and the rotten finger, Clementine crawling towards him; those are the things standing out now, engraved in his memory.

“Warned me?” Aasim mumbles to himself, cocking his head curiously.

“About… this.”

“Wait, this happens a lot?”

Louis hesitates. “...Yeah, uhm, it’s- I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.” He gives him back the empty bottle, murmuring, “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Aasim says, but makes no move to get up.

They sit there in awkward silence, and Louis can see that Aasim’s racking his brain for something to say.

“You had a pretty bad nightmare, I assume?”

Louis nods.

“That makes sense,” Aasim says slowly, eyes sliding awkwardly, almost afraid of contact. “What was it about?”

Death. Misery. Guilt. Everything else in between.

A manifestation of what he’s truly afraid of.

It’s definitely not the first time he’s dreamt of his father. Back when he was younger, he had much fonder dreams about his parents; eating dinner together, going on vacation, swimming in their pool on the hottest days of summer.

God, he had loved that pool.

On weekends, when his father was home, Louis would drag him outside and beg him to throw him in, sometimes crying fat tears when his father snapped a “no” at him.

But, on rare occasions, his father would laugh and say, “That’s what the diving board’s for,” but it was never the same as when his father picked him up and tossed him in himself.

Sometimes he could even convince him to swim with him, teach him how to float on his back, how to flip himself around off the diving board, have contests to see who could hold their breath the longest.

After he ruined everything and they sent him to Ericson, and the world went to shit, he forced himself to only think about good things. He’d pretend that he hadn’t destroyed his parent's lives, pretended that they were on their way get him and apologize for leaving him there in the first place.

And they never did.

So, Louis’ willpower to only think about the good things cracked, then shattered.

Spoiled, vindictive, unapologetically cruel.

That’s the kid his parents left behind and next looked back.

That’s who Louis was.

And that’s only the beginning of the universe punishing him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aasim tries again.

“Do you really wanna hear about it?”

“Yes.”

Louis shoots him a skeptical look.

“Sometimes you feel better when you get it all out on the table,” Aasim elaborates. “As I said before, it’s probably the pre-wedding jitters that’s got you freaked out.”

“And you want to listen to me?”

“Yeah,” Aasim frowns. “I haven’t seen you this scared since-” he bites his lip, glancing away, “-since what happened on the delta.”

“When I killed Dorian.”

“...Yeah.”

There are times where Louis forgets he wasn’t the only person there at that moment, that Aasim and Omar watched him as he pulled the trigger that sent the arrow right through her mouth and into her skull.

He didn’t see their reactions or even hear them. The moment she fell onto the ground before him, motionless and bleeding out, nothing else existed.

That’s where the real swelling shame came in.

He just sat there in absolute shock, frozen and nearly faint, and even tossed away his weapon.

In those seconds of hesitation, had Minerva not been distracted by the death of her apparent delta family member, Clementine could’ve been killed.

All because he couldn’t do one goddamn thing right.

“Was it about her?” Aasim softly asks.

“No.”

For once, Dorian left him alone.

Aasim shifts then crawls over to sit beside him with their shoulders touching.

“You’re not a murderer, you know.”

Louis scoffs. “No?”

“It was self-defense.”

It was self-defense.

She would’ve killed you if you hadn’t reacted.

It was her or you, Louis.

“That still doesn’t make me feel good about it,” Louis brings his knees closer to his chest, resting his chin on them and closing his eyes. “The one thing I’ve always been afraid of after the world went to hell was that I’d have to kill somebody. Doesn’t matter why or how, it’s just something I never, ever wanted to do.”

He stares forward, focusing on the darkness behind the window’s thick curtains.

“You’ve never had to do it,” Louis mumbles.

“We killed the rest of them.”

“Not like that, not personally. We injured and left them to the walkers.”

“Some might say that’s worse, but we couldn’t just leave them alive. Shit, just- just like how we couldn’t take Minnie with us after she passed out.”

“I know.”

Aasim stretches his legs out, leaning forward in an attempt to de-stress his stiff back. “Look, you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like,” he admits, “but it doesn’t change the fact that what you did helped break us out. Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shot her. We would’ve blown up with the boat, just like the rest of them.”

“I know,” Louis repeats, this time more harshly. “But that also doesn’t change the fact that I still have fucking nightmares about it, some so bad I can’t breathe or see straight. You have no idea how many nights I’ve woken Clementine and AJ up because I still can’t get my shit together and- fuck, they deserve a peaceful night of sleep, not a blubbering idiot who can’t get out of his own damn head.”

His throat’s tightening again with each emotionally bitter word he spits. Meeting Aasim’s wide eyes, he adds, “I know you’re trying to help, but there’s nothing you, or anyone- not even Clementine- can say that will ever make them go away.”

Aasim listens, really listens to every word he says, never once looking away from him. He’s hesitant but places a wary hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Louis sighs. “Ruby insisted I stay here, but I should’ve just slept in my old room. I’m just sorry that you had to see that.”

“I’m not,” Aasim replies. “I had no idea this was even a thing for you.”

“No one does, ‘cept Clem and AJ.”

Aasim pulls his hand back, curling his fingers together to rest in his lap, staring down at them with a contemplative frown.

Then, he shrugs and quietly confesses, “I have them, too. About the delta.”

Louis lets go of his knees, his legs sliding down to stretch out into a position similar to Aasim’s. He cocks his head, waiting for him to continue.

“They’re fuzzy, most of the time. I’m back in that cell by myself and Lilly comes in to ‘talk.’ She always tells me that she killed you guys, all of you, and once I see your bodies, I’ll ‘understand,’” he grimaces. “She’s going to ‘turn me into the best damn soldier the delta’s ever seen.’”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Aasim rubs at his tired eyes. “But, then I wake up in my own bed. No Lilly, no boat, you guys are alive, and I’m not a soldier. I’m still me.”

“Does it ever keep you up at night?”

“It has. Usually, I can’t fall back asleep. Too scared,” he shrugs. “So, I just grab my book, write down what I remember, and get an early start on the day and try not to think about it.”

“That easy?”

“What else can I do?”

Louis chews on his lip, turning away again. “You’re a lot stronger than me.”

“No, we just- we’re different. We saw and did different things, and, as you know, we’re not exactly two peas in a pod when it comes to thinking or reacting.”

That gets a breathy laugh out of Louis, which Aasim’s pleased to hear.

“No, we’re not,” Louis agrees.

It feels good to laugh, even if it’s barely a chuckle. The exhaustion that usually grabs a hold of his after a nightmare is present in each of his limbs, weighing him down.

“Sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay.”

The boys stand now, muscles sore and stiff from sitting on the ground too long. Louis moves to pick up the pencils he knocked over, slipping them back into the can and placing it back on the desk.

The notebook he’d been writing his vows down is still open. He glances over the works with a tiny grin, hearing Aasim sit on his bed with a huff, repressing a yawn.

He doesn’t want to think about nightmares anymore. He wants them all to go away, leave him alone and let him live in peace. It’s the night- or is it early morning now?- of his wedding, his marriage to the love of his life. He shouldn’t be here thinking about his father or Clementine dying or the repercussions of what he did as a child coming back to haunt him.

He should be smiling, worrying about not getting enough sleep because he can’t wait to see her walk down that aisle towards him.

He needs a distraction.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks, turning back to Aasim.

“Sure.”

“How come you never told Ruby you liked her?”

The question isn't teasing, but genuine.

Aasim’s silent, but even in the dark Louis can tell from the thoughtful raise of his brows that he didn’t know that answer himself. He ponders on the idea, drumming his fingers on his knee.

“Honestly?” he finally says.

“Yeah.”

“I was scared. When I stayed with her to patch up Omar’s leg, she hugged me and told me how happy she was to see me alive and- and I knew I probably could’ve told her, but it didn’t feel right. It never feels right.”

“I don’t think there’s a single right moment, Aasim,” Louis says. “You should tell her. She might like you, too.”

“Doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Have you met me?”

“You’re a bit of a sourpuss, but it’s part of your charm.”

Aasim scoffs.

“And you’re smart,” Louis continues. “Like, really smart. You’re reliable, honest, a damn good hunter, you know how to be kind, and you’re not bad looking.”

“Dude.”

“Looks, brawn, kindness, and smarts. You’re the complete package. In fact, how come Ruby's not the one who's head over heels?”

“She doesn’t care about any of that,” Aasim rolls his eyes. “Why are you asking, anyway? I think I’ve made it pretty clear I don’t like her anymore.”

Even Aasim himself didn’t believe the words as he spoke them.

“I was just thinking… I have someone to help me through the nightmares, but you don’t, and that kind of sucks.”

“And, your point is?”

“My point is I think you should go for it.”

Aasim looks away, scowling.

“I’m serious. Look-” Louis approaches the bed, hands on his hips, “-you’re not fooling anyone. Admit it, you still really like her. I’m not saying you have to confess your undying love, but maybe you could show your interest a little more? Like, for example… asking her to dance tomorrow?”

“I don’t dance.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Aasim refuses to look anywhere but the floor now, absently scratching at his wrist.

“I don’t know how to dance,” he timidly admits.

“So? Ruby can teach you. It’d be a nice bonding moment for the two of you.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“How?” he laughs. “She’d probably think it’s cute.”

“Or lame.”

Then, Louis gets an idea, and Aasim must see the gears turning in his head because he thrusts his hand up towards Louis’ mischievous face.

“Whatever you’re thinking, no .”

“You don’t even know what I was going to suggest!”

“I don’t need to because the answer is still no!”

“That signature sourpuss isn’t going to win over sweet Ruby’s heart, y’know.”

Louis moves across the room, leaning against the bookcase and folding his arms over his chest. “Now, seeing how I’m probably not going to be able to fall asleep anytime soon after my freakout, why don’t we play a little game? I’m going to stand over here and pretend I’m Ruby-”

“Dude, no -”

“-and you’re going to ask me to dance.”

“Uh, no, I’m not!”

“ Oh, Aasim, ain’t this just the most rootin’ tootin’est hootenany you’ve ever seen ?”

Aasim gapes up at him, on the verge of a dry laugh at the terrible accent Louis’ trying to pull over.

“That’s- that’s not what she sounds like!”

“Close enough,” Louis winks. Dramatically pressing the back of his hand against his forehead, he laments, “ Oh, look a Lou and Clem dancin’ so perfectly together! If only there was a devilishly handsome -”

“Oh my god-”

“- young fella who would come ‘n sweep me off my feet -”

“You’re fucking ridiculous-”

“- and dance the night away with me !”

Aasim can’t help it.

It might be from lack of sleep or from nerves, but he’s wheezing at the stupidity before him. Louis has said some idiotic things before, hell, some that even got a chuckle out of him, but this-

How the hell did they go from exhaustion-inducing nightmares to this ?

Louis breaks character to laugh along with him, not caring if they’re being too loud.

Of course, if anyone walked by their room, they might think two madmen live inside, one with a very poor, very fake southern drawl and the other an old chain smoker who can’t breathe.

“We’re not doing this,” Aasim coughs, chuckling into his hand.

“C’mon, man, it’ll help! I swear!”

“Do you even know how to dance?”

Louis proudly grabs the openings of his jacket, shooting him a wide smile.

“Nope!”

“Awesome.”

“Hence why we should practice. It can't be that hard,” Louis clears his throat. “ If only Aasim would notice me over here all by my lonesome !”

“This is so stupid.”

“ All by my lonesome! ”

Aasim rests his head in his hands.

He can’t believe that he’s actually considering going along with this nonsense.

But he does.

"Now, ya just put yer hand here-"

"Please stop talking like that."

"Makin' fun of a girl's accent is really rude, mister."

"Louis."

"Don't go steppin' on my toes!"

"Louis."

Aasim presses his heel into Louis' boot.

"Ow! Okay, I'll stop."

It's strange, a little unpleasant, but at least Aasim learns what not to do when dancing within the hour or so of dance practice before the exhaustion send both of them plummeting down into their respective beds.

---

“Alright, Willy, yer all set.”

Ruby pulls the sheet off from around Willy’s neck as the young boy excitedly hops up from the stool, his eager hands reaching up to feel his head.

He agreed to a haircut on one condition: mohawk.

Ruby didn’t fight it. Anything’s better than the dirty, scraggly mess he had before, and the style did actually look charming on him. Studying him now, she thinks it makes him look tougher, meaner. In a good way, of course.

“Woah,” Willy grins far too wide as he feels the short, prickly hairs on the sides of his head. The top strip, still damp from Ruby’s spray bottle, lays flat until he runs his fingers through it, spiking it up.

“See? Don’t’cha feel much better?”

“It looks cool, right?”

“Real cool.”

Willy gives Ruby a big smile before hurrying over to the ladder in the center of the room where Mitch is quietly working on attaching the smaller string lights to the chandelier.

“Mitch!”

“Hm?”

Mitch’s tired eyes glance away from his work and down towards the young boy. Upon seeing him, he smirks.

“Shit, look at you,” he says. “Badass.”

“Yeah? You should do it, too!”

“Pfft, yeah, probably not- shit !”

One of the small battery packs comes loose, causing it and the lights attached to it to fall to the ground. Willy’s quick to move around the ladder and examine the battery pack.

“Did it bust?”

“No, it's okay.” Willy reaches up to hand it to him after wiping it on his shirt. “Do you need help?”

“Nah.” Mitch shakes his head, pausing to suppress a yawn. He jerks his chin over towards the doors. “You can start lining the aisle.”

When Willy doesn’t respond or move, Mitch peers back down at him with a raised brow. Willy’s gazing up at him with his head cocked, a question lingering in his eye. When he opens his mouth to speak, Mitch cuts him off.

“Make sure the batteries are near the doors, then line them up coming this way.”

Willy frowns, but nods and does as he’s told.

With a small sigh, Mitch rubs his eyes and nose on his sleeve, mentally cursing himself to snap out of this haze. Grabbing more black tape from his belt, he secures the battery pack to the chandelier. He leans away to study his work, keeping his grip firm on the ladder as to not wobble backward.

He decided that they’d use the small, dainty lights to hang down above their heads, figuring that when it got dark enough, it’d look like little stars or fireflies floating in the air.

He reaches into his pocket to pull out the last one. He doesn’t have enough room to attach it, but he’s sure he can find another use for it somewhere in here.

Before he climbs down the ladder, he checks to make sure the other lights he has attached, the bigger ones, are fixed tight.

He stayed up late attaching all the lights to the chandelier before sticking the batteries to the walls. When he checked to make sure they were all still working, lighting them up one at a time, the room lit with a golden glow prettier than anything a candle could give.

It’d been quite a sight to just stand there alone, staring up at the bright ceiling.

“Mitch!” Ruby calls. “Yer turn!”

He scowls, lowering his head. Another yawn builds in his throat.

Without a word, he drags his feet over to Ruby and plops down on the stool, crossing his arms and staring off at the wall covered in white and gold hearts.

Ruby waits for the complaints, the argument, the curses but they don’t come. Mitch just sits there, waiting.

She drapes the sheet around his front and secures it behind his neck, pulling out the locks of hair caught under.

Dampening the hair with her spray bottle, she combs through it to work out any knots. Surprisingly, his hair isn’t that tangled. It’s the longest it’s ever been, damn near touching his shoulders. In fact, when was the last time she gave him a haircut? A year ago? Year and a half?

He’d really complained then. She remembers having to threaten to shave his head in his sleep to get him to cooperate. That threat prompted the little mishap in the greenhouse the next day, but she tries not to think about that. If she does, she’ll end up pissed and ready to yank the brown locks right out of his head.

So, instead of that, she attempts to make conversation.

“The lights turned out better than I thought,” she says, gently pressing his head forward to give better access to the nape of his neck. “Gotta say, I’m real impressed.”

Mitch grunts, grumbling, “And you wanted to use candles.”

“We’re still usin’ some, and I got the box over there incase any’a them go out.”

“They won’t go out. Checked ‘em last night.”

“That why yer so tired?”

Mitch doesn’t reply.

She can’t help but notice how off he’d been acting since he walked into the music room this morning. She’d been bursting with energy, thrilled that the day’s finally here. She listed off all the things that still needed to be done and all he did was look at her. He’d heard her, sure, but didn’t say much.

Usually, they would’ve been snapping at each other about this or that, but no.

Mitch didn’t even mumble to himself the entire time he worked. He always mumbles to himself when he’s working.

What could he be so sore about on a day like this?

It’s not like she could ask him how he’s feeling; for whatever reason, that always pushed the defense button for him.

Of all the kids she’d grown up and survived this nasty world with, Mitch was one she could never truly figure out. Sometimes she can guess his next move, other times he does something so bizarre that it actually hurts her brain when she tries to wrap her head around it.

“Gonna go see Clem later,” she says. “Fix up her hair real nice. Wonder if she’s picked out her shirt yet.”

Mitch shrugs a shoulder in response.

“Oh, and don’t ferget, I left some clothes in yer room. I’m thinkin’ that black button down shirt’ll look nice on ya. If that one don’t fit, wear the blue one.”

“Fine.”

They finish the rest of the haircut in silence.

Ruby brushes off the chunks of hair from his shoulders before pulling off the sheet. Mitch stands, rolling his shoulders and neck before turning to her.

He looks so much better, she decides. While still short in the back and on the sides, she let him keep some of his bangs, which he now pushes back. With it still being damp, it stays that way, revealing his whole scowling face.

Ruby smirks. “Y’know, you could be real handsome if ya smiled more.”

He doesn’t find that amusing.

“Shut up.”

“Jus’ sayin’.”

They hear Willy snickering over by the door, covering his mouth to try and hide it as he lines the aisle with lights.

Ruby sets aside her scissors, keeping an eye on Mitch as he feels around his neck.

Boy, he does look tired.

Now that she’s seeing him up close, the darkness lining his eyes is prominent, and his sunken posture is more than noticeable. She didn’t think working with those lights all week had taken that much of a toll on him, especially since he seemed perfectly fine yesterday.

She lightly hits his arm. “Hey? You okay?”

“Fine.”

There goes the button.

Ruby sighs. “Said ya were up late last night, right? Why don’t’cha go rest a while.”

Mitch crosses his arms again, glaring down at the floor. “No. I-” he glances up at the chandelier, “I got other things to do.”

“Like what? Aren’t’cha done with the lights?”

“Yeah.”

“Are ya gonna help the boys with the arbor?”

“No.”

Ruby quirks a brow. “So…?”

“I’m goin’ hunting. Someone’s gotta catch something for Omar to cook tonight, right?”

“Oh,” Ruby raises a curious brow. “I was gonna send Aasim and Louis out. Y’know, make sure Lou don’t try ‘n sneak a peek at Clem before the weddin’.”

“Doesn’t he have groom stuff to do?”

“Like?”

“Shit, I don't know, groom stuff. And, isn't Aasim’s his babysitter?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that-”

“Then, they’re busy,” Mitch says firmly. “I’m going. Besides-” he finally meets her eye, “-been cooped up here all week. Need to get outta here a while.”

“Well,” Ruby frowns. “Alright. Who ya takin’?”

At that, Mitch’s shoulders slump further.

“I can go,” Willy volunteers.

“No,” Mitch snaps harshly, startling the both of them. Upon seeing Willy’s wide eyes, his face softens just a bit. “I mean, you gotta stay and help Tenn and AJ with the arbor. I-” he breathes a frustrated sigh and heads for the door, “I’m taking James.”

Before either of them can say anything, he’s gone.

“Any idea what’s up?” Ruby asks, sharing the same concerned look as the boy beside her.

Willy shrugs. “No clue. But, is James even back yet? He left last night without telling anybody.”

“Haven’t heard.”

“Oh.”

Willy returns his distressed stare back to the open doors, thoughts still stuck on Mitch.

“Is- is he gonna be okay?”

Ruby turns to peer up at the chandelier with a thoughtful look. “I think so. Nothin’ bothers him fer too long, right?”

“Maybe,” Willy frowns. “He was being weird last night, too.”

When Willy got off watch and went to check on him in the basement, he’d heard a small crash followed by a string of curses. When he rushed down there in a panic, he found one of the shelves on the bookcase they kept down there broken in half and Mitch sitting on the stool, holding his foot.

He hadn’t hurt himself too bad, but that did nothing to ease Willy’s growing worry.

“That so?”

“Yeah… didn’t wanna talk about it.”

“Whatta surprise.”

Ruby decides not to fret. Whatever it is that’s bothering him, he’ll work it out. Maybe it’s a good thing to send him and James out instead. The fresh air will perk him up and he can blow off some steam, and if James is with him, she doesn’t have to worry about him getting hurt.

If he came back with that sourpuss still tugging on his face, then she’d talk some sense into him. Right now, she has to focus on getting everyone ready and working on the final touches of the music room.

If Clementine and Louis thought the place was beautiful for the proposal, then they’re going to be floored at how downright gorgeous it’ll be for their wedding.

As she sweeps the clumps of hair off the floor and into a dustpan, she realizes that she won’t be able to do anything with her own locks, at least, not by herself. While she was fairly good at doing the other kids hair, she could never seem to do much with her own.

However, there’s an easy solution.

The only person she’s ever dared let cut her hair in the past is Aasim. To make matters even better, she knew Aasim could do lovely braids. She watched him to it to Sophie’s hair years ago.

A smile stretches her lips at the thought.

“Willy, go out ‘n help the boys. I’m gonna go check on Lou and Aasim.”

---

The ceiling slowly comes into focus.

Clementine’s laid awake for a while now, comfortable on her back with eyes kept shut, only blinking up at the dust particles floating through the air whenever the curtains flutter, letting in more light.

She hasn’t woken up so calm, yet so restless in a long time. Even in her empty room, her empty bed, she finds herself at peace with a tiny grin adorning her lips. When she sits up, there’s no grogginess, no temptation to cover her head with the pillow and try to find sleep again.

Talking to Lee always makes her feel like this, even though she knows it's not real.

Even so, the images of her dream fade in and out, bleed together into an emotional mess.

She wonders to herself, or more so worries if Louis slept as well as she did.

Not that she could go find him and make sure. Ruby would throw a fit if they saw each other before the wedding. She doesn’t know if it’s really bad luck, because how could it be?

Then again, the bad luck might come in the form of a wooden spoon, courtesy of Ruby.

The door inches open noisily. AJ slides in, attempting to close it as quietly as possible. He’s carrying a cup of steaming coffee, the strong, bitter scent wafting through the air. When the hinges of the door continue to make more awful creaking noises, he shushes the inanimate object.

“It’s okay, goofball, I’m awake.”

AJ jumps at her voice, nearly dropping the hot mug. Whipping around, he pouts, “I told you I don’t like that name.”

“You’re right,” she smirks, leaning up on her elbows. “It’s okay, shitbird , I’m awake.”

“Hey!” AJ giggles, playfully glaring as he hands her the coffee. “That’s mean! You’re a shitbird!”

“Not as much as you are.”

As she sips the coffee, AJ hops up beside her.

"Today's the day!"

"It is."

“I’m excited. Are you excited?” he asks eagerly, practically bouncing. Seems he’s already forgotten about the shitbird insult, his zealous anticipation of what’s to come later today taking over.

“More than you know, kiddo,” Clementine beams. She downs the rest of the coffee, savoring the heat as it fills her belly and spreads warmth throughout her. “You know everything you’re supposed to do?”

“Yep! I’m helping the others and keeping an eye on you until we’re ready, then when it gets dark enough, I gotta come get you so I can walk with you and, uh, give- give you something?”

“Give me away,” she corrects.

“Give you away,” he says firmly, then cocks his head to the side with that thoughtful look he gets when he’s attempting to understand something alien to him.

“Give you away,” he repeats. “That sounds weird, like you’re a toy or something. Give you away.”

Clementine laughs, saying, “Well, you’re not literally giving me away, AJ.”

“I know. It’s just a weird thing to say. Why do they say that?”

She studies him for a moment, trying to piece together the right way to explain it to him.

“Remember when I first told you that I was going to propose to Louis?”

“‘Course I do.”

“And remember when I asked for your blessing to marry him?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, think of it like that, but this time you’re giving Louis your blessing to marry me . That’s basically what it means, like, you’re ‘give me away’ to him to show that you’re okay with us getting married.”

“Oh,” AJ nods. “Oh, okay. Yeah, that makes more sense. I’m giving you guys my blessing.” He smiles brightly, leaning over to hug around her waist. “I’m gonna give you guys my best blessing!”

She holds him back, chuckling. “How’s everything else looking?”

“Well, I can’t tell you too much because it’s a surprise, but me and Tenn made something super awesome last night and- and we’re working on something even cooler today!” he gushes.

“Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

“You’re gonna love it! Louis, too!”

“Have you talked to him this morning?”

“No,” AJ shakes his head, pulling back to look up at her. “He and Aasim are still asleep.”

“Really?”

Clementine stands to look through the window. The full daylight shines brightly over the school, leaving behind any chill morning brought. While not quite noon, it’s still a little late to sleep in, even for Louis. That knowledge does nothing to ease the anxious tightening within her.

“Can you go check on him?”

“Yeah, I can.” AJ presses his fingers together, picking at the skin around his nails as he asks, “If he had a bad dream, he’d come get us, right?”

“Well,” she starts, glancing back at the boy, “given what’s going on, he might not. He’s probably fine, I just want to make sure.”

“I’ll go after I help Tenn. I told him that I’d meet him out there soon, but I wanted to see you first,” AJ says, then his brows knit together earnestly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Oh yeah?” Clementine asks as she leans against the dresser. “About the wedding?”

“That, and some other stuff. I know you said not much is gonna be different afterward, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean- well, I was thinking- actually, Tenn and I talked,” AJ stumbles over his words. “You and Louis like to be alone, right?”

“Sometimes,” she replies hesitantly. “Why?”

“Tenn was telling me some stuff, like how married people like to spend more time alone together in their rooms.”

Heated dread tingles along her neck.

She knows her mind might be rushing straight into the gutter, but the possibility of Tenn telling AJ about certain things isn’t unthinkable, and if he’s about to ask her questions referring to-

“And I realized something,” he stands up from the bed and walks towards his own, “I bother you guys sometimes, don’t I?”

“What? AJ, you don’t bother us.”

“Yeah, I do. Sometimes I walk in and you two move away from each other really fast and you say weird stuff and it’s… weird.”

“Uh, well-”

“I know you guys like to kiss. A lot.” AJ crosses his arms, staring up at her with a ‘don’t even deny it’ look. “And I know you don’t like to do it in front of me, and if I’m always coming in here and bothering you…”

“AJ,” Clementine sighs. “Look, Louis and I do like to spend alone time together, but that doesn’t mean we don’t like hanging out with you, too.”

“I know.” AJ unfolds his arms, glancing over his shoulder and back at his bed. “I’ve been spending the night at Tenn’s a lot. Having sleepovers, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

AJ faces her now, saying, “Tenn asked if I wanted to move in with him, like as roommates.”

Her brows shot up in shock.

That’s nowhere near what she had been excepting.

“When did that happen?”

“Last night. I’ve been thinking really hard about it, and it might not be a bad idea. I mean, I like sleeping in here with you guys, and- and it might be scary sometimes sleeping away from you for more than a night, but I’m gonna be brave.”

AJ stands up straight, chest puffed out with confidence.

“I’m getting older, and I gotta do things on my own.”

“AJ, are you sure?” she asks. “You don’t have to feel bad about being in here with us. Does Tenn even have room for you?”

“Yeah, he’s got another bed and lots of closet space. I can move my things in today, after we finish our secret project, spend the night there. This is a good thing, Clem.”

“I-”

Clementine doesn’t know what to say. The thought of AJ one day moving out never actually crossed her mind. She always assumed that he’d continue having sleepovers with Tenn every so often, but now that she looks at him, he may have a point.

He is getting older.

Now, around the age of seven- hell, maybe even eight at this point- he’s grown taller, lost a little of that baby fat in his cheeks. When she really looks at him, studies his face, she can almost see Rebecca in his every feature.

Except for his eyes.

He has his father’s kind eyes. Even when they’re angry, or sad, or tired, the shape and color are Alvin’s.

He’s not the same child who first walked in through the gates with her two years ago. He doesn’t always look to her for all the answers. He makes his own decisions for himself, regardless of her input.

Eventually, AJ would be a preteen, then a teenager.

Somehow, that thought quivers her chin, tightens her throat.

“I think being Tenn’s roommate will be fun,” he says. “And, maybe one day, when I’m even braver and stronger… maybe I could get a room of my own? With just my stuff?”

Clementine swallows thickly, saying, “Think you’ll be able to handle that?”

“One day.”

She nods, biting the inside of her cheek.

“But, if there is a night when I’m scared, or mad at Tenn, then I can just have a sleepover here, right?”

Clementine grins. “Of course, but do you really think you’re ready for a change like this?”

“Yes,” he answers assuredly.

The way he looks at her, so sure, so confident in himself, it swells such an emotional pride in her chest that she can’t help but pull him into a hug.

“Okay, shitbird, if it’s what you really want, we can give it a try and see where it goes.”

“ Hey !” AJ’s hands move to his hips, teasingly glaring at her. "Quit calling me that!"

“You’re the one who said you didn’t like goofball.”

“Shitbird isn’t any better!”

“I think it is,” she smirks.

“Because you’re a shitbird!”

“Maybe. But, you know what you are?”

“Not a shitbird?”

“No, you're ticklish!”

“Ah- haha, hey!”

---

James slept in the woods last night.

If the wedding wasn’t today, he would’ve stayed out there for the rest of the week.

Back inside the walls of the school grounds, Tenn’s decorating the arbor with leaves and flowers, weaving them through the small openings to try and hide any of the fencings they used. Willy’s standing on a stool and using old fishing wire to dangle some of the white and gold paper hearts.

AJ’s running from the entrance of the school, waving at them and excitedly telling Tenn something before getting to work with the arbor.

It brings a small smile to James’ face watching the three boys work together. They’d been so thrilled to decorate it after he and Mitch finished shaping and securing it for them.

Willy happily waves at him, shouting, “Hey! Whattya think?”

“Looks wonderful,” James calls back, giving them a thumbs up.

He spots Omar sitting on the couch with Rosie resting beside him, a faraway look lingering in his eye and a subtle grin tugging on his lips.

Figuring the boys are okay for the moment, James wanders over to Omar.

Rosie’s head jerks up, ears stiff and alert, but upon seeing it’s him, she relaxes, laying her head on Omar’s leg.

“Hello,” James quietly greets, sitting in the chair beside him.

“Hey,” Omar smiles. “Noticed you didn’t come back last night. Willy was worried you’d miss the wedding.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that,” he shakes his head. “Just… needed some time alone.”

“Too much socializing?”

“You could say that.”

He watches AJ stand on his tippy toes, nearly off balance as he tries to swat at the dangling hearts with his cheeks puffed out in concentration. Tenn’s giggling into his hand, amused at his friend’s attempt to prove how tall he’s gotten.

“Had watch with AJ last night,” Omar says, pointing over at the chortling boys. “Know what he said to me?”

“Hm?”

Omar smirks, recalling the night before. “He was telling me how much fun this week’s been, planning for the wedding and all. He said he’ll be sad when it’s over, when we have to go back to ‘boring’ stuff.”

“It has been an exciting time for him. Makes sense that he’d be sad when it’s over.”

“I told him that maybe we’d throw another party in the future. I suggested a Halloween party, since Willy pulled all that stuff out.”

James perks up. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Omar sighs. “Then I had to try and explain what Halloween was.”

AJ nearly falls over, almost taking the arbor with him. Luckily, Willy’s there to grab the back of his shirt and pull him to his feet. Even from far away James can see the clear fluster in his pout.

“He said he can’t wait until one of us gets married next so we can throw another one.”

James’ quirks an interested brow at that. “Did you have to explain how that works to him as well?”

“I did, and all I got back in return was ‘Omar, when are you getting married?’” Now he’s really laughing. “I think he forgets it takes two.”

James laughs along with him, relieved as the tension leaves his shoulders due to the pleasant conversation. Feeling brave, he jokingly asks, “Well, when are you getting married?”

“Oh, soon, soon ,” he nods, rolling his eyes. “Very soon. I’m thinking any day now Ruby’ll finally throw me over her shoulder and make an honest man of me.”

“Pfft!” James has to cover his mouth before he spat as the laughter rocks his body. He can’t help it; the image is just too hilarious not to laugh at. This catches the attention of the boys, all three of them staring at them with curious eyes.

All of the humor in the air gets Rosie’s interest, as well. She slips off the couch, moving to sit at Omar’s feet and observing him with old, fond eyes.

Omar smiles down at the dog, reaching into his pocket to pull out a busted tennis ball. Rosie’s ears shoot up and her entire body becomes tense. She’s off in a flash when Omar tosses it towards the gate.

“I’m just teasing,” Omar says before eyeing James with a smirk. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“She probably wouldn’t find it so funny anyway.”

“Neither would Aasim.”

Rosie comes back with the ball, dropping it in Omar’s hand and readying herself, eyes stuck intensely on his every move. As he sends it soaring through the air again, Omar sighs, saying, “In all seriousness, though? I just don’t see it in my future.”

“No?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “No disrespect to our group, but there aren’t a lotta options. Then again, even when our group was bigger, I could never see myself feeling that way about someone, y’know?”

“I suppose it’s not for everyone.”

Omar nods, humming. “I’m happy for them, though. Clem and Louis are good for each other. I can only wish them the best from here on out. Truth be told, I think I’d rather be an outsider to it all anyway. A witness to it happening, you know.”

“There is something about watching two people fall for each other.”

“There is,” Omar agrees. “‘Course, it can be pretty frustrating, too.”

“How so?”

Omar glances around. Then, as he throws the ball once more, he gives James a smirk and whispers, “Do you ever see Aasim talking to Ruby and think to yourself, ‘Aasim, buddy, just go for it! You’re killing me over here!’”

Oh yes.

It’s no secret around the school that Aasim has feelings for Ruby, even though he bends over backward to deny it.

When James first became acquainted with the group and they worked out their system, no one had to tell him about it. It was as clear as pure water that Aasim’s gaze always lingered on the girl, his lips curved into an involuntary grin. There was something about the way he spoke to her, so soft but alert, like he was ready to hang onto her every word.

Which is why it’s so odd that he denies it so fiercely.

Perhaps it’s due to years of Louis’ harmless teasing, or because Aasim, despite being vocal when it came to important matters and unafraid to voice his opinion, is actually shy when it comes to things like this. Maybe that’s why he becomes so defensive when someone teases him about it.

Which, they do.

A lot.

The only one who doesn’t seem to notice is Ruby herself.

Which, yes, is frustrating to those around them.

Mitch once said that someone should tell her so she can put Aasim out of his misery. Of course, James had argued that Ruby might like him back if she knew he were interested, but it’s best not to interfere in the first place.

“Maybe he’s not ready,” James finally says.

“Not ready? How much time do you need?” Omar asks. “It’s been, what? Three, four years? You’d think Ruby’d at least get the hint.”

“She might not be ready, either.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Omar shrugs. Rosie drops the ball again. Her long tongue hangs out the side of her mouth as she gleefully pants. For a dog of her age, she still moves as well as a young pup. It’s rather impressive, James thinks.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Ever think about it?”

“About… telling Ruby?”

“No, I mean-” Omar throws the ball again. This time it bounces and hits Willy in the leg, earning them both a “Hey!” and a glare. Rosie doesn’t run this time, she strides at a comfortable pace. “Just, about romance in general, I guess.”

Of course he does.

After leaving the basement, he headed straight through the gates and into the forest, spending most of the night drawing stray walkers back to his barn. As he meandered through the trees, he found himself becoming increasingly distracted several times because he kept thinking about Charlie.

Or, rather, the Charlie he had fallen in love with all those years ago.

Then, he thought about Mitch again.

Charlie and Mitch.

Back and forth.

It still stung, a fresh wound torn open just last night, but James couldn’t stop hearing the harshness of Mitch’s voice in his head. He regrets ever bringing up Charlie.

He thought, or perhaps assumed, that he and Mitch had become real friends over the course of the week. Maybe Mitch would understand that it wasn’t just Violet who’s still coping with the loss of a lover, and how that loss isn’t just something a person could forget. Maybe he’d be sympathetic to his friend, apologize for all the mean things he said.

However, that backfired.

Omar notices his silence, leaning over to get a good look at his face before saying, “Hey, sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

James meets his eye, cutting loose his thoughts and returning to reality.

“Don’t wanna bring up bad memories.”

“No, it’s okay,” James gives an unsure smile. “I had someone in my life once, but we’ve since parted ways. I, uh… I used to think these things all the time when we were together.”

James looks down at his hands, a sad grin pulling at his lips.

“It’s pretty silly, but… back when all this happened and we were surviving together, in the quieter moments I would imagine us running away, finding a safe spot in the middle of nowhere, away from people and the walkers. Just the two of us, safe at last, ready to grow old together.”

“That’s not silly.”

“It was at the time. Should’ve been thinking about survival, not… that.”

“Survival isn’t everything,” Omar offers before twisting his mouth. “Well, these days I guess it sort of is, but it doesn’t always have to be the only thing. We’re lucky to have a place where we can have quieter moments, like this one. Where we can talk about things like this with each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t let it take over,” Omar says. “It’s good to remember happier times. Keeps us human.”

James nods slowly, chewing on his bottom lip.

“I do like to think about Charlie sometimes,” he admits quietly. “Talk about him.”

Omar’s sympathetic eyes fall on him now. “Do you miss him?”

“I-” James sighs. “Yes, but I think it’s more I miss the him from before, not the him that I left.”

Omar nods thoughtfully. “Understandable.”

He doesn’t pry any further.

The boys are finished decorating the arbor now, and even from far away he can tell it’s made with love. Fresh branches with green leaves weave throughout it, and little white flowers seem to bloom all over it. The hearts dangle down at different lengths, lightly swaying as the boys carefully lift it up and carry it across the yard.

James can already picture Clementine and Louis standing beneath it, hand in hand, ready to seal the deal with a kiss.

“I ever tell you I had a brother?” asks Omar suddenly.

James turns his attention back to the boy beside him, shaking his head. “No.”

Omar’s grin grows wide. “His name was Marcus, and when I say older brother, I do mean older. We were nineteen years apart.”

“Oh,” James says, eyes widening. “That’s… quite a gap.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he nods with a smirk. “I was a ‘happy accident,’ if you will.” He uses finger quotes to emphasize his point. “My parents only wanted to have one, then Ma got sick and found out she was pregnant with me and months later, I popped out.”

“Wow,” James breathes out. “Nineteen years.”

“Marcus was my hero,” Omar beams. “You’d think we wouldn’t have seen each other much, given how old he was, but for a long time it was the opposite. He was still living at home and going to school. I can still remember him coming into my room to tuck me in after getting home. And, even after he moved away, he visited plenty. Always made time for me.”

He sighs then, staring off towards the trees with the ball held firm in his hands.

“It’s weird. I don’t miss my parents nearly as much as I miss him.”

James’ brows raise, surprised. “Really?”

“My parents were… older, I guess. Had a lotta opinions, were very honest. Brutally so. If they thought it, it was right. Couldn’t change their minds. Heh, think that’s why they stayed together. No one else could put up with them beside each other,” Omar frowns. “But, Marcus was different.”

“I can tell you loved him very much.”

“He’s what’s kept me going. His voice in my head telling me what to do. ‘Don’t use all that pepper! You’ll ruin the stew! No, Omar, cook it a little longer! Don’t want your friends to get sick! Kid, go to bed earlier, you know you got watch in the morning.’ Shit like that.” He chuckles then, smirking over at James. “You know what he grew up to do?”

“What?”

“He was a baker. Cakes, cookies, bread, candies, and everything else.” Omar throws the ball, sending Rosie out towards the tables. “Everytime he got an order or when it was someone’s birthday or anniversary or whatever, he’d make the best cakes. And he’d always give me a big spoon full of icing to eat when no one was looking. He’d say he couldn’t ice it ‘til I tried it, said my opinion mattered.”

James studies the tenderness resting in Omar’s eyes, something different that he’d never seen before.

“That why you always cook for us?”

“Oh yeah. When shit really hit the fan and we were eating bland, nasty scraps, I knew that I could make something better, something enjoyable. And-” Omar’s smile dies, becoming a disheartening frown. “-and I told myself that if I keep everyone fed, we’ll survive. We’ll survive a long time and when Marcus comes to get me, he’ll be so proud.”

There’s a tightening in James’ chest, one that almost makes him wince.

“‘Course, I-I’m not delusional. I know he’s not coming. Not because he wouldn’t want to, or because he didn’t try, or because he didn’t love me.” Omar look back at the school building with sullen eyes. “When… when I got sent here, he was working in another country, somewhere in Europe.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He was still there when all this happened. He was so excited to go, him and his buddy, gonna take over the place. They’d be making all sorts of stuff for some crazy expensive bakery. He used to write me letters about his job there and everything he saw, send me pictures and stuff. Still keep ‘em in my room. Read ‘em when things get tough.”

His grin falls, becoming sad.

“And… when I was shot, locked up on that ship after the delta attacked us,” he starts slowly. “Thinking about him, alive and somewhere safe, kept me sane, kept me hopeful. When you guys finally brought me home and let me rest in my room, the first thing I did was pull that box out and look at his picture.”

James offers a comforting smile. “I’m glad you have something of his to remember him by.”

“Yeah, me too. I just-” Omar sighs. “Been thinking about him a lot this week, with the wedding and all.”

Rosie, tired of chasing the ball, hops back up beside Omar, happily panting. He reaches around the rub and scratch her side.

“I wish I had the stuff to make them a cake, you know? Something sweet for all of us to enjoy. Something Marcus would be proud of.”

James smiles, saying, “You’re making dinner, though. That’s something. Louis and Clementine appreciate what you’re doing for them, and I know everyone else appreciates you for all the years of feeding them, as well.”

Omar smirks. “They better. They could’ve had Lou cooking for them. Imagine the food poisoning,” he shudders, drawing a light chuckle from James.

“Hey!”

Both boys turn towards the front doors where Mitch is standing.

James immediately faces forward, feeling that strange, uneasy sting tug at his stomach. All the relaxing humor is gone, replaced with dread at knowing he’s about to face the boy who had truly hurt his feelings last night. He thinks about excusing himself and hurrying away, but Mitch is already there, standing beside him.

“Hey, look at you,” Omar grins. “Ruby got a hold of you, huh?”

“Did’ja think she wouldn’t?”

“It looks good.”

“Whatever.”

“Why can’t you ever take a compliment?”

“I- she’s gonna be looking for you, too, you know!”

“I already told her I don’t need a haircut. I’m growing it out.” Omar points up at the mess of curls tied up on his head with a smirk. “She’s not gettin’ a hold of these luscious locks.”

“Dude.”

James keeps his focus forward, trying to ignore the banter and Mitch’s presence looming over him until a hand bumps his shoulder.

“Hey.”

The first thing he notices is how soft his voice is, like a switch was flipped. The second thing he notices as he blinks up at him is that Omar’s right; his haircut does look nice. His bangs still fall over his forehead, but the length no longer brushes his shoulders or covers most of his face.

He finds his voice, quiet and repressed, cold. “Hello.”

Mitch shifts his weight to one foot and folds his arms over his chest. “We’re goin’ hunting. Grab a bow.”

James thinks he’s misunderstood the words, repeating them slower in his head.

“You guys?” Omar asks. “Thought Louis and Aasim were going?”

“No,” Mitch replies quickly, glancing away. “We are.”

Omar looks between the two, taking note of the obvious tension. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Mitch scowls. He nudges James again. “Let’s go. Meet’cha at the gates.”

Before any more words can be spoken, he turns on his heel and heads towards the gates. James watches him go, his chest and stomach twisting.

---

Aasim’s the only one awake when the banging on the door starts.

He’d been changing into the clothes he set aside for this particular day: a faded pair of dark jeans and a heavy, oversized burgundy sweatshirt.

Through the muffled brightness of the room, he sees Louis lift his head. Lidded, glazed eyes glance around before he turns fully onto his front and smashes his face back into the pillow with a groan.

Aasim rolls his eyes, smirking. He runs his fingers through his bedhead, smoothing it out as he unlocks the door.

Ruby’s rosy-cheeked face grins at him. “There ya are! Thought the two of ya croaked in there.”

Aasim slips out, shutting the door behind him. “Not quite,” he says, straightening out his shirt. “We stayed up pretty late.”

“You, too, huh? Seems like Clem and I were the only early birds last night. Lou's still sleepin,’ I assume?”

Aasim jerks his thumb towards the door. “Yeah, I’d say it’ll be another few hours before I can even attempt to drag him out of bed. We might have to postpone our hunting trip until later.”

“Oh, don’t fret ‘bout that,” Ruby waves her hand dismissively. “Mitch and James are out there now. I got somethin’ else important fer ya to do.”

Before he can ask, she offers him a bag that he knows all too well. That’s also when he notices that she’s brought along her stool, the tall, adjustable one she uses for haircuts. He takes the bag from her with a timid grin.

“Been busy this morning, haven’t you?”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” she chuckles. “Got up real early ta start finishin’ up the music room and cuttin’ all the boys’ hair. Tenn, Willy, Mitch, and I still gotta find James and Omar, and-” she studies him for a moment before smirking, “Oh, I don’t gotta worry ‘bout you. You always stay nice and trimmed.”

The compliment brings a familiar flutter in his stomach, one he tries to repress.

“‘Cept with that scruff,” Ruby teases, pointedly looking at his chin.

Like a reflex, his fingers scratch at the so-called “scruff.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but for the past few months, he’s been trying to grow a full beard. However, it wasn’t the thick, glorious facial hair he dreamed of.

Instead, he got a patchy mess of bald portions and uneven thickness along his jaw and upper lip. He shaved all that off after some stupid comment Mitch made, but left his chin untouched, it being the only place on his face where it grew perfectly. He’d be damned if he’s going to shave all that hard work off.

His face must be amusing because Ruby’s giggling, winking up at him and saying, “I’ll let it pass, though, since it does look mighty handsome, especially paired with that sweatshirt. Nice color on ya.”

Shit.

Did she just-?

“Uh-”

“Anyway!” Ruby claps her hands together, completely oblivious to Aasim’s internal crisis of having too many compliments thrown at him, grabs a hold of the stool and props herself up on it. “I didn’t come here ta tell ya how good ya look-”

Shit.

“-I was actually wonderin’ if ya could give me a trim? And, maybe ya could braid it fer me, too? I’m not so good at doin’ it on myself,” she says sheepishly as she reaches back and undoes the tie holding her hair together, the curls falling over her shoulders and down her back.

Shit, shit, shit-

“Yeah-” he croaks, quickly clearing his throat and coughing to cover up the crack in his voice. “I can do that.”

“Thanks.”

Aasim can’t help but gawk a little at how long it’s gotten. Last time he did this years ago, it barely touched her shoulders.

He kneels down over the bag, hiding his face from her and counting in his head, trying to quiet his drumming heart. It’s so loud in his ears that it’s a wonder Ruby doesn’t hear it.

Once he sprays her curls wet and combs through it, he takes a steady breath before working on trimming the edges.

“Mitch got the lights ta work, apparently,” she says. “Guess Lou was right. The boy is magic. Haven’t seen ‘em in action myself, but he swears up and down they’ll light tonight.”

“If not, we have the extra candles.”

“That’s what I figure. Oh, and the boys brought up the arch thing-”

“The arbor.”

“-yeah, that, and it looks real nice. I can see it now, Clem and Lou standin’ there while yer marryin’ them- Oh!” Luckily, he’s not in the middle of cutting anything when she turns to face him. “Did Lou finish his vows?”

“Yes. Why do you think we were up so late?” He partially lies, then curses himself for it, but he’s not about to admit what really happened.

He really would croak if she knew he’d practiced dancing with Louis while pretending it was her.

“Good, good,” she relaxes, letting him get back to work. “Jus’ need Mitch and James ta come back with somethin’ fer Omar ta cook and we should be ready.”

“Did you grab the headmaster’s glasses?”

“Aw, shit! No! I fergot- Omar was supposed ta remind me!”

Aasim chuckles, finishing off the back of her hair. He only took off about an inch, figuring she’d want the extra length to make a longer braid. Trying to focus on her bangs now rather than her curious eyes peering up at him, he’s careful not to poke or pull too harsh on them, his focus narrowing down to blending the bangs in with the rest of her hair.

“I really appreciate this, Aasim,” she grins.

“No problem,” he mumbles, still concentrating.

“And not just fer this, I mean. Fer helpin’ me out so much this week. I really couldn’t have made it look so nice without yer help. And I’m real thankful yer marryin’ them.”

He has to stop, noticing that his hands beginning to tremble slightly.

“Couldn’t let you do it all by yourself,” he pulls back, fumbling with the scissors and checking the length of the bangs between his finger.

“You’re just always helpin’ me with stuff, y’know, even when I don’t ask or when I’m bein’ difficult.”

His knuckle brushes against the smoothness of her warm skin.

Shit.

“Yer real sweet ta me, and I feel like I don’t ever thank ya enough fer bein’ there.”

“Ruby,” he tosses the scissors aside, “you don’t have to thank me.”

“Well, that ain’t gonna stop me,” she laughs, reaching up to brush her freshly cut bangs back to beam at him. “So, thank you, Aasim.”

Fuck.

How could not feel anything for her?

The way those sparkling, baby blue eyes stare up at him and how her pretty lips smile like that after speaking such kindness, he’d have to be a brain-dead walker to not see how beautiful Ruby is in every form of the word.

And, god, he hates what it does to him.

“You’re welcome.”

That brightens her smile.

She shifts on the stool, bringing her curls over one shoulder and twisting. “I’m thinkin’ a french braid, maybe? Or perhaps two of ‘em, like pigtail braids or somethin’?”

Aasim searches the bag for a fine pick comb and begins sectioning off chunks of hair.

“I think double french braids suit you.”

“You’d know best,” she says, fixing her posture to let him work better.

As he works on threading the chunks of hair through each other, he says, “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Not many of us to do it to,” Ruby sighs, then snickers, “‘Less ya can convince Mitch ta sit still in a few months.”

Aasim scoffs. “That’ll just result in another greenhouse incident.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Just saying.”

They chuckle lightly together as Aasim finishes the first braid, tying it off with an elastic band he found in the bottom of the bag.

Ruby admires the braid, running her thumb over the remaining curls flowing past the tie. “How’d ya get so good at this, anyway?”

“I used to do my sister’s hair for school. Mom always had work early, so we had to get ready ourselves.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Ruby smiles. “What was her name again?”

“Aamirah.”

“Pretty name.”

“For a pretty girl. She was a handful, but can’t say I don’t miss her. I’m just-” Aasim’s words hitch as his heart becomes sorely heavy. “-I’m glad she wasn’t around to see the world go to shit like this.”

She peeks back at him with a sympathetic smile and grabs his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, which he returns. They share the intimate moment in silence, merely staring at each other. Something changes, some minor in her eyes, her brow as she looks at her.

He forces himself to let go of her, otherwise, he might do something stupid.

“Well, it’s done,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Two braids fall over Ruby’s shoulders now. She hops off the stool, shooting him a timid, self-conscious look before doing a quick spin and saying, “Well?”

So damn beautiful.

---

Within the warmth of the forest, the rabbits are eager to forage and stretch their legs.

One, thick with pretty taupe fur, dares dart from the security of it’s bush. It moves slowly, lolloping, grazing as it raises its nose in the air, twitching with every sniff. At the slightest noise, it’s up on their hind legs, black eyes darting around.

An arrow pierces its neck before it could possibly react, killing it instantly.

As they approach the small creature, James can’t help but admire the effective and skillful shot.

Mitch, when focused, is skillful enough that James believes he could pull off that old Robin Hood trick if he really tried.

Yanking the arrow out and stuffing the body in his bag to join the other two they caught previously, Mitch breathes out heavily through his nose. He glances over at James before standing up and strapping the bag back over his shoulder.

James isn’t unaware of the tension, nor is he unaware of the constant looks Mitch keeps giving him, though, he can’t figure what they mean. They’re not hostile, nothing like last night, but they’re not exactly friendly, either. They’re almost thoughtful, maybe. He’s still not sure.

Either way, they make him nervous.

Gurgled groaning echoes in the distance, catching their attention.

A walker moves through the woods, alone and at a slow pace. James’ hand instinctively goes to his mask in his backpocket.

Mitch turns to him with a raised brow and fingers hovering over the knife on his belt, at which James shakes his head.

“Too far.”

While Mitch wasn’t ever crazy about keeping all the walkers alive, even going as far as to actively argue against it multiple times in the beginning, he came around to the idea when James explained it to him as a weapon.

And after said weapon worked wonders towards infiltrating the delta and keeping the forest fairly walker-free, Mitch grumbled his agreement and promised he wouldn’t kill any walkers unless he absolutely had to.

They continue their walk in silence, nothing but the crunching under their boots and the wind sounding through the forest.

And as they’re walking, James realizes that he’s looking over at Mitch just as much as he is him.

Endless stolen glances.

“Willy asked about you this morning,” Mitch finally says, quietly. “Said you left last night.”

His voice is forcibly casual, James notes.

“You didn’t even tell anybody?”

When he doesn’t answer, Mitch stops walking. James comes to a slow as well, just a bit ahead, keeping his back to him.

“No, I didn’t.”

Mitch doesn’t move, waiting for an elaboration. When he doesn’t get any, he tucks his bow behind him, securing it to his bag, and crosses his arms.

“Why do you do that?”

Intrigued by the question, James cranks his neck to peer back at him with quizzical, furrowed brows, asking, “What?”

“Sleep out here,” Mitch looks around with a glower. “You’ve got a room at the school now. It’s stupid to sleep out here if you don’t have to.”

Once again, Mitch doesn’t understand, and James is quickly growing tired of trying to explain it to him.

“Especially for weeks at a time,” Mitch continues. “We don’t know if you’re dead or if someone grabbed you or whatever. Then, you don’t even tell anyone when you leave. It worries Willy sick. AJ, too. And the others.”

What about you? James wants to ask.

“It’s just-” Mitch shakes his head, sighing, “-stupid.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

His words come out much harsher than intended, but they clearly have an effect on Mitch, considering that he’s glaring now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means-” James’ lips press together into a tight line as he breaks eye contact, instead focusing on one of the set traps attached to the trees. “-you choose to not understand something you don’t like. You’re not one for reason.”

Mitch’s glare is gone, replaced with bafflement as such bluntness. He opens his mouth, no doubt ready to spit some sort of retaliation, then promptly shuts it.

James turns from him again, beginning to walk away, which must’ve set some sort of panic within Mitch, because he blurts out, “So, explain it to me.”

With those words, a sarcastic irritation stings in his chest. James stops again, keeping his gaze forward as Mitch approaches from behind.

“Explain it to you?” he repeats. “Yes, because that worked so well last time.”

James turns to fully face him with a glare only to be met with puzzlement, then guilt. Mitch lowers his head, shoulders hunched, and expression twisted with a silent wince. His knuckles turn white as he grips his upper arms.

“Fuck-” Mitch breathes out. “I-”

While still hurt and a bit agitated, James can’t help but soften, just a bit, at the view of him now.

Mitch turns away from him, giving James the view of his profile now.

“I’m a prick,” Mitch mumbles. “A huge fucking prick. Last night, I- I didn’t mean to kick you out like that. I just-” He cuts himself off, biting his lip. Then, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, he asks, “You- why’d you tell me about Charlie, anyway?”

The question catches him off guard, even though a part of him expected it.

“What you were saying about Violet was unfair and ignorant. I thought maybe if I-” James sighs, forcing out, “- opened up to you, you’d see that, but clearly it didn’t work.”

Mitch’s fully facing him again, refusing to break their eye contact this time as he says, “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry, I- you just-”

He stumbles over his words all while James stands there, bewildered that he actually got what sounded like a sincere apology. While Mitch wasn’t above it, James noticed that it took a lot to get him to admit he’s in the wrong, much less say he’s truly sorry.

Mitch moves past him now, walking ahead and grumbling something to himself as he rubs at his neck. James only caught the words, “ C’mon, Mitch, you goddamn- ”

He hurries until they’re walking side by side again, this time a bit closer now that the tension, for the most part, has been broken.

Mitch’s bothered, it’s clear in his twisted frown until finally, with a frustrated sigh, he admits, “I lied.”

“What?”

“I, uh- when we were talking about Vi and you were asking me all those questions…” He trails off.

James watches him carefully but doesn’t push. He can see Mitch’s struggling with his words, an internal debate on whether or not he should continue. It’s similar to his behavior last night when deciding on if he should bring up Violet and Minerva or not.

Something rustles in the bushes, then there’s a snap, causing them both to freeze. One of the traps up ahead, the one in the direct sunlight, is triggered, and from the looks of it, a rabbit’s hanging by its foot.

“Shit-” Mitch curses, picking up his speed towards the creature.

It’s full grown, a pretty, glossy dark brown coat with white spots, struggling against the trap. He takes care of it quickly, squinting at the light seeping in through the branches but not hesitating to put it down. James notices that he seems relieved with the distraction, and he wonders if he’ll take the opportunity to drop the entire topic.

That thought is squashed when Mitch continues to steal anxious glances at him as he places the rabbit in his bag with the others.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“There was someone,” Mitch says slowly. “Once. Kind of.”

“Someone-” His eyes widen. “You mean…?”

“It wasn’t really anything- we weren’t anything. Fuck, we weren’t even really friends- well, okay, we were , I guess, but-” Mitch abruptly stands, tossing the bag back over his shoulder and glaring down at his feet. “But we were never more than that- but, I- I did -”

The jumble of desperate words is alarming, leaving James to put his hands up and say in as calm and comforting of a voice as he can muster, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Mitch rubs at his face now, his eyes and his neck with exasperation at himself, his incompetence to put together proper sentences. Then, with a huff, he forces his arms to his sides as he drops the bag on the ground and takes a direct, intentional step towards James. He remains where he is, despite their much closer proximity now.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t have to do anything.”

With that intense stare boring into him, James quietly curses himself.

He knows it’s not the time to think it.

As inappropriate as it is in this moment, he can’t help but notice the shift in the shade of Mitch’s eyes. Before, he’d always thought they were a desaturated gray with barely a hint of color, nothing worthy of note. This close and in the light, however, they’re far from so. They’re green, a color that compliments his complexion almost too well.

His fingers bite into his palm as his pulse quickens, warmth spreads up his neck and to his cheeks.

Not the time, James. Stop it!

Mitch, those green eyes becoming unbelievably vulnerable, a jarring thing to even consider, speaks.

“His name was Justin.”

For a brief second, James thinks he might’ve misheard him as his mouth parts in a silent gasp.

“He was an asshole,” Mitch says, “but… not all the time. He’d always talk all big about how tough he was or how he could kick any walker’s ass and no one could hurt him and all that bullshit. But, he was scared, just like the rest of us.”

As he speaks, he never breaks the connection of their stares.

“He used to piss me off a lot. Like, really piss me off. One time, I was so mad that I wrote ‘Justin fucked a walker!’ on the wall right where I knew everyone would see it and I knew he’d know it was me. Gave me a pretty good shiner for that one.”

Mitch scoffs, biting hard on his lip.

“I don’t even remember what he did.”

He glances away now, his determinate features falling into one of dejected longing, gaze moving far away in remembrance.

“It wasn’t always like that,” he murmurs. “We liked a lot of the same things and he’d help me watch out for Willy when I needed him to. We graffitied the shit out of the school together. I liked having him around, talking to him and going on watch together and being roommates. But… there were a few times where I think it just-” Mitch shakes his head, “-it just caught up to him, y’know? The world’s over and we’ve been left to rot by the fuckers who promised they’d make us better. It was just us and…”

Mitch takes a deep breath and turns away, leaving James to gaze upon his back.

“He made me feel gross .”

Puzzled by the use of Mitch’s favorite word being used in this context, James asks, “Gross?”

“Not gross like ‘ew, disgusting,’ but like,” Mitch bites his lip, trying to find the right words, “like gross as in ‘I’m thirteen and you do something to me that I don’t like and don’t understand and no one can explain it to me and everything is fucked .’”

James tries to process it all, backpedaling and repeating what he’s hearing in his mind, striving to wrap his head around it.

And when he does, when he fully comprehends just what Mitch is confessing to him out here in the openness of the forest, his insides tie around in knots and his chest squeezes his uncontrollable heart.

“I didn’t really figure it out until the day he didn’t come back from a hunting trip.”

James breathes out, voice barely above a whisper, “Mitch…”

“We’d lost lots of others. I never cried over them, never let myself because it’s pointless. Crying doesn’t bring anybody back, but Justin…” Mitch whips around, startling James. “I was so fucking mad at him. He thought he could take on a bunch of walkers himself and-” his voice cracks “-and he fucking couldn’t. Of course, he couldn’t! He was fucking scrawny.”

His eyes fall shut, and James felt his hands twitch, wanting nothing more than to reach out to him.

“I didn’t let myself cry over him, and to this day, I still haven’t because I told myself to get over it, and I did, okay? But, he didn’t come back and even though I got over it, I still fucking hate him for it. And- and I hate him for making me-” he meets James’ eye again, “-for making me see a part of myself that I tried to hide from.”

James doesn’t know what to say, he can’t think properly.

“Mitch, I… I didn’t know.”

“No one does,” he shrugs. “I really didn’t mean to be a dipshit and say that shit to you, I- I just… None of the other guys ever seemed to deal with this shit so I didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone else who- uh-” he clears his throat awkwardly, “- you know . But, then you told me about Charlie and it freaked me out.”

“That’s understandable,” James tries. “I… I get it.”

“Yeah? Because, really, I can imagine what kind of a fucktard you thought I was for kicking you out because of that.”

“Yes,” James admits. “Let’s just say I’m not unfamiliar with that sort of treatment regarding my, uh, preferences.”

“Fuck. Then I went and- shit!” Mitch crosses his arms again and kicks at the uneven dirt.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

There’s more growling in the distance, another walker aimlessly roaming the forest, but Mitch’s focus is solely on James and the conversation, so intense it quickens his pulse.

“Really, no one knows?” James asks. “Not even Willy?”

“No. It’s not like anyone would care if they found out. Willy sure wouldn’t. Fuck, they probably wouldn’t think anything about it. They didn’t when Vi and Minnie got together. That shit doesn’t matter anymore. But...”

“You don’t have to be ashamed-”

“I’m not,” Mitch takes another step towards him.“I-I know I was raised to be disgusted with this type of stuff, and that I am an asshole a lot of the time, and I say lots of stupid shit I don’t mean, but no, I don’t have any real reason to be ashamed. I know who I am, I know what I like and I don’t give a shit what other people think about me.”

His face falls.

“Well, what most people think of me, I guess.”

Then, as if realizing just how close they are, he takes a step back and turns on his heel, moving back towards the triggered trap.

“Some kids got picked up, you know,” Mitch continues, his voice turning bitter. “Their parents came and grabbed them, hauled them off in the first few days when all this seemed like a short-lived disaster. When it turns out it wasn’t, our teachers weren’t far behind them.”

That…

James thinks back to everyone at the school, imagining them as small children huddled together in the nightmare that was the end of the world, the world of walkers.

How could anyone be so cruel as to leave behind terrified, defenseless children? What kind of monster doesn’t even try and help them survive?

Mitch grabs the bag of rabbits off the ground and shrugging it back on his shoulder, continuing, “One day, a while after we lost Justin, it just hit me. The world’s over and my dad, my brothers, my grandparents, none of them are coming for me. They’re either dead or worse. And, as fucked up as it is, I was relieved. Relieved that they’d never get that chance to tell me who I am, or hate what I like or who I like. They gave up that right the moment they dropped my ass off here.”

There’s something subdued in his expression now as he looks at James again and says, “And after realizing that, after denying it for so long, I finally felt I could admit it to myself.”

Then, he smiles.

Mitch genuinely smiles at him.

And it makes his knees weak.

“Thank you,” James whispers.

Mitch raises a questioning brow, blinking over at him.

“For trusting me,” he elaborates lightly. “I know it’s difficult to deal with on your own and even more so to share with someone.”

“I dunno,” Mitch smirks, scoffing and scratching at his cheek. “There might be something to this ‘sharing your feelings’ crap because I feel pretty fucking good getting that off my chest.”

James chuckles. “This is the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”

“That’s the most I’ve ever talked in my life.”

They exchange another smile, and James admits that this is the first time he’s seen this sort of grin from him.

He’s witnessed his proud smile, the one he always gives Willy.

His sarcastic sneer he has whenever teasing or arguing with Ruby.

His smirk at Clementine whenever they agree on something.

His smug grin whenever he successfully builds or fixes something.

Then there’s this smile, one that’s truly relieved, comfortable.

Happy.

James might be getting ahead of himself, but he can’t help but ask, “We’re friends, then?”

“Shit, we better be after I, uh-” Mitch glances away sheepishly, “- opened up to you.”

That widens the smile tugging at James’ own lips.

“And, since we are,” Mitch glances away, “I actually had a few questions… about it.”

“You can ask them on the way. We still have more hunting to do.”

“Shit, yeah. Omar’ll pop a gasket if we don’t catch enough.”

“We wouldn’t want that.”

---

Violet never thought she’d ever be one to do this, but here she is, standing in front of her open closet and studying the few articles of wearable clothing.

A long time passes as she remains indecisive, constantly debating on just growing a pair and grabbing something or slamming the door shut and crawling back into bed.

Either way, nothing happens until Tenn comes.

“Hey, Vi,” he greets, closing and locking the door behind him. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

All Violet can do is shrug, sighing an honest, “I don’t know.”

Tenn peeks into her closet before turning back to her. That’s when she notices he’s holding something.

A white flower, one of the ones that grow everywhere this time of year around the school.

“I was wondering…-” he starts, “-we still have a few hours before the sun starts to set. That’s when Ruby wants us all there, except Clementine. So… I was wondering if you changed your mind? About going?”

Her gaze remains locked on the contents of her closet.

She doesn’t answer.

And it kills her knowing that, even without looking him, disappointment is spreading across his soft features. He moves past her and sets the flower on her dresser, right on her notebook.

“If you do come,” he says, “everyone’s wearing one of these flowers. It doesn’t matter where, it’s just so we all match.”

Before he leaves, he gives her one final look. “Let me know if you change your mind… so you don’t have to go alone.”

When the door clicks shut, Violet sinks down to her knees, slamming her fist against her thigh.

“For fuck's sake, Vi,” she hisses. “What’s wrong with you?”

She isn’t doing this again.

She’s not moving back into the shadows.

As much as she wants to turn and dive back into her bed, wrap the blankets around herself and pretend nothing around her exists, she won’t do it.

She’s not staring at the door anymore with a hand so desperate to knock.

Not this time.

She knows she has to do this, has to tell all of her fears, her insecurities to fuck off. She has to try.

For Louis.

"Everyone'll be there, and it wouldn't be perfect without you, Vi. You know that, right?"

“You’re fucking better than this.”

If Louis wants her there, then damn it, she’s going to be there.

With a huff, she forces herself back up and yanks the first shirt she sees off its hanger, stretching it out before her. It’s a charcoal color with a purple heart adorning the chest area.

Fuck it, this’ll do.

---

“Ruby’s going to see Clem, and the others are in the music room, so steer clear.”

Louis doesn’t know how he did it, but he actually convinced Aasim to let him wander off.

Of course, he promised that he wouldn’t go near the music room or go see Clementine, and he practically got on his hands and knees and begged to leave the comfort of Aasim’s room.

Aasim eventually gave in once Louis was dressed in the attire picked out for him; a dark green button down shirt tucked into his jeans and his signature jacket.

The yard is empty with the exception of Willy on watch. Before the young boy spots him, he makes a quick turn to the right and heads down the sidewalk towards the graveyard.

All the graves have fresh flowers on them, white ones with long stems. Louis places himself on the ground, not bothering to care if dirt clung to his jeans or jacket.

“Hey, Marlon.”

The wooden cross is faded from constant sun exposure, but the carved letters are still prominent.

“It’s been a while. I know I promised I would visit more, and I did for a long time there, but a lot’s been going on.”

Louis rests his hands in his lap, glancing up at some birds flying overhead.

“Don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m getting married today. To Clementine. Who else, right? You wouldn’t believe it, but she proposed to me. Me. I know, you’re baffled with disbelief, but it’s true. I’d show you my ring, but Ruby confiscated it.”

He points to the naked finger on his hand.

“Anyway, it’s been a long time. I just wanted to see you before it happens, talk to you about some stuff. If you were here, I can only imagine what you’d say. I think you’d be happy, maybe not thrilled about Clementine, since you did warn me against her… though I doubt you had my best interests in mind at the time.”

“Dude, don’t get your hopes up. I doubt she feels that way about you.”

“...Yeah...”

He lowers his head, eyes squeezing shut.

“...you’re right.”

He can always remember that day so clearly. The last moments he saw his best friend before the thunderstorm hit, before he killed Brody and almost shot Clementine.

Before he died.

“Thanks, man. Goodnight.”

“Fuck,” Louis breathes out. After a brief pause, he continues, “The nightmares are still bad. Shit, they’re getting worse, I think. I haven’t told Clem about most of them, and I’m starting to think that’s not the right thing to do. I read once in one of those magazines that honestly is the key to an unbreakable relationship. Which, I guess it is in anything, like an unbreakable friendship.”

A chill overcomes him.

“That’s what really fucked us over, huh?”

Louis looks back up at the sky, admiring the fluffy clouds as he speaks, “I won’t make the same mistake. I know I have to tell Clem how bad it’s gotten, and I will sometime after the wedding. I can’t be afraid of it anymore, you know? I’m sick of waking up like that, of hiding it from her and the others. I’m sure you’d tell me to man up, get over myself and do better. But… it’s not easy.”

Feeling the wetness return to his sore eyes, Louis quickly rubs at them.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about her and our wedding, about my parents. I don’t think they’d like her very much. In fact, I’m pretty sure Dad would forbid me from accepting her proposal, and maybe-” he gives a dry laugh, “-here’s a funny thought, Marlon. Maybe he would be so pissed off that he’d break me and Clementine up.”

He hears distant voices from behind him but pays them no attention.

“How do you think he’d do it? A fake affair, like I did? Or would that be too predictable?”

A warm breeze carries the scent of a floral spring with a hint of dirt, something that’d be more enjoyable had he not been sitting where he is.

“It’d make sense, wouldn’t it?” he whispers. “An eye for an eye, one marriage for another-” he inhales a shuddering breath, “-that’d balance everything out, wouldn’t it? Why should I get to live in this world happily married after I fucked up my own parent’s marriage?”

He sniffles, shaking his head and stares at the mound of dirt before him.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he murmurs. “But I’m going to do what I always do; enjoy this moment. It’s the only sure thing. Maybe the karma monster will rear it’s ugly head one day and hurt me real bad again, but until then, I’m going to smile, go back into that school, marry the woman of my dreams, and have the best night of my life.”

The voices grow louder, and recognizes them as Mitch, James, and Omar, no doubt getting ready to start cooking.

“I love Clementine, Marlon,” he smiles. “And I kept my promise. I’ve stepped up. Really, I have. You know I’ll never stop joking around, but I do take hunting and scavenging more seriously now. And we haven’t lost anyone since you, Brody and the twins. For the most part, everything’s been really good. Things are still tense with Violet- hell, I don’t even know if she’s going to show up today, but that doesn’t change anything. We… we’re all family now, Marlon, more so than we were before. I wish you could be here to see it, all of you.”

Footsteps approach from a distance, so Louis goes quiet.

“Hey,” Aasim calls softly.

“Hey.”

He stands beside him, peering down at the graves.

“It’s almost time. Mitch and James are back, Omar’s preparing the rabbits, and the music room’s officially finished. The boys are in there now.”

“Do I get to go in?”

“Yep, Ruby said you could play the piano while we wait for it to get darker. To calm your nerves, if you need to.”

“That sounds amazing,” Louis grins, looking back to Marlon’s grave. “Would you believe Ruby kicked me out of there? I haven’t touched the piano in a whole week.”

“And you survived,” Aasim rolls his eyes.

“Barely.”

“Well, when you’re done here, go ahead and go in. There’s no rush, though.”

“Thanks, I’m just going to say goodbye.”

Aasim gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze before turning and walking off back towards Omar. When he’s out of earshot, Louis decides it’s time to say his goodbyes.

“Well, guess that’s my cue. I’ll be back to talk to you again, let you know how things are going, what it’s like being married. I don’t imagine it’ll be all that different, right? I will get to call Clementine my wife. Looking forward to that.”

He shifts himself onto his knees and places his palm against the dirt, giving one final moment of peace for his lost friend.

“I miss you.”

A heaviness is lifted from him, a serenity replacing it. He let his doubts have their moment, let them shake his core and attempt to take over, but he leaves them there with Marlon’s grave.

Over the years of surviving in this world, Louis became a master of tucking those thoughts away, leaving them to be explored later, and focusing on the good things.

Like how in a couple of hours, he gets to see Clementine.

He gets to wear his ring, he gets to hold her face in his hands and kiss her, and dance with her. He gets to be with his family.

At least, most of his family.

“Goodbye, Marlon.”

As Louis goes back into the school, he keeps his head held high and adorns a tranquil smile on his lips.

78 notes · View notes

atlas-of-a-human-soul · 7 years

Text

T&L part 3: Oh, brother

Word count:1859

Part four

I do not believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers. It makes them siblings, gives them mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at.

- Maya Angelou

Arya’s POV

I’m standing on the beach again. I can feel someone watching me. Turning towards the tree line, I can see something lurking in the shadows but I’m not scared. Walking in the direction of the unknown creature, curiosity pulling me to walk faster, the creature fled before I even reached the green covers of the forest and all I see is a big blur of dark silver fur.

Instead of running in the opposite direction, I started running after it. Weaving though the trees as if I had roamed these woodlands since a young age, with branches occasionally hitting my face as I was gaining on the creature, until my damn clumsiness decided to step in and I tripped on a root and falling face first onto a dense patch of leaves which still hurt like a bitch, then rolling freely down a small hill. Touching my head blood marks stained my hands, I could see my ankle was probably bruised and the creature was nowhere to be found. Looking around, all I could see was darkness descending upon me, making me weary about how would I get out of the now foreign woods.

The trees were much thicker in the area I found myself in, under the cloak of darkness surrounding me, wind whistling through the woods and cold air licking at my face, creeping under my clothes spreading across my skin as an icy tidal wave, teeth chattering and breath turning into vapor, quickly numbing me. I tried walking in any direction, hoping to stumble upon something familiar, but it was of no use.

Suddenly I heard a sinister laugh echoing around me bringing a different kind of chill down my spine. Spinning around trying to locate the source of the laugh my senses heightened in the darkness, my heart beating faster and adrenaline already coursing through my veins urging my body to choose the flight instead of fight response as if it knows that this foe is undefeatable.

Hearing crunching of the twigs and dead leaves on the cold hard ground I started running. I ran faster then I thought possible, my mind racing faster then my legs, lungs burning with each breath, jumping over logs while praying to God I get out of the woods alive. Looking back I could see the trees swiftly closing the path behind me almost protectively so the evil entity wouldn’t be able to catch me. As I turned to look ahead I slammed into a hard, almost concrete….wall?….no way.

Figuring it was a tree, I groaned on the floor, but then I heard it again. That laugh. Looking up all I could see was flash of red eyes coming at me at an alarmingly high speed. As I screamed I could hear a distant, painful howl.

„Arya, wake up! Wake up! It’s just a dream sis, it’s just a dream!“

Opening my eyes I found myself in my new room, I was sweating buckets, still screaming and shaking, my ears ringing. I could feel someone shaking me, calling my name. Looking up I could see Sam inspecting me, giving me a once-over to make sure I’m okay.

„It was just a dream Arya, I’m here, you’re safe. Just breathe. Slowly inhale…now exhale. Inhale….and exhale. Good.“

After a few minutes, I finally calmed down, Emily brought up a glass of water I downed in seconds. And I gave them a puzzled look after I saw a lamp on my bed.

„Thank you Emily, and thank you Sam but I am sorry for waking you up this early and probably scaring you half to death.“

Emily laughed, „ It’s okay sweetie, plus you should have seen Sam, he thought someone got into your room and he planned on using our lamp as a weapon for the rescue. He just ripped it from the nightstand and ran like crazy almost crashing into a wall on his way here. Funniest thing I’ve ever seen him do.“

„Hey, not fair, I was sleeping. It’s a miracle I was able to grab anything at all considering I just woke up and you know I’m NOT a morning person. I guess the thought of my sister being murdered got me on my own TWO feet in mere seconds.“ He smiles with a glint in his eye.

„Hey, another thing we have in common! I am not a morning person either.“ I said with a wide grin which he returned and nodded while Emily was shaking her head trying to suppress a smile. But then, they both got serious and cast a worried look my way.

„Arya, what was the dream about? What scared you so much?“ he asked.

As I was explaining my dream to them, I saw they exchanged a few weird glances when I mentioned the big, dark silver furry creature, but when I mentioned the red eyes and a howl at the end Emily’s eyes were wide and Sam was practically shaking while gripping my sheets so tight I though he would rip them to shreds.

„Sounds scary, but like I said, it’s nothing but a dream. And I’d never let you walk around the forest alone like that anyways. I just got you and I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, remember? Big brother always comes to your rescue, at least it’s what google said. I’m going for a run, I’ll be back later. Do you need anything?“ he asked with tension in his voice.

„No, thanks. I have that interview at the Forks hospital, I should get ready, it would look bad if I was late. See you later I guess. And hey, Sam,“ i look at him with a soft smile, „you’re doing pretty well as a big brother so far.“

He left, Emily following close behind so I’d have some privacy to freshen up and get dressed.

After breakfast and a few encouraging words and instructions on how to get to the hospital from Emily I got in my car and blasted some music to ease my nerves. Although I’m more of a Fall Out Boy, Imagine Dragons, Linkin Park or Tame Impala kind of a girl, I truly enjoy all types of music.

Gotta have a song for every mood I’m in, so this time I started by blasting „Power“ by Kat Graham followed by Taylor Swift and Beyonce’s hits ending on a badass note with „Seven Nation Army“ by The White Stripes as I found parking on the lot in front of my future workplace.

Walking in I decided it would be easier to just head straight to the Information Center so I don’t spend time walking around looking for my mentor. I was painfully shy at times, so asking for info from a complete stranger was making me uneasy and shaky, but I had to do it, I couldn’t be late.

„Excuse me. I’m Darya Johnson and I am here for an interview for an opening in the trauma department. I was wondering if you could show me where to find my mentor. They didn’t really tell me his name so I’m kinda hoping you knew who it is.“

God, my voice was pitchy and annoying when I was nervous.

The woman glanced at me, „wait just a moment“ and then she made a call, but I couldn’t really understand what she was talking.

„Your mentor will be right here in a few.“

„Thank you so much“ I politely, and a bit too enthusiastically responded.

And just as promised, a few minutes later someone cleared their voice behind me. I turned around at the sound, but was at a loss for words as my mouth fell open. The man standing before me was maybe only a few years older then me, he was young, a lot taller then me, he was blond, but not a regular blonde looking type, it was almost golden… and he was more handsome than any movie star I’d seen. He was very pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes which was often a side effect of working as a doctor since you get minimum of sleep. His eyes were gentle and…golden? No wait….. yup golden. I’ve never seen this kind of a mutation before and it had me even more in awe. This man was like an embodiment of Apollo himself.

„Hello Darya, I’m doctor Carlisle Cullen, follow me please.“

Focus, damn it! Your mentor is so hot your brain is melting, so what?! You’re a professional, get over it! I never go for the obvious drop dead gorgeous guys anyways, not that I had a boyfriend to compare him to. Buried in my thoughts, trying to pull myself together I failed to notice he stopped walking and like a clutz that I am I ran right into a wall. No, scratch that, into Carlisle. How defined was this guy?! I mean seriously, give me a damn break!

„Sorry, I got a bit distracted.“ I mussed up an excuse while he just smiled like he knew just how mushed my brain was since the second I met him. Of course he knew, there’s no way he didn’t considering his looks.

„I said we’re right in front of my office, come in so we can start the interview which we both know is merely a formality. I just want to meet my resident.“

„Oh, you know I’m just going to be coming in few days a week? I’m going to be more like a little extra help if things get too hectic around here.“

He nods, but his soft smile never falters.

Entering his office I could tell he was an old fashioned guy since most doctors decorate and make their office look like a millionaire’s mansion. His office was simple with a big bookcase, a wooden table with neatly folded papers on the smooth surface, two chairs and a small couch in the corner of the room which was meant for naps during long nights.

He asked me a few questions about where I was born and about my achievements. We had mutual love for nature so he told me about a trip he took with his wife (bummer, of course he was already taken, he was out of my league anyways) and adoptive kids to Machu Pichu. I gushed to him about my trip to Hawaii (since it’s the only place I’ve ever traveled to with vacation in mind). After a while he told me I’d have my own pager in case of big traumas and showed me my schedule which showed I was working early shifts from 6 am to 2 pm, and told me I start next week.

With a smile I drove back to La Push, grabbed snacks and a few pizzas on my way back not knowing that when I get back I was in for a big surprise.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #sam uley #emily young #nightmare #wolf #wolfpack #vampire #red eyes #forest #woods #er #trauma center #forks #carlisle #carlisle cullen #doctor #paul lahote x reader #carlisle cullen x reader

300 notes · View notes

shinsousbedroom · 3 years

Text

Replay

It’s a particular kind of agony that leaves Kazuya tied up naked to a chair in the middle of his living room, staring at himself playing baseball on TV while he’s sitting on a vibrator.

The agonizing part isn’t the rope or the vibes. It’s seeing his own face.

Or; Kazuya and Eijun stumble into a brand new kink in the middle of trying out another.

On AO3.

Kazuya doesn’t know how long it’s been when Eijun slips into the living room, pausing behind him with a considering hum. Eijun rakes his nails lightly across his bare shoulders, letting his fingers twine into the top of Kazuya’s hair, then jerks it back with a yearning grip.

“How’s it going, captain?” Eijun asks with a sarcasm he’s borrowed from Kazuya, eyes meeting his upside down.

The space around them is pristine and well-decorated—family photos on display, the tables and floors all dusted and clean, an outrageously nice TV mounted to the wall. There’s even a color scheme to the room, nothing like the mishmash Eijun originally wanted based on their teams’ colors. Soft, homey, and contemporary; the kind of classic place that gets featured in magazines about the lofty tastes of the rich and famous.

And then there’s Kazuya, sitting in the middle of it all, naked and tied up in pretty purple ropes to an office chair. Anomalous decor waiting patiently for Eijun’s ruin.

Kazuya can’t quite remember how they tripped into toys, then restraint, then BDSM. Something to do with him stumbling into Eijun’s poorly hidden box of dildos in university, back before they started dating. A near decade before they got married.

The neglect bit of it is relatively new, though. Kazuya has been trying very, very hard not to read into how much he likes the odd taste of an Eijun who putters around the house ignoring him, as if he could ever have zero desire to chase after Kazuya. Just the thought of it makes him desperate for Eijun’s attention and hands and dick, goddammit.

Kazuya knows he shouldn’t psychoanalyze it, some things in life don’t have reasons, but does it anyway.

But because Eijun knows he thinks like that, Eijun can’t help but undermine the actual neglect part out of concern. The minute he’s meant to check in on Kazuya’s isolation to tease him more, his earnest concern in making sure Kazuya is still enjoying himself blares out like a foghorn cutting through Kazuya’s goal of reaching his perfect, spacey sex haze.

Eijun tugs again, a mild reprimand for a wandering mind. There’s a smear of some sort of grease at the edge of Eijun’s eyebrow, but the rope catches Kazuya’s wrist when he tries to lift a hand to rub it off with his thumb. Somehow, he’s forgotten his hands are tied together at the small of his back, both too present in his own body and a world away from it. From the impish grin on his face, Eijun catches the failure.

“Is it time for you to fuck me yet?” Kazuya asks, trying to press his head further into the grip Eijun still has in his hair.

Instead of answering, Eijun lets go and kneels behind the chair, running a gentle finger over the area where the rope digs into his wrists, then kissing each fingertip. He catches a scratch of stubble on Eijun’s chin as he pulls away, crawling around the chair to sit in front of him cross-legged.

“No,” Eijun responds point blank, massaging Kazuya’s calves and checking the rope around his ankles. “And you call me impatient. Don’t I always have to wait on you to catch for me?”

“In case it’s escaped your attention, we’re not exactly playing baseball right now.”

Eijun rests his cheek against the inside of Kazuya’s thigh. His blinks are slow and lazy as he looks up with a disappointed frown, molten irises shining bright. As if he really could spend forever winding Kazuya up and dragging him back down from a high.

“That is not what I meant, Miyuki Kazuya. You’re being unreasonable.” Eijun nips at the thin skin of his knee. Kazuya barely keeps his knee from bashing into Eijun’s nose from a shock of desire. His entire body feels hypersensitive, attuned to every change in temperature and airflow while he has nothing else to do but feel. With every movement, his skin drags a stutter against the leather of the chair, sweat and lube mixed unevenly across his thighs and back, so as to catch and glide in turn.

“You’re unreasonable. You haven’t used the vibrator once, so far. It’s there, in my ass, ready for you,” Kazuya says, voice hoarse.

“So demanding,” Eijun grumbles into his skin, then picks himself up with a heave. “I know because I put it there, so I’ll use it exactly when I want to and not a second sooner.”

Eijun’s sudden distance is cold despite the heat in their house cranked up to keep them warm and drowsy. Whatever he’s been up to to keep from checking in on Kazuya too soon is working. Their last few attempts at denial had been wrecked by someone’s enthusiasm. But in front of Kazuya, it’s still too easy to see the sheen across Eijun’s brow, the way he can’t stop biting and licking his own lips. One of his heels is bouncing on the floor, the only way he can release all the energy keyed up inside of him right now.

“But you do want to.” Kazuya feels so powerful right now, pitching forward in the chair as much as the rope will let him. It’s not just the blood pounding rabbit-quick through his body that’s making him hot, but the way Eijun is struggling to maintain his cool against Kazuya’s own bratty, undermining hand. From the tempting flush of Kazuya’s cheeks to his cock filling out against his stomach, legs spread wide in invitation, getting to see his unrestrained want even as he’s tied tight just for Eijun—Kazuya must be a beautiful sight.

…So maybe Kazuya’s grasp on willpower is also nonexistent in the face of Sawamura Eijun. He literally asked for Eijun to make him wait. They are both really bad at sticking to a theme.

Eijun crosses his arms over his chest, and Kazuya loses a moment to admiring his biceps, out and armed in his casual tank top and grey sweats. “You are being way too snarky. You’re supposed to be unthinking mush for me now. Mush! If your brain is stuck running 24/7, at least set it on showing your husband gratitude. Completely unacceptable!”

He steps over to a little side table where the vibrator’s remote sits next to the TV’s. He stares at the two for a second before grabbing the latter, much to Kazuya’s relieved disappointment.

"Eijun.”

“Nope! If the silence is keying you up instead of blissing you out, you can empty your head with whatever’s on TV. Call me when you’ve learned your lesson and you’re ready to behave.” He flicks on a random channel, safe in the knowledge Kazuya hates watching TV and will only fidget more from the stimulation, then leaves before Kazuya gathers his thoughts enough to protest.

It does its job, for a while. Kazuya’s eyes go glassy at the colors and sounds, but he’s already overwhelmed by his own body when he closes his eyes to shut it out.

The commercials clear past a blur of cars, snacks, and local lawyers. And the programming starts back up again. Cutting through the silence of the room is a rowdy crowd and a set of announcers saying his name.

It’s baseball. Of course it would be goddamn baseball, in this household.

And then, with the sinking horror of watching a disaster unfold, there Kazuya is, front and center on the TV in his last game of the season.

He hates watching himself on the diamond. He can easily do it to analyze his baseball, but when he’s not focused on his form or a call or whatever the hell that throw was to third, it’s agonizing to see how obsessive the cameras are about following him between each play. He cringes at all the speculation about his future. And he sure as hell hates every time the cameras pan out to his fans holding signs asking him to marry them or—heaven forbid—something raunchier that gets blurred out when it airs.

Kazuya huffs, falling slowly out of the headspace he was just reaching, the heavy weight returning to his limbs the more his mind latches onto his own face splashed across the screen.

“And he’s out! Miyuki tags the runner in the nick of time—”

“Eijun!” he calls out, resigned at derailing the very nice night they’ve been having so far.

After a mildly concerning metallic crash, Eijun comes skidding around the corner from the kitchen. “That was fast. What’s wrong?”

Kazuya turns towards the TV with a pout.

Eijun takes a moment to parse out the fact that Kazuya’s old game is running despite it being postseason and there are plenty of other games to air with more relevancy right now, and laughs at the putout expression on Kazuya’s face. “Is that all?”

“It’s annoying.” He’s fidgety now, self-conscious in a way that’s turned his blush more towards embarrassment than lust. He can suddenly feel the rope, the bite of it distracting instead of just a soothing pressure, his chair creaking as he shifts.

Eijun leans over the back, arms smoothing down Kazuya’s chest to link together on his stomach, and presses a kiss to his hairline. The pressure of his body settles him. Eijun settles him. “You call me annoying twice a day. Get over yourself, you giant baby.” Tinny cheering hollers from the TV as someone steals a base. Above him, an impish grin lights up Eijun’s face. “What if I tell you what I see?”

Kazuya closes his eyes, relaxing into Eijun’s presence. “What do you mean?”

Eijun breaks away abruptly, Kazuya’s head dipping for a moment before he catches himself. By then, Eijun’s swung around to his front, looming over him larger than life as ever with a knee placed between Kazuya’s thighs, leaning in to cage in Kazuya’s chest and face. The chair is literally shaking from Eijun’s anticipation.

“I wanna tell you exactly what I see on screen when I see you.” Eijun’s voice dips low, mouth brushing Kazuya’s without a real kiss and building a fire back in his gut. “I’ll take you out of the rope—but I want you to stay in this chair like a good husband while I describe every detail to you and make that vibrator earn its worth. Think you can do that? Be patient a little longer? It’s always rewarding when I am for you. Let me show you now.”

Kazuya knows he could say no and Eijun wouldn’t be disappointed. If anything, he’d be ecstatic about healthy communication, it’s very important, Miyuki Kazuya! I love that you trust me like that, always, you make me so proud!

But that’s not the trust he wants to indulge in tonight. His dick is still hard and his husband’s really hot, okay? Just seeing him in all his lean muscle and eagerness is an argument that wins over Kazuya’s libido 90% of the time. It’s not a drive he wants to fight against, most days.

“Go on,” Kazuya says, surging up to steal a quick kiss.

The breaking joy on Eijun’s face already makes his impending agony worth it as he shoots off behind him to untie the rope, massaging out his arms again as he places each one onto the rests. “Stay,” he tells each hand as he carefully curls every finger around the handles.

He kneels down and flicks a glance back to the screen to catch a close up of Kazuya crouched behind home plate.

“Your thighs are so beautiful,” he says kneeling down between them, tugging the rope free. Eijun looks up, raking his nails up Kazuya’s thighs until his arms are laying down twin heavy lines of heat, pressing gingerly into the tender flesh of his waist. He leans forward so he can bat his eyelashes while his mouth is right there next to his dick, the fucker. “The way your uniform stretches across them when you’re crouched behind the plate—I don’t know how anyone can focus on the pitch when you’re right there.” Kazuya’s eyes flutter as Eijun presses a gentle kiss to the head of his cock, refusing to give him anything more than a tease. “I should tell you that more, how obsessed I am with your thighs.”

“If you love them so much, why don’t you marry them?” Kazuya bites out. It’s not the most inspired. Kazuya is distracted.

Eijun takes the question seriously, because of course he does. “I’ll marry you as many times as you’ll let me.”

“You’ll get a divorce instead if you don’t do something with that vibrator soon.”

Eijin narrows his eyes, then stomps over to the remote, swipes it off the table, and turns the vibrator on high , sending a shockwave through his body. When Kazuya’s vision clears from the flood, it’s settled down to a low, comfortable rumble, keeping him from relaxing while also making him boneless.

“You asked for mean Eijun, and mean Eijun has arrived!”

His dick is beginning to leak, especially at seeing how Eijun’s pants are tenting, too. “I’m noticing,” Kazuya says dryly.

Eijun looks down at the little remote in his hand and without a second thought, changes the pattern.

The switch drags a whine out of Kazuya, limbs spasming in response to the unexpected buzz inside of him. It’s a rhythm that steadily builds to a high intensity before dropping off abruptly, just when satisfaction might have been found. Eijun knows the way this particularly winds him up, which either bodes very, very well for Kazuya, or very, very poorly.

“It’s hard to focus on baseball, sometimes, when you radiate that stupid smug aura from striking out a batter. You make that same face in bed, y’know. In the sex chair, too,” he says, stepping forward enough to poke a divot into the chair’s leather padding by Kazuya’s shoulder. It spins lightly. Eijun swings him back around, jolting the vibrator inside of him. “But back to your thighs. They’re just right there. Constantly.”

“What do you expect, I can’t just take them off,” Kazuya says through reedy breaths.

Eijun mercilessly notches the dial up a few levels stronger.

He yelps at the wave of pressure that sweeps through his bones, only to recede with no final push towards a break. When his vision clears and he can feel the vibrator settle back onto a low hum, he glares up at Eijun’s shit-eating grin.

“Wait your turn, Miyuki Kazuya. This is still my night to monologue.” He pulls back and casually rests his arm against the back of the chair. The remote is dangling in his hand, right next to Kazuya’s face. “You could stand to be more patient, y’know.”

“That’s rich, coming from—“

Eijun grabs a fistful of hair at the back of his head and yanks hard. “What did I just tell you?”

“Tell me again,” he gasps.

“What is with this bratty behavior!” Eijun releases his grip and runs a soothing hand over Kazuya’s hair, then cups Kazuya’s jawline, moving aside to direct their attentions back to the screen.

Kazuya cringes at the camera lingering on him in the dugout, face burning. He’s just drinking an Aquarius. There are so many other people they could be showing, players actually on the field.

Eijun presses a hand to the base of Kazuya’s neck. When he swallows, Kazuya feels the hint of a promise in the pressure of each fingertip. “It’s stupid, the way you think the camera should be focused on the game. You think they’d waste time focusing on you if that wasn’t exactly what everyone watching on TV wanted to see? You’re the draw, Kazuya.

“No one else gets to think about you the way I do, though. They can look at you chugging your water or unbuckling your chest plate and fantasize, but I can watch and make a promise. Next time I see you with a water bottle, it’ll take everything I’ve got not to rip it out of your hands and feed my fingers into your mouth instead. If you think you get dirty sliding home, wait until I shove you onto the floor of the dugout. I’m gonna drag that annoying sly look off your face until you can’t even think of back talking, just stuck with overwhelming pleasure because of me.”

Eijun’s voice is raspy, crackling with fire as his nose brushes Kazuya’s ear, nibbling tiny bites to the shell between his words. “And shit, all the baseball gear? It drives me mad, how it’s your own kind of wall against anyone getting to you. You look so distant swamped in it all during a game. I wanna strip it off piece by piece and lavish each part of you below it like you deserve. I’ll start with that helmet. It’s a shame how it blocks your pretty face, but everytime it comes off, god, I wanna grab your hair and wipe every bead of sweat off your face and replace it all with come—

“That’s why I love watching your games, over and over again. Every time you show up on screen, it’s a reminder of what we get to do later.”

Eijun’s eyes flip between the screen and Kazuya, who is very, very still. And very, very quiet.

“And that’s a home run, right there! What a season for his RBI already—”

“You like me watching you like this,” Eijun says, wonder in his voice. He walks up to the TV, crossing his arms, letting a leg kick out as he tilts his head at the screen.

Kazuya drinks in the pose. The flickering lights of the screen make a hazy glow around his silhouette, the wild hair and comfy sweats, arms bare for him. He wants Eijun to turn around, to see the calculation in his head as he parses through the puzzle in front of him until he can take on the entire challenge of it with ease.

There’s something special about his observations to Kazuya, the way he pulls apart tape. Knowing the analysis doesn’t come naturally and that he learned it for the game—learned it from him. That skill was earned. And then it kickstarted a surprisingly adept analytic side of Eijun that’s opened up a world of possibility.

Like now.

Eijun spins on his heels, pacing towards Kazuya, pinching at his own lips. Eijun could stand to let Kazuya have a taste. He doesn’t care if it's of his fingers or his mouth, Kazuya is parched for anything and everything. His hisses out from between his teeth, the sweep of his eyes following Eijun’s hands, a desperate plea for Eijun to bend down just to touch.

Eijun hovers above Kazuya, refusing just that, not saying a word. His shallow breaths match Kazuya’s own, drinking his husband in. Kazuya does not reach out. It is the hardest thing he’s ever done, he swears, but he just clutches the armrests harder until his knuckles are white.

“Hey, Kazuya,” he finally says, low and gravelly. On any other night, Kazuya would shove Eijun down to his knees and feed him his cock the minute he heard that tone, balanced on the edge of breaking. He would ruin Eijun’s throat, fucking it until his voice was gone and every spoken word after served as a reminder of Eijun sucking so prettily on Kazuya’s cock.

But that’s for later. Kazuya’s being good for his husband right now.

Well, sort of.

Eijun trails a single finger down and around Kazuya’s brow, pulling down past his neck and chest, flicking his nipple on the way to his stomach. “Kazuya, if you like me watching you play baseball on TV, what do you think you’d do if I recorded you like this for me?” he says, golden eyes meeting Kazuya’s squarely. He turns off the vibrator, and the feeling of silence hollows Kazuya into a creature of pure need.

Oh, fuck.

Eijun’s pupils are blown, a maniacal grin settling onto his face at Kazuya’s frozen form. Eijun pokes Kazuya’s side and he takes a sharp breath in, having momentarily forgotten how. “I’ll sit you in front of the TV and let it play, so you can see how desperate you get for me. You can see the way your face goes soft just for me, so pliant when I touch you. You don’t believe you can be like this, can you? Always have a retort for everything, such a needling terror. But you’re so good to me, Kazuya. You open up just for me.”

And finally, finally Eijun perches a knee again on the seat between his legs, sinking his fingers into the base of Kazuya’s abs, a single brush against his cock lightning through his bones. He kneads the soft skin there, covered in wiry hair, not bothering to avoid the random touches against his cock as precome dribbles from the tip.

“I think I’d like to see you like this, too, on the screen,” he says, excitement bubbling free. “I love watching you no matter what, but I could break you down in a completely new way like this. The calls you make with your whimpers. Your form, head thrown back and gagging for me. God, and your thighs, spread out for me and not just teasing from behind the plate.” His hand moves lower, scraping a line down the inside of Kazuya’s thigh as he speaks.

“Think you'd wanna review that tape with me sometime?” He clicks a button on the remote Kazuya had forgotten about. Kazuya keels forward.

His head hits Eijun’s chest. His hands are wrapped in his tank top with a grip he can’t release. He can’t tell what the pattern or the pulse is, but whatever it is is good. There’s a clatter to the ground as Eijun drops the remote to steady his husband and maneuver him out of the chair.

Eijun reverses their places, Kazuya sitting on his lap in the chair, legs folded around Eijun’s thighs, eyes squeezing tight as he presses as much of his body into Eijun as he can. He basks in the soft cotton of his husband’s sweatpants, the ribbed lines of his tank scratching against his wired skin.

“Do you want the video to show our whole bodies in frame so you can see how you jerk with pleasure while I’m huddled between your legs and desperate to make you come?” Eijun skims a hand back to the vibrator and presses against it, then pries it out slowly, but not completely. The slide of it is agonizing. Eijun brushes it in circles, each pass knocking him higher and higher. Eijun wraps his other arm around Kazuya’s back, a firm hold keeping them close, their damp skin sliding against each other.

“Or maybe you want a closer shot, to remember the details. How slick your skin gets from the sweat and the spit. See my swollen mouth running up and down your bruising thighs, leaving my marks across your body. My fingers sinking into you, my cock splitting you wide.”

Eijun picks them both up just enough to draw down his sweats and free his dick. He slathers on a lube from the pump they keep duct taped to the back of the chair, and wraps a hand around them both. Even slicked up, his calluses scrape a fever deeper into Kazuya. “Or maybe it’s the recording more than the watching that’ll get you. You wanna put on a show for me?”

Distantly, Kazuya can hear himself keen into Eijun’s neck and spill over them, covering Eijun’s hand.

“Keep going, keep going,” Kazuya chants when Eijun falters, about to take back his hand. His voice is so weak, but it’s right in Eijun’s ear. His husband shudders—Kazuya has taken advantage of how sensitive those ears are more than a time or two—and double downs on his dirty talk and his twisting wrist.

“It would wind me up seeing you on tape when you're gone for your away games and I’m not. I could cry just thinking about how frustrated I’d feel watching you stroke yourself on camera for me where I can’t help.” Kazuya is shaking from overstimulation, world narrowed down to his dick and Eijun’s voice and hand wrapping around him. “Sinking down on a dildo when I’m not around to satisfy you, don’t even have you on the phone to help you through it. Jealous of myself holding you, a different me running my hands all over you and driving my cock into you—”

Eijun squeezes hard, coming with a groan. He lets go and grabs at Kazuya’s waist as they pant into each other. Kazuya’s fingers claw into Eijun’s shoulder and he urgently begs, “Eijun, Eijun.”

“Shit,” Eijun mutters, scrambling to pull out the vibrator, still buzzing a madness into Kazuya. Eijun’s hand is coated with come, lube and sweat still smeared thick across Kazuya’s ass. His fingers keep slipping against the vibrator, driving it back in until Kazuya’s whole body feels like static and his limbs lose their strength. It’s all he can do to keep his mind working at all, honeyed thoughts oozing through a numb haze.

Kazuya blinks and they’re on the couch. He’s laying facedown into Eijun’s chest, half on him, half under the back cushion. The vibrator is out of him, and Kazuya toys with the idea of making Eijun get him some sort of plug instead to soothe the weird emptiness.

Eh. He’d rather Eijun hold him like this, right now.

The TV is still on.

“What a comeback for the Giants,” the two announcers say, lively in their recap, “knocking the Swallows off their perch there at the end. After spending most of that game firmly in the lead, not even the catching and hitting talents of Miyuki Kazuya kept the Swallows ahead of the flock—”

The screen blinks off, and suddenly the only sound in the room is their heavy breathing.

Eijun shoves one arm beneath Kazuya and wraps the other over him, leaning him forward into his chest, “That was a surprise.”

“We might need to revisit that character sheet you made. Make a new one,” Kazuya mumbled into Eijun’s shoulder.

“Gonna have to make a new one anyway. Kuramochi ripped it up, remember?”

Kazuya snorts, recalling the horrified face Kuramochi had made when he accidentally found Eijun’s notes and research on trying to figure out how to pretend to sexually ignore his husband. For the things Eijun tries just for Kazuya, he always makes a character in his head and on an honest to god sheet of paper to play out, though half of them get tossed out pretty quickly. Honestly, it’s a miracle Eijun gets asked to do as many commercial sponsorships as he does. He’s a riot trying to act, even if he’s just acting as himself.

“I’m not the only one completely failing to play their role, here, Kazuya.”

Kazuya snorts. Somewhere between the immediate stench of sex, and whatever it is about Eijun that signals home to his animal brain, he finally realizes the house smells good. Like something’s baking.

He sniffs the air twice, trying to place it.

Eijun looks on, bashful and arrogant at once. “I made dessert.”

“That’s what kept you occupied earlier. What kind?” he asks suspiciously.

“Lemon bars. Extra sour. No sugar on top,” he said, nose wrinkling in judgement.

Kazuya lets his head slap back down into Eijun with a smirk. “I don’t think those will smear as easily across my nipples as the dark chocolate pudding did.”

Eijun pinches his waist. “That is not why I made them. These are meant to go in our mouths.”

“Technically so was the pudding. And it did. Eventually.”

Eijun sputtered and ducked his head to press his own face into the crook of Kazuya’s neck. “It’s annoying how much I love you.”

Kazuya can feel the smile pressed into his skin. “I love you, too, Eijun.”

#daiya no a #daiya no ace fanfic #lolo's fic writing tag

0 notes