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pseudowho · 1 year ago

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Resolute

The reader helps Nanami Kento to accept that he has a drinking problem.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of character death, alcoholism, post traumatic stress

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The day was long; your evening together was too short. You hadn't seen each other all day, carried apart by the tide of work, and had communicated only in staccato bursts of text messages, single sentences back and forth.

Can't wait to see you. Today has been shit! Cheese, milk, bread, laundry detergent. A short video that made him laugh. A short video that made you laugh. A photo of you teaching the First Years. A photo of Ijichi making a shy 'peace' sign to the camera, Kento barely visible in the reflection on his glasses. Nearly finished! Believe me, I'm counting down the seconds. I'll collect the shopping. I love you more than you know.

One.

Finally released from the dull corset of gainful employment, Kento flopped to the sofa beside you, carefully stopping his glass from sloshing over himself. You undid his tie. He untucked his shirt. You snuggled your pyjama'd self under his heavy, strong arm; he groaned in satisfaction, slipping warm fingers under your top to stroke the soft plush of your waist. You basked in the quiet warmth of each others' company, each of you being the home of the other. No need to talk.

Two.

You heard the faint shhhhhk-clink of bottles being closed, and put away. Kento returned this time in check pyjama bottoms, wearing nothing else but a glass of whiskey. He swirled it at you. Ugh, nail polish remover, you teased. Uncultured swine, Kento teased back, all but finishing his glass in one thirsty swallow. You smiled, hesitating only briefly. Come on, you need food more than drink, you joked lightly, the truth leaving a bitter aftertaste. I wouldn't be so sure, he retaliated, too far down the path to see from where he had entered.

Three. Four.

Cheese, bread and charcuterie; the lazy dinner of two people who were too tired to question the expense, washed down far too easily by more whiskey. You had nursed one glass of wine all evening; the whiskey bottle now sat beside the crackers, easier than getting up and down to the kitchen again, and again, and again.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Kento was pliable, made supple and languid by his amber tonic. His kisses grew deep and earthy, lips hot with rising fumes, blessedly relieved as divine relaxation thrummed through his body, revelling in the Dionysian pleasure he had craved all day. God, you're so beautiful, he whispered, mead-sweet and intoxicating against your throat. You squirmed beneath his tongue, your arousal wildly overridden by concern, the words you needed to say stuck to the roof of your mouth. Kento mistook your squirming as the result of his successful advances, and he leaned into you, caging you down against the sofa pillows as he pressed against you, hardening against your leg through the thin fabric of his check pyjamas, hand creeping up to idly squeeze the pebbling peak of your breast. The pleasure darted through you, toxic, unwelcome--

"Stop, Kento-- I-- I can't--" Kento stopped immediately, unfazed by your refusal, but concerned by the anxiety seeping out of you. He kissed you softly on the forehead, carefully releasing you from under his arms, wordlessly reassuring you he loved you no less.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, sincere, affectionate, "we don't have to do any--"

"No, we do," you stuttered, sitting up, determined but twisting inside with the foul taste of approaching confrontation, "I mean, I-- I do. I need to. There's-- something I need to talk to you about," you finished weakly. Kento was all patience, his silence inviting, ready to be your therapist.

"Do you...are you...have you noticed quite how much you drink?"

Half a heartbeat passed with the barest flick of antagonism across Kento's eyes, and he smiled, handsome and disarming.

"I wouldn't say it's all that much," he laughed softly, plaiting his fingers through yours, raising your hand to kiss against his lips, "Far less than--"

"Eight. This evening alone."

Kento flinched, shoulders tensing, body turning slightly away from you as his lips curled in disgust.

"I'm not drunk," he spat, on-the-spot. He swallowed, hand squeezing yours, smiling again to steer the ship another way, any way other than this, and repeated, calmer, "I'm not drunk. I'm...I'm just having a couple, it's been a long day and I--"

"But you should be drunk," you cried, the dam breaking now as tears pricked in your eyes, "eight drinks Kento. And not small drinks. That bottle was full, and now-- now..."

You saw Kento's eyes flick to the bottle, almost empty, shame swirling behind the furious glaze of his usually warm brown eyes, now cold, angry. He had let go of your hand, distancing himself from you as he turned, elbows set heavily on his knees as he leaned away. The lump in your throat thickened, and you moved quickly to him, hands gripping his forearm in desperate reassurance, trying to bring him to you.

"Look I-- it's not your fault," you pressed, sensing him drifting further away as his forearm tensed under your fingers, his eyes still a maelstrom of denial, shame, anger, disgust, "It's easy to let it get on top of you, I can help you--"

Kento stood, throwing your hands off his arm, beginning to tidy the remnants of dinner with shaking hands, trying and failing to remove himself from the conversation as you followed, still impeaching him to listen--

"How about you back off and mind your own business?" Kento spat, spinning and turning on you suddenly, and you felt a flash of fear as you stepped back, involuntarily raising your hands up. Kento stepped back sharply, eyes softening in tearful apology, his shame now rising like bile in his chest. He struggled for words, unable to process the deep exposure of you noticing his failings.

"You're right," you stuttered, tears pouring down your cheeks and raising your hands to placate Kento, who felt his heart breaking, silently listening to you reassure him, "I shouldn't have-- I didn't mean to--"

Kento was trapped, alone on his little island now. He watched his ship drift away as he slowly backed down, walking away to the bathroom. You implored him to come to bed; he took himself to the sofa, overwhelmed in his certainty that you deserved better than some pathetic drunk who frightened her.

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You barely functioned the next day. You and Kento never went to bed on an argument. Kento never raised his voice at you. Kento never shied away from resolving issues between you. You caught yourself performing your chores and tasks on autopilot, the events of the night before flickering across your vision like old film reel left to run, and you burst into quiet tears in soft sobbing patches throughout the day.

Yet, despite your regret for the argument, you could not regret acting in Kento's best interests. You reached the morbid conclusion that his health was more important to you than the sanctity of your relationship.

Curling on the sofa, phone in hand, you began to research, pausing tearfully to make scribbles in a notepad every few minutes.

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Nanami Kento never asked for help. Nanami Kento never offloaded his own issues to someone else. Nanami Kento never outsourced his duties.

He surprised himself, that day, by doing all three.

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When the door clicked open again that evening, you were taut as a coiled spring, adrenaline thumping through you, and you held your notepad like a shield. Kento's voice called, but the noise glossed past your ears that pulsed, hot, with the whoosh of your own heartbeat. Your spit was thick in your mouth as Kento came into the kitchen. Your eyes caught; you opened your mouth wordlessly, your meticulously planned speech snagging on doubt. As Kento opened his mouth to talk, you interrupted in a frantic flurry.

"I know you don't think that your drinking is a problem, and I know you want me to stop, but you're so much more important to me than that, and if you hate me after this then that's fine but--" you approached him, notebook outstretched, all carefully written details of support groups, therapists, specialist doctors--

"You're right."

You faltered, notebook lowering, as Kento stood in front of you, suddenly shrinking, small, exposed. Your heart tugged painfully as his gentle smile tried to reassure you through the thickets.

Kento gulped, forcing down the viscerally angry reaction to his shame, "I...I think it started after-- after Yuu was killed-- or possibly even before that. A few drinks...helped me to sleep. We all self-medicated in one way or another. It was normal, honestly, considering the shit we had to--" Kento stopped, catching himself before he fell into the trap of excuses. His lip curled again, awash in mortification and vulnerability and--

-- and before him, still, there you were. You, who had loved him enough to risk your own happiness for his health. You, who had spent your day, even after his abhorrent behaviour, looking for ways to help him. You, who looked up at him now with so much love and sadness that he felt his grief and stress and shame and desperation rise up in him all at once, and he coughed, gulping as tears slid down his cheeks, staring at the floor, feeling so stranded in these strange woods.

"I'm so sorry I-- I scared you, and I-- I..."

"Oh no, Kento, no, it's okay, it's okay, we'll be okay, we can get you through this--" You pulled him to you, holding him as he wept quietly into your neck, and you stroked the weight of the world off his broad shoulders. We. Kento hiccuped, crying harder as his hands shook against you, holding onto you, his lifeline.

"Please help me," he begged, hiding his face in your neck, "I don't know where to-- I dont know how to--" You nodded against him, already prepared, and sickeningly relieved that he would let you help, and you stroked his hair, shushing him as his tears slowed, his irregular breaths heavy and hot against you.

Pulling away, you swiped your thumbs across his face, wiping away tears, holding his cheeks tenderly as you planted a wet kiss to his lips. Kento chuckled, sniffing and tear-stained, letting you sprinkle kisses over his cheeks.

"I couldn't...I couldn't face work today," Kento sniffed, leading you to the sofa where you made him lay his head on your lap, your fingers still inching tender trails through his hair, "I asked Ino to take my missions." Kento's voice was tight, embarrassed at having asked for a friend to relieve him of his duties.

"Which I'm sure he was delighted to do, Kento," you pressed, "you don't know how loved you are...not only by me." Kento gulped again, grumbling at you as you shushed him.

"Your life can be better than anything you can find at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey, Kento," you promised, to his uncertain frown, "you'll be able to sleep without it, cope without it, and live happily without it."

Kento nodded, sighing, gripped with writhing fear at the journey ahead-- but, you had come to his island, fearless in your little boat, and he climbed aboard with the sweet relief of a castaway finally able to sail for home.

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#jjk #kento nanami #jjk nanami #kento nanami x you #nanami fluff #jujustu kaisen #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami x reader #jjk fluff #kento nanami angst #nanami angst

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mayson-jarz-artz101 · 2 months ago

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Umbrella Academy Rewrite

Episode one: The World We Knew (Over and Over)

Part 2: The Power of a Little Sparkle

April 5th, 2019

The Hargreeves family have just arrived in the brand new timeline. They argue on where to go, with Viktor saying they should try to stay together. The siblings eventually all go their separate ways and the camera fades to black with text appearing on screen saying February 17th, 2028…9 years later.

The camera pans over the city and then shows the siblings living their daily lives with “The World We Knew (Over and Over)” by Frank Sinatra playing.

Luther has a closeup shot when a pencil floats past his face. As the camera pulls away and turns around, he is shown to be floating upside down and wearing a blue suit with a NASA symbol.

A closeup shot of a police badge moving back and forth. The camera zooms out to show Diego running in a police uniform. He then catches up to a criminal and he tackles him to the ground. He places his hands behind his back and handcuffs him. Diego forces the criminal up and puts him into the back of a police car.

Allison is shown on a red carpet, flashing lights everywhere. She then turns and faces the camera, holding a bottle of laundry detergent. She puts on a fake smile and starts talking, doing an ad read.

Klaus walks out of a room and the camera focuses on a plaque that says “Dr. Ryans, psychologist.” It cuts back to Klaus putting on a new pair of blue surgical gloves and a new face mask. He then walks down the street and into another building where the camera leaves him to focus on a sign saying “Alcoholics Anonymous.”

Five is sitting in a car, fixing up his suit and tossing a folder into the glove box. The folder is shown to say “CIA: Confidential” written on the front. He picks up a picture of his husband and three kids. He smiles and puts the picture into his coat pocket. He gets out of the car.

Ben is wearing an orange jumpsuit and sitting down at a table with other inmates, playing cards.

Viktor is playing the violin in a bar called “White Violin.” The song fades out into a violin cover and then stops.Viktor sets the violin down and thanks the patrons for coming tonight. Viktor gets down from the stage and goes over to the bar where his wife, Bella, serves him a small glass of whiskey.

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Bella: Good job tonight, babe. Everyone’s so happy..

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She smiles as Viktor chuckles

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Viktor: Yeah..it feels good seeing everyone smile..thanks for..encouraging me to play again. I kind of missed it..

Bella: Well, of course..you needed something to take your mind off everything else for a bit.

Viktor: “Everything else?”

Bella: Yeah..I see you staring at the picture of you and your family when we went to Five’s wedding. I know you miss them..

Viktor: Yeah..I guess I do. We just don’t see each other as often as we should..we all live in different places and we’re always so busy. But…as long as they’re happy. I think we deserve it after everything..

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A phone on the bar started to ring. Viktor gets up and heads over to the phone. He answers.

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Viktor: Hello?

Luther: Hey, Vik! I was wondering if you were gonna head down here for Grace’s birthday party…I know you’re all the way in Canada but…It’s been awhile since the family got together. It..It would be nice if you came.

Viktor: Oh..I-I don’t know if I can, Luther. I mean, I’ve got the bar, we’re still cleaning up after Valentine’s Day..I don’t think I’ll be able—

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The phone gets ripped away from Viktor.

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Bella: We would love to come, Luther. Send us the details and we’ll be there. See you soon, big guy. Bella hangs up the phone.

Viktor: Bella!

Bella: What? It’s been 9 years, Vik. Your family wants to see you…and I’m sure Grace wouldn’t complain about seeing her Uncle Vik, hm?

Viktor: I-I guess not. I mean, I don’t think she remembers me. Diego probably doesn’t talk about me a lot.

Bella: Quit being cynical and go start packing. I’ll close for the night.

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Viktor sighs

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Viktor:…Alright. I’ll trust you on this, Bella.

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We cut to the outside of an arcade when a white minivan pulls up. Lila gets out of the car and opens the trunk. Another car pulls up behind her and starts honking. Lila freezes in place. She marches over to the car and knocks on the window. As the woman rolls the window down, Lila leans in and looks her directly in the eyes.

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Lila: If you touch that horn one more time, I’ll disconnect your brain stem.

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Lila then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a party hat. She puts it on the lady’s head and says with a strained smile “It’s my daughter's birthday. Have fun.”

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She goes back to her car and pulls out some grocery bags and a cooler. Her eldest daughter, Grace, gets out of the car with her younger twin sisters and an older Stanley, who is on his phone. They all run into the arcade. Lila struggles to close the trunk but manages to do so. She walks inside and sets the groceries on a table. At that moment, Diego walks in, still in uniform. He walks up to Lila and goes to hug her.

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Lila: Woah, Daddy Pig, Why’re you still in uniform? I thought you said you were going to be in “civie” clothes.

Diego: Sorry, a 10-31 came up..Dude kept running but I caught him. I had to drop him off at the station..I didn’t have time to change over. But hey, I look cooler in the uniform.

Lila: Yeah, well, your fly is down, cool guy.

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Diego looks down only to see it is in fact, not down.

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Diego: Hey—

Lila: Made you look.

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Lila chuckles

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Diego: Oh, whatever, you.

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He chuckles and shakes his head.

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Diego: Say, did you get the piñata? No party is complete without one.

Lila: Yes, I got the damn piñata..it’s over there, I haven’t hung it yet..

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Diego looks over. That isn’t the piñata from the store he had asked earlier.

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Diego:…Is that the one from the east side store? I told you the ones on the west side are better…that one is basically impossible to destroy.

Lila: well…the east side store was closer. It’s fine, it’ll still get the job done.

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Lila walks off.

At that moment, Luther walks in with his wife, Mallie, and their five kids. Luther walks up to Diego and they bro hug.

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Diego: Hey, bro! Good to see you again, glad you could make it.

Luther: Oh, yeah! We were really excited to come here. Y’know, Dimitri loves hanging out with Grace so..we wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.

Diego: I can’t remember all of your kids, man. You need to lay off Mallie. I turn around for a second and suddenly there’s two more kids.

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Luther smiles happily.

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Luther: Well..What can I say? We’re happy. Maybe we should have two more…bring up the next Umbrella Academy.

Diego: Oh, god…an Umbrella Academy full of Luther’s. I think I had a nightmare about that once.

Luther: Shut up. Anyway…Look who I got out on a day pass.

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The camera panned over to Ben leaning against the wall, as far from the party as he could.

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Diego: Dude…you brought that asshole to my kids birthday party? He’s a criminal! He’s…He’s not even our Ben. He’s like the..shitty knock off Ben.

Luther: Hey, Hey..Dad—

Diego: Luther. Don’t.

Luther:…A certain man adopted all of us. Even if it's a different timeline…He’s our brother, in a way. He deserves a chance. Plus…it’s not like he killed someone. He got arrested for doing what you used to do.

Diego: What I did was different. I actually trained. I was an actual hero. Not some diva thinking I was.

Luther: Diego, come on. Let him. Lila was a crazy spy..yet here she is.

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Diego sighs and rubs his eyes.

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Diego: Fine. But he stays away from my kids. And the alcohol. It’s my booze. I paid for it with my legal money.

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Diego walks away. Luther heads over to Ben and hands him a canned soda.

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Luther: Hey, Buddy. Having fun?

Ben:…Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.

Luther: Sorry…you kinda get used to it after doing it for so long. But, seriously…you having fun?

Ben: Prison is more fun than this.

Luther: Well..tomorrow, you get to go back.

Ben: Either way, you’ll still find a way to bother me.

Luther: Of course, I’m your brother..it’s what we do.

Ben: You’re not my brother. My brothers are dead. The only one here is Jackson and it’s not even him.

Luther: well..yeah. I get it…you’re not our Ben either…but you’re still our brother.

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Ben scoffs and rolls his eyes.

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Ben: Whatever…

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Ben walks away and the camera cuts over to Five walking in with his family.

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Five: I’ll try to stay as long as I can, Jack…I just got a lead in my case.

Jackson: I know, but your niece doesn’t see you that often and I’m sure she’d be happy to. Also…these are your siblings.

Five: I know, I know.

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Five kisses his cheek and walks over to Diego. He leans over a railing.

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Diego: Five, good you could make it…hey, did your boss get my resume?

Five: Uh…I wouldn’t know. I’m not his file keeper.

Diego: I’m telling you, he’s not gonna regret it. I’ve been awesome as a cop.

Five: Yup…so I’ve heard. Y’know how the others have been?

Diego: Well…I’ve seen Allison on tv. Seems like she isn’t doing too bad. Klaus…Jesus, that guys rough. He was an alcoholic druggie…an alcoholic druggie cult leader…a sober idiot…now he’s a massive germaphobe.

Five: A germaphobe?

Diego: Yeah, big time. He lives in Allison’s basement…I don’t know how Beatriz handles it. He’s got a kid now, too.

Five: I’m sure that kid will be just as sane.

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The camera cuts to Klaus walking in, pushing a stroller. Next to him are Beatriz and Claire. Klaus stops and looks around. He takes out a box of gloves and masks and replaces the ones he’s wearing.

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Klaus: Hang on, Claire-bear, let uncle Klaus get situated…arcades are known to be the filthiest places on earth..next to dive bars and movie theaters.

Claire: I..don’t know where you get your info from, Uncle Klaus. It’s gonna be alright…I’m…sure your brother knows how weird you are. So he’s prepared.

Klaus: yeah, I suppose so…here, don’t forget your hand sanitizer..and your mask. And gloves! And remember, stay and arms length—

Claire: —away from everyone, I got it..don’t worry.

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Claire walks away and goes over to Grace and gives her a hug. Klaus panics a little bit but Beatriz pats his back and tells him it’s okay.

Theon walks in with Emme, the Swedes and Fei. The Swedes set some gifts onto a table and Emme walks off, going over to Stanley.

Viktor walks in with Bella. Viktor gives Diego a hug and they start chatting away about life.

A montage starts playing of everyone having a good time at the party.

Stanley and Emme put mentos into peoples sodas, running off and laughing.

Lila goes outside to get something from the car. She notices Allison and heads over, noticing her smoking. She takes it from her and takes a smoke, smiling. They talk a bit before going inside.

Luther helps the kids hit the piñata.

Ben is still standing against the wall, but Five joins him and they have a small talk.

Klaus is happily talking with Lila and Theon’s family, with Theon sitting next to them, clearly embarrassed.

Diego brings out the cake but Luther accidentally bumps into him, causing him to drop the cake. Diego looks up at Luther and stares at him. As Grace lets out a scream of “MY CAKE!”, Lila appears, holding another cake.

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Lila:…What? This family is a disaster, I planned for this.

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Diego laughs and he takes the cake from her, setting it on a table. He puts candles on it and Grace blows it out. He helps Grace cut into cake to give everyone slices.

As the night goes on, the party slowly comes to an end, with everyone saying their goodbyes and giving hugs.

Five goes over to Jackson.

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Five: Hey…sorry, but I can’t head home after this. Something came up with the case…

Jackson: Alright…just be careful, Five. I don’t want you to die in your god awful disguise.

Five: What’s wrong with my disguise?

Jackson:…the fake mustache. The name. “Jerome”…come on, anything is better than that.

Five: I’ll run it by you next time, then. I’ll see you later tonight, okay?

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Five kisses him and walks out to his car. He gets in and he puts on his disguise. He drives to a building and walks in, looking around.

A woman walks up to him and grabs his shoulder.

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Lila: Hey, big boy.

Five: Li—

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He noticed her name tag, “Nancy.”

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Five:…What are you doing here?

Lila: I’m interested in what they have to say. Aren’t you?

Five: Whatever. Just…stay out of the way.

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Five leans in and whispers.

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Five: I don’t need you compromising my mission.

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Lila leans in too, whispering.

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Lila: Nor do I.

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She smirks and takes him over to some seats. They sit down and the lights dim. A projection appears on a screen, showing a picture of an open upside down umbrella being held by a sparrow.

Five looks at the screen, slightly confused. How do they know about the sparrows? The umbrellas?

As he ponders, a man and woman walk onto a small stage and stands in front of a podium.

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Woman: Welcome to our weekly meeting…it’s so good to see all of you here. We’ve got some old faces…and we have some new ones. For the new friends, my name is Jean…and my husband is Gene Thibadaeu. We study various possible timelines. Now, please, give a round of applause to our newest members, Nancy and Jerome.

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Applause fills the room and then dies down.

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Jean: Lovely to meet you both..

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She gives a warm smile. Lila leans over to Five and whispers.

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Lila: She seems like a sweet old lady.

Five: So did the handler.

Lila: Touchè…

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Gene clicks a button on a remote, changing the slide.

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Jean: As many of you know…we have been collecting relics for a very long time. Relics of other timelines. Most people don’t believe us…they think we’re crazy. But as you see here…Carriages with umbrellas and birds. Little figures wearing similar uniforms and masks, one of which has tentacles coming out of his chest. Two masks, a blue bear and a pink dog.

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Five whispers to himself

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Five: Hazel and Cha-Cha…

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Gene presses the button again.

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Jean: There have been no records of any of these existing. Anywhere. But today…me and my husband bought a new piece. Some of you may know the movie “Love on Loan.” A romantic comedy, nothing special..but the one we bought stars a different actress. A woman named “Allison Hargreeves.”

Gene: You heard her right. The very same Hargreeves who owns half of this city. We checked all official records…this man has no known children or family, nor does his wife. And this Allison woman doesn’t exist either. So…who is she? Why was she replaced?

Jean: Good question, Gene. We believe…she was from another timeline. One that was destroyed in “the cleanse.”

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Gasps are heard around the room. Five and Lila look at each other. Five whispers to Lila.

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Five: what’s “the cleanse”?

Lila: hell if I know, I just got here.

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Jean coughs and looks at Five and Lila.

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Jean: Very chatty, Nancy and Jerome. Perhaps you’d like to share?

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Five stands up.

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Five: Yes, actually. I’d like to know what this “cleanse” is. I’ve never heard of it.

Jean: why…it’s the very cornerstone of our little group here. We believe that at some point, every timeline that exists…is destroyed. And each timeline will collapse until we are left with the perfect one.

Five: And what is the perfect timeline?

Gene: Not this one, if that’s what you’re getting at. You and I won’t be around to see it…but our other versions will be. They are. They’re living their lives right now, not a care in the world.

Five: How do you know?

Gene: We’ve seen it, boy. Visions…we can’t deny it. And the cleanse is coming…and it’s coming soon.

Five: I..see.

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Five slowly sits down again. Jean and Gene continue their presentation. As time passes by, the presentation ends and everyone begins to leave the room. Lila and Five look at each other and get up to leave. Gene steps in front of them.

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Gene: Good to have you two here. So..inquisitive. That’s good around here. Questions give you answers and answers give you satisfaction. I hope we’ll be seeing you at the next meeting…

Five: You will. Don’t worry.

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Five walks past with Lila and goes to his car. He sighs and gets in. Lila gets into the passenger seat. Five looks over.

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Five: What are you doing?

Lila: Hitching a ride. I walked here, y’know. Ooh, let’s go to a cafe, I’m starved. There’s a good one just up the road.

Five: No. I need to go home, Jackson’s probably worried…

Lila: It’ll be fine. Just go!

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Five sighs and says “Fine.” He drives to the cafe and they go inside, order food and sit down.

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Five: so..wanna say why you’re really here?

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Lila has her mouth full.

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Lila:…because I’m hungry?

Five: No! Why you were at the meeting. You’re…a mom.

Lila:…and you’re a dad? What’s the difference?

Five: Just answer the damn question.

Lila: I was bored, alright? Can’t just “be a mom”…I was something before…at the commission. It’s hard now…I’ve got to do everything for my family…I’ve got no time to myself.

Five: So…you're using it as an escape. I see…well…you should stop. This mission is bigger than you. I’ve got the resources…this is my actual job. You’re playing pretend. You should go back home before this all falls apart..

Lila: Says you. You’ve got your kids and Jackson..

Five: I know. Sometimes I regret taking the job…but it ensures he lives the life he wanted. And that’s all that matters.

Lila: I guess. Well, I’m done…perhaps I’ll see you next week, hm?

———————————————————————————

She smirks and gets up. Five watches as she leaves. The camera pans out to reveal Diego parked in front of the cafe, watching Lila. He narrows his eyes, angry. At Lila. At Five.

Five gets up and walks out to his car. He noticed a little note on his windshield with the number 5 on it. He takes it and opens it. Written on the note are two numbers. What could it mean?

End of episode one

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starysky1289 · 6 months ago

Note

I freaking love Toxic stepsister Vanessa!!

Can u do were we ignore her the whole day then when they go to bed and we wake up to her groping our waist and tits??

Toxic!Stepsis!Vanessa x YN. Avoidance.

Hiii!! Sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy!!

“ yn get up, you have a lot of chores to do before work. “

You groaned, sitting up. You glanced around the penthouse bedroom, you could see Vanessa getting changed into her uniform. You tossed your legs over the edge of the bed, and stood up.

“ I don’t work today Vanessa, Remeber…we were having our date night tonight…? “

“ oh! That’s tonight?? Fuck YN I forgot…we’ll have to reschedule…”

You felt your heart shatter, she’d been planing this for months, and she forgot?? You got up and sulked towards her, wrapping your arms around her.

“ why can’t we tonight…”

“ because I’m working late…this crime influx is killing us, so id enjoy dinner to be done and ready when I get home. And all the chores to be done. “

“…fine…”

You mumbled, turning around to your closet. You dug out a simple outfit for the day, just an easy cleaning outfit.

“ I’m heading out. I’ll be back at 8 yn, get your stuff done. “

Vanessa called as she headed out. You followed her out, stopping only to grab her bento box lunch from the fridge.

“ don’t forget this nessa! I love you…”

“ oh, thank you dear! I love you too yn~ “

Vanessa kissed your forehead, and headed down to the elevator. You watched her disappear behind the doors, and she was gone. You sighed, walking back to the fridge and seeing what you had. Veggies and pork. You could make that into something fancy, right?

You closed the fridge and headed towards the laundry room. Youd start cook around 3, for now you’d get some chores done. You grabbed one of the full bins of laundry, tossing it in the washer. You poured the soap and detergent on top, and started the cycle. While that was going you start cleaning the penthouse.

You walked into the bedroom, and began to fix the bed. You’d fluff the pillows to Vanessa’s preference. Then you’d grab the vacuum from the closet, plugging it into the wall and starting to clean the room.

Just then, your phone buzzed on the wooden dresser. You turned the vacuum off, checking your phone. Vanessa had texted you.

“ hey, forgot my water bottle, will you run it to the station? “

You hesitated for a moment, why should you? Vanessa couldn’t remember your date night, why should you care what she needs! You had a whole outfit picked for today, you were more excited than you had been in months. Date nights where the only day she’d care about you!

So, with a heavy heart, you turned your phone off, and went back to cleaning. Youd deal with her later, for now you’d clean. Maybe read your book later. Whatever it is, you wouldn’t bare any mind to Vanessa.

~^~

Around 8:30 the door was swiftly unlocked. You were in the living room, flicking through the channels.

“ YN?! YN LN. “

Vanessa stormed in, staring in front of the TV. You glanced up at her, and flicked the TV off.

“ good, your home. Your dinners in the microwave, I ate already. “

You stood up, heading towards the bedroom. Vanessa snapped, grabbing your arm and pulling you to her.

“ why the fuck haven’t you answered your damn phone all day. You worried me sick! “

“ well Vanessa, you didn’t seem to care about remembering our date night, so i simply forgot to look at my phone! You dinners ready, I’m going to bed. “

You yanked yourself out of Vanessa’s grip, and calmly sauntered into the bedroom. Vanessa didn’t follow you, as you closed the door behind you. You changed into your nightgown, and climbed into bed. Reaching out, you grabbed one of the spare pillows from under the bed, and held it close to your chest.

You didn’t care what she’d say. You didn’t care what she’d do. You were standing up for yourself. She’d just throw a fit and be over it the next day, like always.

~^~

“ mmmm….stop it…”

You toss and turn in your sleep, feeling yourself being almost haunted by something. You rolled over and shoved your face into the pillow, before suddenly being flipped over.

“ huh…? “

You groggily blinked your eyes open, starring up in shock. Vanessa was straddling your hips, groping your tits fericely. She finally caught notice of you stiring awake.

“ finally….thought I’d have to fuck you awake…”

Vanessa bent down and quickly bit down your neck, leaving deep marks trailing down your shoulders.

“ do you have any fucking idea how mad I am at you?? First you don’t respond to me all day, and I’m swamped at work, so I can’t come home!! Then when I do get home, you decided to throw a little fit and be all like “ oh if you can’t remeber our things, why should I care? ‘ YOU CARE BECAUSE I GIVE YOU A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD BITCH. “

“ n-Nessa I’m sorry! I am…I-i was just so upset I didn’t know…”

“ save it…I bought your flowers yn…and I was gonna make such sweet love to you last night….but you wanted to throw a fit. I thought you were good sister…”

“ I-i am nessa!!! “

You tried to sit up, before Vanessa pinned you back against the bed.

“ then you’ll understand why I’m punishing you~ “

Vanessa kissed down your stomach, her eyes never leaving yours. She slowly made her way down to your PJ bottoms, ripping them down without another though.

“ n-Nessa! “

“ shut up. You don’t get to talk, Moan, or whine unless I give you permission. “

Vanessa yanked your panties down, tossing them to the side. She then dove her tongue into your folds immediately, making you whine before quickly biting your lip. Vanessa smirked, dragging her tongue through your folds and plunge it back in, continuing this constant little pattern.

“ awww….god I wish to just hear your little whines…but you don’t deserve that pleasure….”

Vanessa dove back into you, being unable to moan was like torture. You needed to moan, you needed to sob and cry out from how good this felt. But she wouldn’t let you.

“ I bet your close, huh? But then again I don’t know! I could push you over the edge at any moment and I might not know…”

A whine slipped though your lips, and she quickly pulled back; slapping your clit. You bit your lip to stay silent, but desperately needed to sob. Vanessa glared at you before going back down. This time though, she started sucking on your puffy clit, and slammed three fingers into your hole. You bit your lip harder, you felt yourself getting closer by the second.

“ yeah…yeah i know…your so close…cum for me, cum all over my pretty fingers slut…show your big sister who you belong too….”

Vanessa speed up, sucking harder on your clit. You bite back moans, feeling yourself grow closer every moment. With one final thrust, you burst. You couldn’t help it, you let out a final, screamingly loud moan. Vanessa smirked, pulling back and giving your clit a final ‘ pop ‘.

“ dirty fucking thing….youll be good…answer my fucking calls and texts from now on? “

“ y-yes….yes Vanessa…”

“ good girl…”

Vanessa have your inner thigh a final smack, before crawling up next to you. She tossed the blankets over the two of you and pulled you into her.

“ I love you yn…my perfect, dirty little sister~ “

You panted slightly, before giving Vanessa a gentle kiss. She smiled, and returned one.

“ I-i love you more v-Vanessa….b-best big sister ever…..

#vanessa shelly #five nights at freddy's #vanessa shelly x reader #toxic!vanessa #vanessa shelly smut #tw toxic relationship #toxic!stepsis!vanessa #stepsis!vanessa

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crackednailsandsplitends · 10 months ago

Text

Chronic Illness: Everyday Mundane Things I Struggle With - Arm and Hands

Pain is a universal human experience; however, chronic pain -- the kind that lingers, interrupts your life and refuses to leave -- is a different beast altogether. This is a glimpse into my daily struggle with ME (Myalgic Encephalomyelitis), chronic tennis elbow, and severe cervical foraminal narrowing.

ME (Myalgic Encephalomyelitis)torments me significantly with arm issues. The trouble escalates in my right arm due to years of suffering from chronic tennis elbow. But it doesn't end there. I also have severe cervical spine foraminal narrowing which means that the passage where the nerves exit my spine narrows down, compressing those nerves slightly. This condition triggers problems down my right side especially affecting my hand, elbow and shoulder.

Thus, I experience a whole heap of issues with my right arm and hand.

More than pain

It's not only about battling constant intense pain; it's all about managing nerve pain too - neurological nightmares of tingling, heaviness, numbness, spasms etc.

With all my conditions, it restricts my arm and hand use considerably even in seemingly minor ways. For instance, trying to squeeze the liquid gel detergent out of a bottle turns into a painful battle; especially at the point when the bottle is quarter used, when I need to exert pressure on the bottle – something I find myself unable to do, due to pain.

Such trivial encounters upset me deeply, simply because they highlight my disabilities and limitations so blatantly and brutally.

It means now that when selecting laundry detergent, it becomes a decision based not only on preference but also on physical capability—can I squeeze the gel out? Even handling medication proves challenging as taking pills out from their dispenser or picking them up is more troublesome than it should be. Imagine losing crucial medication on the floor because of my finger dexterity issues, unfortunately, I do this often! Also, using spray bottles, the trigger can be extremely painful for me to keep pressing that trigger.

Makeup application, once an effortless process, now turns into a long, exhausting ordeal due to these limitations. Brushing my teeth becomes incredibly painful or just simply difficult as my arms and hands fatigue quickly and feel extremely heavy and painful. Brushing my hair and attempting to style it (tie it up), is immensely challenging with my arm. With the most upsetting thing is, I am unable to do my daughter’s hair.

I now only buy jersey sports bras as I can step into them and pull a sports bra up, thus, this avoids me having to do the hook-and-eye connection on a normal bra (which I find extremely challenging to do)

I use talk-to-text on my phone/laptop as typing and using my fingers can become quickly painful. Holding the phone to my ear can quickly become too much and too painful.

Constant reminders

Doing buttons-up, tying shoe laces – all these tiny mundane everyday tasks that I took for granted before, are now constantly reminding me that my body is failing me, my body is broken, and I am disabled.

Days that are particularly bad present even more challenges — things like cooking become almost unmanageable. Tasks like cutting fruit and vegetables become impossible. Other activities including sewing can lead to excruciating pain; making me pay for hours or even days afterwards if I push myself too far.

Although I'm slowly learning to use my left arm/hand more frequently, it doesn’t have full functionality without issues, and it also presents continuous difficulties.

Final thoughts

Living with chronic pain requires constant adaptation and resilience, dealing with both physical discomforts and emotional setbacks. Each day is a new challenge but it also provides opportunities (always trying to keep positive) for learning better ways of managing life despite limitations.

0 notes

cornfarm · 3 years ago

Text

summertime cicadas

saiki kusuo x reader

word count: 1.6k

synopsis: you go to saiki’s place to play some video games. saiki learns a bit about your dirty laundry.

cw: suggestions of past sexual abuse. it’s not explicitly stated but it’s heavily implied.

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

reader is gender neutral!

===================================================

notes:

i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a few weeks now, but i was never happy with it.

it’s implied that you and saiki are in week 2-4 of dating;;;

i have some other stuff in the works but im tired so notes r boring today

enjoy waaaaaa

===================================================

When Saiki and you were left alone together, the tension that hung in the air was fun and playful. Coy glances, the heart jittering brushes of skin, and the almost knowing smiles you two would shoot each other. This time around, it was heavy, and it weighed hefty on both your shoulders.

It was your first time over at his place since you had begun dating.

You had texted him: can i come over? i bought a new game i wanna play it with u

He was very happy you decided to make the first move, he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.

Immediately, the “devlivered” at the corner of your text changed to “read”. He hastily typed back: Sure, let me know when you’re here. My parents aren’t home.

You saw letters on your screen, but you squinted your eyes shut upon them entering your field of vision. You had thrown your phone across the room, too nervous to look at his response. Tentatively picking it up, your heart nearly exploded at his words. You quickly respond: okay! be there soon :)

Saiki suddenly felt a bit on edge, realization finally striking him that you were about to be in his presence. In his bedroom. Alone.

Saiki Kusuo never really felt things too intensely, so to feel it strike at his heart and stomach was almost a bit too much for his liking.

Saiki wound up sitting patiently at the dining room table, using his telekensis to pick things up, rearrange ornaments and fine china, and clean up trash. The last thing he wants is you coming over when the place is a mess.

The doorbell rang, not that he needed it to know you were here. Beckoning you in, you pull out a small disc box from your bag.

“I heard really good reviews from it. I was interested in it since I liked the art style but I wanted to wait until people played it and reviews came out before I committed.”

He takes it from your hands to inspect it, “I’m not super interested in recent games, I like older ones a bit more. Indie ones too. I’ve heard that the gameplay is really compelling.”

“That’s okay, we can still play together, right?” You almost look a bit nervous. Saiki gnawed at the inside of his lip.

“Sure,” you don’t look satisfied, “I don’t mind, doing things with you is nice.”

The content expression on your face satisfies him. You follow him upstairs.

Then the tension settles. You’re so close, the pleasant floral scent from your detergent lingering where you walk. He peers behind you as you take in his room: simple, clean, minimalistic. It’s painfully in character. You smile, flopping face down on his bed.

“I’ve only ever been here with everyone else, it was so lively then, but it’s so different when it’s quiet!” You situate yourself so you’re sitting at the edge of his bed, legs dangling off the side.

“It’s the same room.”

“Yeah but, now it’s just me and you.”

“I suppose so.”

You watch as he peers to the wall, a bit away from you.

“What, you’re not nervous are you? Do I make you, THE Saiki Kusuo nervous?”

He clicks his tongue, and begins stalking towards you. He stops right in front of you, shins nearly touching the mattress of his bed. He looks down, expression deadpanned like usual. Perhaps thats precisely why you got so flustered. Your hands coming to clasp politely in your lap, you look up at him, determined to hold eye contact.

“Mhm,” he smirks, “you do. What will you do about it?”

He watches as your lips part into a small ‘o’, before you turn your head down and begin to pout. He’ll spare you this time. The small proximity between you settles in; he should get out of here, nervousness is finally catching up, it’s a bit too much for him to handle. For such a cocky one-liner, he really can’t keep it together. He exits his room for a moment with a brief “wait here”.

He hears you let out a sigh down the hall. Taking the chance to inspect his belongings, you peer under his bed, nothing suspicious there, before making your way to his desk. There’s his computer, a nice leather desk chair, a lamp, and a small empty mug that holds pens, pencils, and highlighters. You thumb through them.

He re-enters his room, quietly opening the door, but just enough so where you hear. Outstreching his arm, he hands you a bottle of iced tea.

“This is,” inspecting the label, “you don’t usually drink these, right?”

Saiki stays quiet.

“So you got it for me? You remembered I liked it?”

He nods.

You beam at him, mutter your gratitude, and pull out the games box.

Placing the disc onto the disc reader, and pushing it in, you start up the game, and watch the intro animation.

“Yeah, the graphics are really nice,” he comments.

You adjust yourself, sitting on top a cushion on the floor, he moves a bit closer.

Skipping though dialog, tutorials, and the first few levels of the game, Saiki controller finally begins responding.

“I’m sorry, I thought the multiplayer feature would be available from the start.”

“It’s okay, you can pick first”

“Hmm...” you pause, brows furrowing in focus as you look through the different player avatar options. Finally, you turn to him and smile, “this one! Your turn.”

Saiki bites at the inside of his lip, again, moving his thumb over the joystick, he picks his avatar.

It’s nice, it’s quiet, the sound of cicada’s chirping outside his bedroom window, and the soft hum of his fan are gentle. Neither of you are talking about grand things like aspirations and inhibitions, but you didn’t have to. The soft, casual tone of conversation is something Saiki’s making sure to cherish. The game’s fun, Saiki is enjoying himself, he enjoys you.

But tension still looms heavy overhead. You aren’t the only one who was thinking about it, how close you two were, how your elbows kept bumping, the small,and the way you both tried to get just a millimeter closer.

Saiki knew what you wanted, but he couldn’t pull himself to take initiative. Why? Was nervousness just another curse set out to plague him?

He’s reading your mind, he knows without a doubt you want to, so why is he so nervous to reach out and touch you? He wants to run away.

“Saiki?”

Your voice broke his thoughts, he turns to you. “Are you okay?”

He does it without thinking, slowly placing the controller down and putting his palms on your shoulders.

“I’m just not used to this,” he finally says, “like, dating and all that.”

You wrap your fingers around his wrists, “that’s okay, I’ve never dated anyone either, we can just take it slow. We have time.” You reassure, “I’m nervous too,” voice smaller than before. He lifts his hands off, hovering them in front of you, debating on where he should put them. Should he put them back on your shoulders, or would that be weird? Maybe it’s okay if he takes your hands into his, but right now your hands are...

His vision finally focuses, and he looks at your hands, defensively positioned in front of your chest with your palms facing him. You’re looking at him with a half smile, but your brows are pursed down. You’re watching him very carefully.

Your thoughts still, pausing until he moves again, taking your hands in his own. He’s confused, why do you look so skittish?

You look visibily confused that he takes your hands. He’s granted one thought:

He’s not gonna do anything, see? He’s just holding my hands, that’s it. He’s not gonna do anything.

Do what? What do you mean? Do what?

“What do you mean?” He blurts out, voice ringing through your head.

Astonishment paints your face. Shit, you didn’t think you said anything out loud. Could he read your mind? He chooses not to say anything.

You shake your arms, he retracts his hands.

“I’ve just had bad experiences with people in the past, I got nervous, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

Oh. Your internal dialog isn’t as pleasant as the words you choose to say.

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it more in the future,” you still have the strength to smile at him?

He reaches out to touch you again, but never connecting. He hesitates this time, fingers hovering over your forearm.

“I’m not really interested in that sort of stuff. I wouldn’t do that to you. I won’t do that to you,” he corrects.

With a smile pained with melancholy, you shift yourself forward, wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face into his shoulder, legs finding their way between his. He wastes no time wrapping his own arms around your back, pressing your chest closer to his own. Your hearts pound against each other, breathing syncing as you both exhale a sigh.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know,” your voice is muffled.

You stay like that for a few moments. Cicada’s chirping, fan blowing, there’s nothing to say- the silence is comforting in it’s own way.

You finally pull away from him, voice much brighter, “but I’m not ready to kiss you yet, I think my heart would explode!” He flushes red. Adjusting to sit back onto the cushion, you lean your weight onto his side. He tension has finally settled, and Saiki sighs contently.

Saiki only uses his powers in ways to convinience himself. Fortunately, keeping you safe was more than convinient to him: it was the bare minimum- an absolute necessity.

As soon as you leave, he’ll find the bastards that did it.

#the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #the disasterous life of saiki k #saiki k #saiki kusuo #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki k imagines #saiki k headcanons #saiki x reader

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stereopticons · 2 years ago

Text

wip wednesday

I was tagged by @rmd-writes and @apothecarose and also @hippolotamus tagged me in snippet sunday that I didn’t do, so let’s count this towards that too.

David has never been more thankful to get home to the blissful quiet of their cottage. It’s what he’s been craving all day as every social interaction winds him just a little tighter. But instead of being comforting, the silence roars loudly in his ears. It’s too quiet without Patrick here.

David sighs, setting the pizza box on the counter and trudging up the stairs to get changed. He puts on the softest joggers he has and a t-shirt. After a brief moment of consideration, he grabs one of Patrick’s oversized hoodies from his drawer and pulls it over his head. It still smells like a mix of their laundry detergent and Patrick. He takes a moment to bury his face in the collar of the hoodie, breathing in the scent. It calms him, just a little.

He builds himself a nest of blankets on the couch, with the pizza box on the coffee table and the wine bottle in easy reach. He turns on the TV, but keeps flipping through the channels because everything seems to grate on him. He finally settles on an episode of Downton Abbey that he’s seen a hundred times, but at least it doesn’t make him want to pull his teeth out.

His phone buzzes again and he pulls it out from the depths of the blankets where it fell when he was reaching for his third slice of pizza. David scrolls through the notifications that he’s been ignoring all day. There’s a couple of comments on the store’s Instagram page, another text from Stevie and one from Alexis. He should reply to them, at least the ones from Stevie, but the effort involved feels like too much.

The most recent notification is a text from Patrick asking if it’s okay to call. On one hand, David very badly wants to hear his husband’s voice, wants to wrap it around himself like another blanket. But on the other hand, the act of talking to anyone, even Patrick, just seems entirely too difficult.

#wip wednesday #this doesn't have a title yet lol

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ackermelon · 3 years ago

Text

I woke up and realised that I had sent a text to my friend at 4 A.M. the previous night. I had no recollection of that, but the text simply said, "I just know Zeke smells like sweat all the time." Half-asleep me knows what's up.

Anyway, so this started a long conversation about how some anime characters would smell. Here are the highlights (attack on titan and haikyuu):

Attack on Titan:

Erwin: I think he'd smell like sweat, but not the overpowering, fly-killing, coma-inducing, kind. It's like, natural, subtle, and weirdly comforting. He looks to be the type to never get cold. Like, he just radiates heat, and he tends to sweat, even in winter. However, he knows how to manage it and still smell decent.

Hange: Wet dog. I'm sorry, but they look like they shower once every blue moon. Occasionally, Moblit would hose them down, but after he... you know, Hange focused more on work and less on themself.

Levi: Sorry to be bland and "like the other girls", but he smells like detergent. Everyone says that because it's true. He does all the cleaning, and makes sure to remain clean himself. He would also smell like soap, but only a little. I feel like he's the opposite of Erwin: his body temperature is naturally cold, so he doesn't sweat as often, unless they're outside the walls fighting titans and shit.

Jean & Connie: Sweat. All the fucking time. However, after the timeskip, they started taking the time to clean themselves to save the people around them from having to inhale their revolting body odour. Towards the end of the manga, they invest in some quality perfume because it was about time they got laid.

Colt: He would smell like fresh laundry; like, his natural scent would be so refreshing - very clean and warm. I described it as, "infused with serotonin." But maybe that's just me, considering I would risk it all for this delicious man.

Floch: Nasty. Call me biased because I hate this son of a bitch, motherfucking stinky poopy asshole. I feel like I could smell his nasty ass breath through the screen. Piss yellow teeth and lots of cavities. He doesn't even have to raise his arms for us to smell his deadly body odour. I feel like gagging just looking at his face; imagine having to smell him too.

Summary: Realistically, they would all smell like sweat; I'm pretty sure Isayama said that pretty much all the characters have bad hygiene. I wouldn't blame them considering their life was at risk from the second they'd left the womb. However, I believe some of them manage it better than the others.

Haikyuu:

Daichi: He definitely uses body spray, but it's much less subtle than Axe, and it actually smells good. He doesn't use it everyday - mostly on the days he has vb training or whenever he feels like it. His natural scent is... oh boy, lordy lord. Let's leave it at that.

Sugawara: Fruity. Suga smells fruity. He loves berry and citrus-scented perfumes and he never leaves the house without spraying some. It's not overpowering, but you instantly smell it when you get near him. It's perfect.

Hinata & Kageyama: Listen, they shower everyday, and they come out of that shower smelling pretty good. However, whatever happens in the 7.32 minutes after that undos the shower completely. Like can they sit down for a second??? They reek of sweat. Hinata doesn't even notice, but Kageyama carries baby wipes around to try and manage the odour. Hinata starts doing the same halfway through his second year.

Tanaka & Nishinoya: ... You know what's coming.... Team Axe spray. They spray, inhale and ingest that shit. They go through 16 bottles a month. However, they drifted away from that cursed product during their third year and started using a cologne they stole from Akiteru's bag (he forgot it at Tanaka's house after he finished "hanging out" with Saeko). Yes, they did find condoms in there and Tanaka now greets him with a glare.

Tsukishima: This man always smells good. Always. You will never catch him lacking. Usually, he wouldn't wear any artificial scents or perfumes, but when it comes to occasions.... My God. This man will pull out the most luxurious, most expensive perfume you have ever seen. He has a lot of savings which he uses to buy shit like that. But yeah, you will instantly get down on one knee if you were to catch a sniff of him.

Yamaguchi: He isn't a big fan of perfumes, but his natural scent is phenomenal. He often smells like his body wash, which is just a nice, soapy scent.

Kiyoko: Flowers. Expensive Marc Jacobs perfume. Heart eyes for my queen.

Kuroo & Bokuto: As first-years, they were loyal to their bottle of Axe. However, they did notice that they were basically repelling girls (that didn't matter as much when they became second years and Kenma and Akaashi came into the picture <3). They ended up "borrowing" Daichi's body spray during training camp that year and their loyalty shifted to that. They have yet to return the now empty bottle to its rightful owner.

Kenma: Doesn't give two shits. If he smells like soap, then he smells like soap. If he smells like piss and diarrhea, then so be it.

Akaashi: This man... This man. He moisturises daily. I just know it. He would borrow expensive lotion from his mother since he isn't the biggest fan of perfumes. Vanilla, yes. And whenever he doesn't use scents, he would smell like laundry powder, Lavender. Or just heaven in general.

Oikawa: We all know this man is broke but pretends he isn't. We just do. He uses cheap dollar store perfume and tells people it's fucking Gucci. You know he would. No use denying it. People just go along with it because he always looks submissive and breedable.

Iwaizumi: Definitely a cologne guy. He puts it on after his daily shower and it lasts all day. Aoba Johsai members are all in love with him. He's the human manifestation of a gay awakening. As for Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, athletic trainer, he uses a more expensive cologne and the MSBY players, their opponents AND the audience all fawn and drool over him. They didn't come to watch or play the game, they came to watch Iwaizumi Hajime and perhaps catch a whiff of that musky scent. He's thick though so he doesn't notice.

Summary: I don't think these high schoolers would go without some sort of artificial scent, with some exceptions of course. Let's just appreciate the ones that don't use Axe spray. If I wanted my nose hairs gone, I'd wax them.

Thank you for listening. Feel free to add on.

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unstoppableforcce · 4 years ago

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a long december

pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!reader

masterlist

a/n: so she’s long, about 9.5k and I know that’s a lot but i really love it, i put a lot of heart into it and i don’t know, maybe i made it just for me but i really love it. WARNING of weed use, i’ll tag it but quite a few joints are smoked

also, the song is a long december by the counting crows !! enjoy, i really tried to get the vibe right so maybe listen while/before/ or after reading

I can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leaving

The cold made everything worse.

With the haunting blood orange sun dropping just below the back treeline of his yard, he inhaled a deep breath of smoke from the burning embers of the small joint between his fingers, desperate to take his mind off the lingering pain of a day’s work which settled in his knees, back and neck. That didn’t even include the seismic rift running deep through his hollow chest.

The winter evening chill shifted from refreshingly brisk to painfully freezing in a matter of minutes as the sun disappeared but he held steadfast on the window seat in his bedroom, blowing his smoke out as the cold made its way in.

A blanket would make it better, turning the heat on, closing the window… he was too stubborn to bring himself to do any of it. The cold hurt but the alternative was worse.

He’d gone numb before.

After a string of bad missions, he couldn’t come home with the boys, he had to go somewhere else, somewhere where no one could see the way the shit piled onto his shoulders and weighed him down until it crushed him into cold and dark oblivion. There were drinks, empty bottles and spilled liquor… There was more too, more he either couldn’t remember or more he couldn’t fathom remembering. All he knew for sure was that he didn’t feel anything and that he hated it.

At least feeling the pain of his lingering injuries and the heartbreak tearing through him meant he was feeling something. All he wanted was to feel something.

Inhaling the next deep hit from the joint and exhaling it out the window, he found himself desperate for warmth, warmth that not even the burning bud between his fingers could provide him. He needed a blanket, he needed the heat turned on, he needed a body next to him in bed, wrapped around his body… That just wasn’t an option anymore.

You were gone. You had been gone for about four months now and it had been no one’s fault, but he was going to bed alone nowadays and the cold was becoming nothing but a familiar friend.

Fuck. He smashed the butt of his joint into the ashtray by his side and stood up as fast as his crying joints would allow, shutting the window and abandoning his empty bedroom entirely. The weed was for the physical pain, but his hollow heart needed something more. He needed liquor, he needed a blanket, he needed to turn the heat on and warm himself back up.

He couldn’t remember the last time he did a load of blankets though, his best bet was finding some in the laundry room but with each creaking step down the stairs, the pain got worse, doubling both in his weakened knees and in his chest as he walked down each dark, hardwood step. His laundry room was adjacent to his garage, one of the coldest rooms in his house, and as he shouldered open the door, he found it as much a mess as the rest of his house, spare the stack of neatly folded blankets atop the dryer.

It must have been the last load you did before you moved out.

Fuck…

It just hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.

Taking two steps into the room, he grabbed the first blanket off the stack and moved to make a hasty exit only to turn back at the sound of the stack hitting the floor in front of the machines. It wasn’t just blankets in the stack, there was a pair of his jeans beneath it, and a sweater.

Your favorite sweater.

The fabric of the sweater felt all too familiar against the cracked palms of his rough and calloused hands, the cream color of it appearing bright even under the yellow-tinted light coating the small laundry room. And the smell of it… it wasn’t just the fresh smell of his detergent, it was you.

The warmth it cascaded him with while his weak hands gripped tight to the thick stitching was not unlike the warmth he remembered you always filling him with. When you grabbed his hand and swung it between the two of you while you walked, smile shining brightly towards him whether it was just to your car or out for a date night. When you trailed kisses down from his chin to his hips, paying special attention to each of his jagged scars while your lashes fluttered against his skin. When you rolled over in bed, still half-asleep, and buried your head deeper into his chest, unconscious but desperate to touch him still.

He held it tight in his grasp, the blanket he had come searching for now the furthest thing from his mind.

It was one of your favorite sweaters, perfect for when the weather got cold like this, perfect for when you wanted to sit with him next to the open window while he smoked, or out on the porch while he worked on the yard, perfect for nights out and nights in… It was your perfect sweater and you had left it behind, folded into his blankets.

Given that it had been July when you left, he couldn’t exactly blame you for not remembering you left it with him, but it was nearing December and you must have needed it, you must have realized that you left it when you moved out, you must have--

You weren’t his to worry about anymore.

Even with the warm fabric gripped so tightly by his weak hands, he had to remind himself that you weren’t his to worry about anymore. It had been four months.

Nearly five actually, now that he really thought about it. Honestly, he had been trying not to really think about it, it never did him any good to get into it but now it was all that filled his mind even as the gentle lull of the weed began to calm him down.

His head filled with the thought of you, not in your happiest moment by his side, but in your saddest. The day you left…

He managed to pull one hand back from the sweater to rub his eyes as it all began flooding his senses, overwhelming his defenses. He could see the tears in your eyes as you held his hands and told him that the two of you could still be friends, he could feel his throat constricting as he agreed with you and stopped himself from wiping your tears away.

It hadn’t been anyone’s fault.

The guys didn’t believe him at first when he explained it like that, but there was no other way to describe it. No one cheated, no one broke the other’s heart, no one did something reprehensible or immoral or… there was no singular reason at all, actually. It had been piling up for the second half of the year the two of you spent living together and piece by piece, it just became too much. He didn’t blame you, you didn’t blame him, and the two of you steadfastly remained resolved in not allowing the other to blame themselves.

He loved you. He hadn’t stopped when you left and holding your sweater now, after months of denial, only made it worse.

He still took it with him though, as he threw his blanket over his shoulders and walked back out into the slowly warming atmosphere of his house. He didn’t know what to do with it, but he knew he couldn’t just leave it, he needed to get it back to you. He could pass it to Benny, get it to you without breaking his heart in seeing you again, it was only fair.

Leaving it on his kitchen counter, he quickly moved for his liquor cabinet, filling up the empty hole you left behind with smooth amber without a second thought.

He needed the cold to go away, he needed the warmth he hadn’t felt since you left, he needed--

The vibration of his phone on the counter next to your sweater stopped his thoughts before they landed him some place that was all too dangerous for him to end up in. It was a message, from Frankie.

Then another. And another, a trio in quick succession.

Are you coming tomorrow night? Will wants a headcount.

Are you alive Pope?

We haven’t seen you in a while man, it’ll be good to get out of the house

Tomorrow night. Benny’s birthday party. Right.

He needed a response. Or at least, he needed to start thinking about a response.

Frankie was right, it had been a while since he had gone out with them. After the breakup initially, the guys had tried to get him out as often as possible, saying ‘it’ll be good to get your mind off of things’ and ‘you’ve got to get back on the horse’. Santiago didn’t have the breath to argue with them, nor the capacity to truly explain what he was feeling, so he just went along with them. Besides, was there really a good way to say ‘hey, I don’t think it’s fair to date other people when I’m still not over the woman I planned to marry’?

But it was Benny’s birthday. There was no avoiding that. And if he was lucky, there would be too much party going on for anyone to realize he wasn’t having a good time.

So as he threw his blanket over his shoulders and collapsed back against the couch with his glass in hand, he sent a quick text back to Frankie before he could send ten more.

Yeah, I’ll be there

Frankie very quickly responded, as if he had been waiting by the phone for Pope’s response.

Free beer too

Free beer, a Benny-centric party, and this big fucking hole in his chest. What could go wrong?

If you think that I should be forgiven, I wish you would

Elite tactical mind.

That’s what his commander described him as. An elite tactical mind.

Well how elite is his fucking mind if he didn’t figure out that you were going to be at Benny’s birthday party? Not very elite.

You had been Benny’s friend first, Santiago had only met you when Will introduced the two of you at one of his fights, he had asked you out during Benny’s superbowl party. Every single sign was there for him to realize that you were going to be at Will’s house when he walked in that night, but his elite tactical mind just didn’t come to play when you were involved.

If it was socially acceptable for him to put his coat back on and turn back to the doorway, he would’ve already done it, but instead, he stood frozen in place next to the coat rack and it had nothing to do with the jarring winter chill. Whatever game was happening in the kitchen had you throwing back shots in time with Benny right at your side, then laughing brighter than anything Santiago had seen in months.

Four months actually. Maybe five by now.

The way your hair was styled was all the same, the tight fit of your black top highlighted every single inch of your beautiful body, he had torn it off of you so many times, he knew it well. But there was something light about you now, a stark contrast to the image seared onto the back of his eyelids of your somber disposition as you pulled out of his driveway for the last time. There wasn’t just a hole in his chest, there was a faultline that was still shifting, quaking, decimating--

Was it warm or was he just not breathing?

The cold snap of the free beer thrust into his hand accompanied by the firm thud of the harsh grip landing on his shoulder was just enough to send his breathing back to normal, and as his stare was pulled from the sight of you in the kitchen, he found both Frankie and Will flanking him. But there wasn’t much in terms of comfort there as their party faces faded to looks of concern.

“Oh shit…” Frankie cursed into the neck of his bottle as realization.

But Will was already a step ahead of him with the words Frankie couldn’t find. “I thought that you knew…”

He tried to shake his head, to wave it away as the first taste of beer met his tongue but as his stare found that of his two closest friends, he found their brows not just laced with concern but also with genuine sympathy. This was a party, not a pity-party but a real one, for Benny’s birthday… he wasn’t going to make a scene, he wasn’t going to ruin it or distract from him. Instead, he just waved his hands in a futile attempt to dismiss their concern and shook his head once more.

“It’s okay, I don’t know why I didn’t know…” he waved his hands once more, even if he saw it was having no effect on their concern. “It’s fine, I’m fine, let’s just play some pool and forget about it.”

Maybe he was putting a little too much faith in the healing powers of a game of pool but if he faced away from the kitchen, he could nearly forget that you were in the same house as him. He could nearly forget the seismic rift through his chest and the way it burned with each and every thought of you. Fish was kicking his ass, which was not the way their matches usually went, but the casual banter and laughter was helping.

Or at least, it was helping. It stopped helping when Frankie leaned towards him, rubbing the chalk on the tip of his cue and whispered, “She’s been stealing glances over here every few minutes.”

He missed his next shot pretty spectacularly after that. And it only got worse.

“She’s coming over here, Pope.”

He couldn’t turn himself around. He knew he should, he knew that you deserved a face-to-face, he wasn’t avoiding you, you hadn’t done anything wrong… he just couldn’t. Not until he saw Fish and Will retreat a few steps to offer the guise of privacy. You had to be right behind him, he needed to turn around--

“Hey Santi…”

Fuck. He even missed the sound of your voice.

The toes of his boots turned slowly, as if they were caught in thick glue, holding him in place, but the second his stare found yours, it was like he was standing on ice without skates, completely unsure of his footing.

“Hi,” was all he could muster out as his hands gripped tight to the pool cue in his grasp, nearly tight enough to draw his tan knuckles white.

But if you noticed, you didn’t say anything. Your hands just found your back pockets while your stare held his, neither one of you moving to break the silence at first, just soaking up the four months of difference between the two of you.

And then, both at once, you tried to break the silence.

“You look good--”

“I’m glad you came--”

Then a round of half-comfortable, half-uncomfortable laughter fell from both of your lips as you pulled your hand from your pocket and gestured for him to go first.

His throat was tight, pinching around the words as they escaped his empty chest, “You look good.”

He regretted them almost as soon as they fell from his winter-chapped lips, eyes falling to the wood floor beneath his boots as his head shook instinctively. He wanted to pull them back, to swallow them down like the beer he had been drinking heavily throughout the night, he wanted them to stop before they ever hit your ears but they were already out, lingering in the foot of stale air between the two of you.

Yet, with his eyes to the floor, he missed the way your half-smile shifted into something more comfortable on your lips, something more genuine. And as he tried to recoil back from his own words, you stopped him.

“I shouldn’t have--”

“No, no it’s okay…” you laughed again, this time with the warmth he normally associated with you filling the freezing air between you two, bringing his stare back up to yours. “Thank you, you look good too, it’s good to see you.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound bouncing around as an echo through his hollow chest before falling from his lips in time with yours. He most certainly did not look good, he owned a mirror, he knew that much for himself. Bags under his eyes, in desperate need of a curl-controlling haircut, wrinkled shirt, worn jeans and the same boots he wore wherever he was, no matter what he was doing… he didn’t look good, he looked like he normally did but worse. You looked good.

But he didn’t fight you on it. If he did, he’d have to admit exactly why he looked the way he did. He’d have to tell you that he looked as good as he felt and he didn’t need to weigh you down with that guilt, this wasn’t your fault.

So he curbed his laughter and easily responded, “it’s good to see you too.”

At least that wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t something he was saying just to be civil, nor was it something he was afraid to say, it was just what came out and it was true. It was like a breath of fresh air but freezing cold at the same time. It was good to see you, it would just make going home alone so much worse.

Thankfully, you kept the conversation flowing as if you didn’t notice the sad turn of his eyes.

“I’m glad you decided to come, Benny said he hadn’t seen you in a while and that you were debating coming tonight, and I thought it was because of me... I just... I’m glad you came, it means a lot to him.” You started off strong, but the longer you talked, the less confident you became in the words that left your mouth until you ultimately sounded as hesitant as he did, your stare dropping to your feet just as his had.

The civil thing to do would have been to reassure you that you weren’t the reason he had been distant with the guys recently, it would’ve been the truth too. If he was being honest, it was the overwhelming sadness he felt whenever he did the simplest of things that was holding him back, and yeah, maybe that had only come about because you had left but it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. He wanted to be civil though, he wanted to be friendly no matter how bad it hurt, so he shrugged and offered a non-answer casual reply and hoped you went with it.

“I’m happy to be here for him, and you know…” he trailed off, reaching back to the table for the bottle that sat there, “the free beer.”

The laugh you gave him back this time wasn’t in anyways forced. It was familiar, it was genuine, it was a break through the civil front you put up and it was real. That had to mean something, right?

“Free beer, yeah well, it tastes like free beer so...” you joked back, returning your stare to his as you did. And though he didn’t want to read too far into it, it also seemed like your shoulders released a tension as you spoke, like you were relaxing back into conversation with him.

He couldn’t help but do the same, a genuine smile worming it’s way to his lips as he did. “Well, you’ve got a strange taste for expensive weird beers.”

“Strange taste? They’re good--” you chuckled as you tried to defend yourself but his laughter cut you off.

“None of them were good, not even that pineapple one you loved so much.”

“I loved it because it was delicious, unlike the shit you drink.”

“Well the shit I drink is free tonight, so I guess I win.” He continued to fight with another laugh, all too comfortable with the way it was flowing out of him when it was you on the receiving end.

He knew it was wrong to do, to get sucked back into your inescapable gravitational field, but he couldn’t help himself. Besides, it had been Frankie’s plan to get him to come out and forget you and even he wasn’t jumping in to stop him, so maybe it wasn’t as wrong as it felt like it was.

Maybe it wasn’t wrong at all, maybe coming out and seeing you again was what he needed to bring you back into his life, maybe that was Frankie’s plan, maybe--

“Where’s my partner! I’ve got a game to win over here!” Benny shouted from the kitchen as he moved with wide arms and a following crowd towards the living room. And as you glanced over your shoulder and made eye contact with him, it was clear that you were who he was looking for. However, as he saw you with Santi, he toned down his volume and gave you some sort of silent signal that you waved off.

“I should probably go deal with him…” you chuckled softly as you turned back to him, sticking your hands back into your back pockets nervously. “It was really good to see you, I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Yeah, good to see you too…”

With that, you gave him another smile and turned away, half-jogging back towards Benny and his obvious drunkenness.

“You okay, man?” Frankie quickly asked as he came back to his side, Will rounding the table to do the same.

He tried to wave them off, to dismiss the feelings bubbling in his chest and focus on the meaningless game of pool in front of them, and while the two lingering men clearly didn’t believe him, they knew better than to push it. There was nothing either of them could do to make it better, nothing they could say, nothing they could change, so instead, they gave him the distraction he was desperate for. They cracked a few jokes, lined up their next shots, and let him spend the rest of the night trying to forget the brief sense of warmth flaming in his chest when he was talking to you.

It was the first warmth he had truly felt since the seasons shifted.

The smell of hospitals in winter…

Not going to Benny’s fight the following week had been a conscious choice, not solely because he knew you would be there, but he couldn’t deny that it was a heavily contributing factor. The cold made going out worse, he had a long day at work and figured a calm night in would be healthier for him then a packed fight, and yeah, he didn’t want to see you so soon after Benny’s birthday.

He wasn’t proud of hiding, but it was better for the both of you. Or, rather, it should have been.

Just as a subtle pull of sleep was beginning to tug on his eyelids where he sat on his couch, alone, watching reruns of whatever crap cable show they were showing at 11 o’clock at night, his phone began to buzz beside him on the cold leather of his couch, just outside the blanket he had thrown over himself. He checked it almost mindlessly as his brain toed the line between truly awake and falling asleep, expecting to see a text from Will in their group chat saying something along the lines of ‘Benny won’ or ‘Benny lost’.

But the buzzing wasn’t singular like one message coming through, it was sustained, like a phone call, and the solemn voice on the other end of the line pulled a devastating sickness from his stomach.

It was Will calling. Benny had taken a serious hit to the chest, he had to be rushed to the ER. It didn’t matter that you would be there, he really had no choice but to be there for his friend, and that meant changing out of his sweatpants and rushing to the hospital with a bag full of clean clothes for the two of them, as Will requested.

Over the phone, he hadn’t really understood his request for the shirt and sweats for himself as well as for Benny, but as he walked into the ER waiting room and found the broad shouldered blonde waiting next to you and the small Santa teddy bear in your lap, he figured it out.

His shirt and jeans were covered in blood.

“Benny’s blood,” you explained as you stood up to greet him while he passed the bag of clean clothes to Will, “his nose broke too and he had to help the medic pull him out of the ring.”

It didn’t take long for Will to leave with the clothes to change, and even when he came back, there was a lot of paperwork there for him to sign, leaving Santiago with you in the waiting room, slouching uncomfortably against the plastic chairs in almost complete silence. The room itself had its own hum of noise; chatter from the elderly couple in the corner, hushed whispers from the mother and father trying to contain their toddler and keep their baby asleep in the carrier, the drunk college-aged kids on the far side of the room bantering back and forth… but between the two of you was nothing but cold silence.

Cold silence and a teddy bear wearing a santa hat in the seat Will had occupied between the two of you.

He just couldn’t take it anymore, the warm, stale hospital air was nothing but a small spark of warmth compared to the heat that naturally connected you to him and he was freezing beside you in silence.

“Why the bear?” The voice that came out of his tight throat was one he barely recognized from himself, strained from the hour of night and the exhaustion blanketed over him, so he quickly cleared his throat and repeated himself. “Why the bear?”

The somber disposition that had coated your face since he first walked in faded slightly as you looked up from your lap and toward him, a half smile coming to your lips as your attention shifted from him to the bear and back to him. “It’s December, it was all they had in the gift shop.”

“It’s cute, he’ll like it.”

“Yeah, I think so,” you hummed, shrugging your shoulders as he leaned back to turn more towards you.

With the silence broken now, it felt much easier to keep going as if nothing had changed in the past five months. “How was the fight, you know... before he ended up in the ER?”

“He would’ve won, but you know how he gets cocky, drops his guard…”

“He shows off for you,” Santi mumbled with another shrug and you slowly nodded along with him. He almost took it back, he had never been jealous or weird about your friendship with Benny, he knew better than anyone that it was nothing more than friendship. And you always knew what he meant… “I mean--”

“I know what you mean.”

You always knew what he meant.

After that, conversation flowed much easier. It was friendly, civil, and easy, catching up about work and mutual friends, day to day excitement, your mutual love for the local sports teams. Leaning forward on your elbows, cutting the distance of stale air of the empty seat between the two of you with an attentive stare, you followed carefully as he told the story of the night when Benny drunkenly broke Frankie’s wrist in two-touch football, long before Benny had ever met you, which resulted in a similarly long night in the ER.

It was just easy. As the conversation grew more and more effortless, he grew looser and looser, letting himself laugh, letting himself bask in the warmth of your full attention. It was a high he had nearly forgotten all about, going straight to his head and accelerating the beating of his heart.

He missed you.

Eventually Will returned, filling the seat between the two of you, but the conversation didn’t go cold, it just evolved. Naturally. Effortlessly.

Santi couldn’t remember the last time anything had been this easy.

And after another hour or so of waiting, the three of you were called by a nurse and pointed in the direction of Benny’s room where he laid, bruised, bandaged, and out of his mind of whatever pain medication they had pumped him full of.

He liked the bear. He really liked the bear. And even if every laugh that bounced around his chest and out through his busted lips hurt like hell, it didn’t stop him from letting them flow freely enough to erase all the tension that had held in the three of you out in the waiting room.

He was still Benny, and he was going to be fine.

Knowing that made it a lot easier to say goodbye once the exhausted nurse pushed back the curtain to remind the four of you about family only visiting hours. It was nearly 3 in the morning and the four of you were not exactly a quiet bunch, so none of you blamed her, you just walked to Benny’s side, pressed a kiss to his forehead and bid him good night as Santi gave Will a solid hug.

“Get home safe,” Will minded.

And both you and Santi responded in unison, “Will do.”

It was too easy.

So, of course, it could never last.

It had snowed since Santi had arrived earlier, leaving the scarcely lit parking lot covered in a disgusting icy grey sludge, and as the two of you stepped out into the cold, he instinctively handed his gloves to you as he watched you shiver and stuff your hands into your coat pockets. You were dressed for the hot gym having come from the fight, your coat was warm but giving you his gloves was just what he did, what he always did.

He didn’t even realize he was in the wrong until you turned and stared at them.

“Sorry, habit…” He sighed, taking them back and slipping them on himself while you stifled a quiet chuckle blooming out of your chest.

“It’s okay…”

The two of you couldn’t keep doing this.

Crossing the parking lot in silence was simple, it was just the two of you, no prying eyes, no facades, but it wasn’t always going to be like this. You were going to be at every one of Benny’s fights, you would be on any guest list for any party being thrown, there wasn’t a way he could keep avoiding you, it just wasn’t possible. The two of you were going to have to find some alternative to whatever the two of you were, some version of your relationship where you could be… friends.

That’s what you had said when you left his house for the last time, that the two of you could still be friends. He had thought it was just a nice gesture, something you felt you had to say. In all the mutual break ups he had ever been in, someone always said that to lighten the blow, just like you had, but now it seemed like a real necessity.

The two of you were going to be in each other’s lives, you had to be some kind of friends.

Again, out of habit, he found himself following you to your car, but the words falling from his lips were in no way practiced, tripping and stumbling out of his chest. “Do you think…”

Your boots stopped in the dirty, icy slush, turning to the sound of his rough voice cutting through the freezing air, waiting for him to finish. But as the next chilling wind blew past the two of you, making you shiver, he still hadn’t found the rest of his words so you took a step towards him and prompted him back. “Do I think what?”

He shrugged his shoulders tensely, “do you think… I don’t know, do you think maybe we could get coffee sometime next week? We’re going to keep running into each other, we should try to stay friends…”

Your smile was soft, warming the air around the two of you even as you shivered and wiped your hand under your freezing nose.

“Yeah… Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

His chest swelled with a feeling he hadn’t felt in far too long.

Another gust of wind tore past the two of you and you shivered once more, turning back to your car for a quick glance and then back to him, “Yeah, just text me and we’ll figure out a time.”

“Sounds good,” he hid his smile as best he could, taking a step backwards in the direction of his car across the lot. “Drive safe.”

“You too, Santi.”

Coffee was good. Coffee would be good.

He repeated that to himself a few dozen times as he clambered into his truck, his eyes trained on your tail lights as you pulled from the lot and back out onto the street. Coffee would be good.

Maybe if he repeated it enough times, he’d actually believe it. Maybe if he repeated it enough times, it’d actually be true.

I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower

It was a mistake. He should have just burned the stupid sweater.

Watching your face light up as you took the soft, perfect fabric into your hands tore his heart in two. Not right away, at first it actually sparked a raging fire in his chest, bringing an unfamiliar warmth to his cheeks. But that could only last for so long once he remembered that you weren’t his.

He was just a friend returning a sweater over a cup of coffee. A friendly cup of coffee.

You weren’t going to surge over the table and kiss him, he hadn’t bought your coffee even though he knew your order by heart, you weren’t going to go home with him once your mugs were emptied… you two were just friends.

He was just a friend returning a sweater. That was it.

“You know, I was looking for this the other day, couldn’t fathom where it ended up…” you sighed, hanging it with your coat over the back of your chair before returning to meet his stare with the same warm smile painting your lips. “Thank you, Santi.”

“Yeah, no problem… I found it in the laundry room, I was looking for a blanket.”

“It’s been freezing lately, I know…”

You easily carried the conversation away from any awkwardness pretty easily from there. It was strange to settle into, a relationship with you that was purely platonic, but after the first twenty minutes, the two of you actually seemed to be finding your footing even on the iciest slopes.

The two of you each bought your own coffees, and when you later decided you wanted a muffin as well, he didn’t step up and offer to get it for you, he didn’t even remind you that this shop had the cream cheese you liked in case you wanted a bagel instead. When you began talking about a particularly sensitive topic, he didn’t reach over the table to hold your hand, and when he tried to update you on Tom’s kids, you didn’t reach across the table for his hand either. When he kicked you under the table accidentally, he apologized, and when the waitress bringing your muffin very clearly flirted with him, you didn’t say anything and neither did he.

It was… platonic. Plain and simple.

Except he didn’t watch his friends this closely.

He didn’t notice when Frankie bit his lip and sip at his coffee to avoid overzealously laughing at one of his jokes, nor did his ears gravitate to the sounds of rhythmic tapping of Will’s fingernails against the table top.

There were rules to friendships. One of them being that you weren’t supposed to watch the lips of your friends while they talked, or the way their tongue darted out over the drips of coffee which stained your bottom lips after a sip.

He wanted to be your friend… he was just too in love with you still.

Your phone buzzing on the table was the final nail in the coffin because it never hurt when other friends said they had to go. Sure, he’d give a friend a hard time for quitting a party early or leaving the rest of the group, and sure, he’d miss their company, but it never hurt like this when they left. It never broke his heart the way it did when you shifted your full attention to the reminder buzzing on your screen.

“I’m really glad we did this…” you spoke almost absentmindedly as you began pulling your coat back on, him doing the same, pushing his chair back up to the table with his knee as his hand fixed his collar. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

“Yeah, I’m glad we did this too…” he sighed, his gloves weighing so heavily in his hands as he followed you out the door back into the cool winter air, not nearly as freezing as it was that night outside the hospital, especially with the bright sun shining down, not a cloud in the sky.

“I’m parked over here…”

He followed your finger and nodded, stuffing his gloves into his coat pocket, “I’m right in front of the pet store so…”

The two of you stayed shoulder to shoulder, walking along the sparsely populated sidewalk until you turned back into the neighboring lot, heading to where your cars were parked just a few spaces from one another. And yet again, without even thinking about it, he followed you to yours on instinct.

He didn’t know how to say goodbye to you, not in a way that was acceptable among friends.

This was where he would kiss you, wrap you in a tight hug and wish you the best for the rest of the day of work that you had ahead of you. That wasn’t an option here. Neither was clasping your hand in a tight handshake or hitting you on the back like he did with the guys, it just wouldn’t feel right, not with you.

He didn’t know how to not be in love with you.

“I’m going to hug you, is that okay?” You asked hesitantly as the two of you reached your driver’s side door, turning back to him.

He couldn’t help but laugh. Clearly he wasn’t the only one still trying to work his way through this blatant awkwardness. “Yes… yeah, that’s okay.”

Your arms quickly moved to wrap tight around his neck and his settled so easily around your waist and up your back, holding you tight against him. You were slotted perfectly against him, fitting in along every ridge of his body like a pair of puzzle pieces, warm and perfect. His hands immediately moved to hold you in even tighter too, purely out of genuine habit, one hand around your waist and the other up your back, almost reaching the bare skin of his calloused fingertips up to the warmth of your neck.

It was supposed to be a friendly coffee, now he was sure that if he turned his head, he’d catch your lips with his, incapable of pulling away.

There was another fire lit in his chest, one he knew he had to extinguish.

In the same instant that he pulled his hand down and almost off of your form, leaving them hesitantly at your waist, you did the same, pulling them slowly down from around his neck, lingering on his chest for a few seconds too long.

He was hopeful. Your face was as somber as he felt, and hope was a heartbreaking thing.

“Bye, Santi…” You pulled your hands the rest of the way back from him and maneuvered yourself out of his longing grip to step back towards your care as he got an equally weak goodbye out as well.

“Bye…”

Hope was a heartbreaking thing.

Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her

The holidays had always been hard for Santiago.

The first December he spent in the service was the same December that his parents died, making not just that Christmas unbearable, but every subsequent Christmas as well. He spent his holiday season out of the country, away from his friends, away from his brothers, it was the only way he could survive until he met you.

And this was going to be his first without you.

Frankie had been kind enough to offer Santi a seat at his table for Christmas Eve, and had even gone as far as to invite him over for opening presents the next morning at the crack of dawn with his little girl while Will and Benny were heading to their family’s for the whole ordeal. As much as Santi knew he was more of a grinch than he was a jolly old man, he knew that spending alone in his freezing house was going to be hell.

He graciously accepted.

Yet, now he was here, watching Frankie bounce his little girl on his knee as she giggled, the colorful stuffed cat that Santi had bought for her gripped tight in her fat little fist, he was beginning to think that there was no good way to celebrate.

At home alone, here in the warmth of Frankie’s family, they were both bad for his heart.

“I was talking to Benny the other day,” the sound of the fridge opening and shutting shook him out of his thoughts where he leaned over the kitchen counter, mindlessly spinning his empty beer bottle around in his hand. Frankie was grabbing another for himself, scratching at the stiff collar of his nice sweater, and watching his best friend with genuine concern. “He says she hasn’t moved on yet either…”

“I wasn’t--” Santi quickly launched to his own defense but Fish just rolled his eyes and continued uncapping the bottle.

“He says he’s tried setting her up and she’s not interested.”

Santi scoffed into his bottle at that, trying for another sip and finding it as empty as it had been ten minutes ago when he used it as an excuse to step away from the festivities.

“I’m serious--” Fish defended but again, Pope scoffed, releasing the hot air deep from within his chest.

“Don’t do that, don’t give me hope like that.”

“It’s not fake--”

Frankie kept up his dismantling stare even as Santi tried to step past him, finally hiding behind the refrigerator door in pretend contemplation to avoid the daggers being sent his way. “We weren’t some casual fling Fish, we were serious, she’s just taking time.”

The refrigerator door ruse only lasted so long though, eventually he had to reach for one of the last beers and pull back out of the cool air to find Frankie’s awaiting stare. It wasn’t just concern laced in his stern brow, it was a flurry of emotions all jumbled together, as unsettled as his stomach felt even as he downed a soothing sip of beer.

“I’m just saying… there’s no sense in getting my hopes up like that.” He sighed again, his fingers nervously twitching at the label on the bottle again.

“I’m sorry,” Fish shook his head, leaning back against the counter as Santi took a similar stance at the island across from him, still tearing at the corner of the label. “I just… I just don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Yeah, well… it’s complicated.”

“You still have feelings for her?” Another scoff echoed out of his chest and Frankie immediately shot his hands up in surrender, “Alright, I get it.”

“It’s just… I bought a ring back in February, you know, it’s just… it’s complicated.”

Complicated was putting it gently.

He never stopped being in love with you, he never stopped even for a second to consider that he wouldn’t be spending the rest of his life with you, even when your fighting was at its worst. He couldn’t think ahead, he couldn’t go on dates, he couldn’t move on, it just wasn’t an option. Maybe you were stuck in the same loop he was, but that didn’t mean anything for him.

You weren’t ready to move on, that didn’t mean that you wanted him back. Getting his hopes up like that, entertaining any of the thoughts that flooded his head when you lingered on your hug after coffee, it was just cruel.

He hated the holidays. He missed you.

Last year the two of you had spent three days away from the world, locked away in a cabin up in the mountains, with nothing but each other and a warm fire, and the first night there was maybe his favorite night of his entire life. The pain from having been sat in a car for so long, even with you driving for most of the way to let him get comfortable in the passenger seat, was still debilitating, and as the vibrant sun began setting over the snowy horizon, he started smoking one of the joints he had somewhat illegally smuggled in his toiletry bag.

After the first few puffs of smoke, you joined him on the windowsill, bracing the brisk air that poured while he blew his smoke out. Your arrival had been silently sudden, your fluffy socks padding your feet and dampening the sound of your steps until you sat down across from him. Even as you sat, you kept quiet, never once taking your eyes off the dense book in your lap as you mindlessly bit at your nail.

There was nothing complicated about it, no words, no fighting, just silence and each other.

The holidays were good when they meant just you and him, snow and simplicity.

He got you to pull your stare from your book when he stamped out the embers that burned at the filter and leaned forward, seizing your lips. And as his hand found your chin, holding you in for a second, deeper kiss, you forgot the book all together, surging to your knees to hold him in a position that was better for his back.

“I’m going to make dinner… want to help?”

You nodded, your nose hitting up against his a few times over.

“I love you,” he sighed, stealing another kiss from you lips, “so damn much.”

“I love you.”

It had been a year. A year that left him in a very different place.

And it’s been a long December

Getting out of the house had gotten easier. He knew you were going to be there tonight, not just because his elite technical mind anticipated it but also because Benny, Will and Frankie had gone out of their way to remind him. And he needed to get used to being your friend, he couldn’t hide.

It was hard, hell, it was virtually impossible, but he was trying.

It was New Year’s Eve and he was trying.

The laughter was actually flowing from his chest when he forgot about the hole in his heart for long enough to immerse himself in the party atmosphere. The alcohol was helping, but it also hadn’t been lost on him that you were nowhere to be found yet.

The card game happening at the table covered in snacks and drinks was growing more and more heated, but minute after minute passed, and you still hadn’t arrived yet. The hum of the new year’s broadcast played in the background but music played louder over it and he still couldn’t get you out of his thoughts. You weren’t his to worry about anymore, but he just couldn’t help himself, besides, friends worried about each other, right?

“Hey Benny?” He hummed as Benny rounded the table behind him to go grab more drinks, catching his attention and pulling him back before he could move too far away. “Where--”

The front door flung open, slamming against the neighboring wall with a clang that grabbed the attention of the table, Benny and Santiago included. Except, as violent as it was, the tension quickly dissipated as you reached for the door and shouted, “sorry!” loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You need something?” Benny leaned back down to double check with him, slapping his hand down hard on his chest, but Santi just shook his head, too engrossed in the sight of you at the door, stripping off your coat and shaking the snow from your head and shoulders. “Alright, good talk buddy.”

You were wearing that sweater. That perfect sweater.

Benny grabbed you before you could make it to the table where everyone had quickly resumed the heated battle over cards, spinning you in his arms before he forced you towards the table so he could continue on towards the kitchen.

“Hey, everybody,” you smiled, waving to the table as you approached but providing a separate greeting all together to Santi as you turned towards where he sat and smiled, “hey.”

“Hey.” He smiled back, lingering on your brightness even as you turned your attention back to the table searching for a seat to join the party.

And join the party you did.

You looked so… happy. Laughing with the surrounding friends, drinking what Benny brought to you, cheering when the crowd in Times Square did on TV following the musical acts. It was fun, he didn’t exactly jump head first with you into the dancing and the partying, but he was having a good time watching you have a good time.

It was somewhat masochistic, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He wanted to be happy, like you. He wanted to be happy with you, but that wasn’t an option, so he had to settle for just being happy.

He drank, he danced a little, not much, but a little, and he even cheered with the group when the drinking game ended and the loser attempted to drink their way out of it. He was trying, honestly trying, and then he saw you again, laughing with Benny as he told another one of his terribly loud jokes and filled your cup with more champagne.

Happy just wasn’t working.

The small crowd in the living room was getting louder and louder and he knew it was because the clock was ticking closer to midnight, but the sounds were echoing in his ears, bouncing around in his head and driving him nearly insane with each second that passed. Louder and louder, louder and louder. The drink in his hand was doing nothing to calm his nerves, he needed something more, he needed fresh air and he needed it now.

Fuck. He just wanted to be happy.

And there’s reason to believe

It was freezing outside, a thin layer of snow coating the entire back patio and dead lawn, the only warmth in his vicinity coming from the burning embers of the joint between his fingers as he sucked in a deep breath. It was freezing outside, but at least, it was better than inside.

“How many of those do you smoke nowadays…” you interrupted his thoughts, stepping out into the blistering cold with nothing but your beautiful sweater wrapped around your torso.

Another deep breath in and out and he stamped out the butt of it on the concrete beside where he sat. “No more than before.”

“Can I sit with you?”

“Let me grab you a coat--”

“I’m fine, Santi…” you hummed, settling down next to him, the length of your thigh pressed to his, your shoulder pressed to his, bringing all the warmth from inside back to him. He could almost forget about the snow and the cold, you were like a radiator all on your own.

And that sweater… that perfect sweater.

The two of you sat there in silence for a few minutes, neither one of you making a move, nor a sound, just listening to the whispering wind that whipped around the two of you and watching the slowly falling snowflakes melt on the ground before you. Comfortable and quiet.

“Do you regret it?”

His head fell to the side, but your stare stayed straight ahead as the words fell from your lips.

“Do I regret what?” He asked back, coughing out some to the side opposite of where you were sitting before looking back at you. Not demanding an answer with his stare, but not turning away anytime soon either.

“Breaking up.”

Your stare found his this time, mere inches from his face but neither of you blinking away from it. How could he, the alcohol and weed were nothing compared to the rush that your attention gave him, especially as it ignited the fire of hope deep in his gut. Hope was heartbreaking, but in this moment, he couldn't hold himself back from the path ahead of him, the path you were begging him to go down.

“Breaking up…” He blew out a warm breath as he shook his head, “I don’t know… I know I hated fighting with you, all the pettiness and stupid arguments, it wasn’t how I wanted to be with you, I hated that. But we tried everything we could, breaking up was a last resort, so in that sense, no, I don’t regret it.”

“Is there a sense you do?”

“Hmm?” He turned back to you as you seemed to scoot infinitesimally closer to him, siphoning off some of his warmth.

“You said ‘in that sense’ you don’t, meaning there's a sense where you do…”

He glanced down to your lips then back up to your careful stare. “I still love you, I’m always going to love you, if that’s what you’re asking, but I think you already know that.”

“Yeah…”

He hit his knee against yours, letting out a huff of a breath, currently using all the heart his chest wanted to put behind a chuckle to open up to you. “So, I regret it in that sense.”

But you didn’t just sigh and keep the silence. Nor did you get up and run away. You just collapsed your head down onto his shoulder and let the next easy words fall from his lips.

“Me too.”

The silence was back now, neither of you willing to do anything to break it as his arm wrapped carefully around your back to keep in more warmth than your perfect sweater ever could.

The party continued on inside, booming and echoing like the sparklers and fireworks from all the houses on the block, but the two of you just stayed quiet, breath after breath, the cold air burning deep in your lungs. And then came the count.

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. The chorus of their voices chimed out inside, loud enough to burst through even the shut door and ring in your ears as you held your head still against his shoulder. Six. Five. Four.

“Do you want to head back inside--”

Three. Two. One.

You pulled your head up off his shoulder and wrapped your freezing bare hand around the warm skin under his collar, at the back of his neck, turning not just his attention, but his lips back towards you. He caught your lips in a soft, chaste kiss, hesitant even as you held tight to his neck, keeping him close.

“What are we doing?” He hummed, nudging his nose against yours before moving his warm forehead to your freezing one.

“I thought we’d figure that out later…”

His lips recaptured yours, and as your hand moved up his neck, into his hair, his hands moved around your waist, one dropping down to maneuver your knees over his. The wind was freezing, the new year was seconds old, but your lips were just as he remembered them, warm and perfect, much like the sweater he gripped so tight, balling it up in his fist and exposing your skin and making you shiver against him. His other hand continued to trail up and down your thigh before ultimately settling in the bend of your knee and keeping you close as your lips grew fervent against his.

“We’ll talk later…?” He asked, out of breath as your lips fell onto the side of his mouth.

“Yeah.” Your smile was soft as you nodded, knocking your forehead against his again. “Later.”

Maybe hope wasn’t heartbreaking.

Maybe this year will be better than the last

#santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac #tw: weed #its NOT a holiday fic but it is #ya know #a long december

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aquaticstyles · 4 years ago

Text

the five senses

hello everyone! while a separate 13k fic is in the works, as promised, here is a lil 2k piece i miraculously came up with at midnight. as always, feedback is happily welcomed!!! happy reading lovies x

it's been five months since it ended.

you should hate him. you should utterly and fascinatingly despise him. you should hate the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, and the way the sounded. you should forget him—rip every page, crumple him up, and strike a match.

key word: should.

but you don't hate him. you couldn't if you tried. you are utterly and fascinatingly still wrapped around his perfect, ring-encircled fingers. you love the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled, the way he sounded. you can't forget him, no matter how much you want to. his ink is still scattered in the novels of your memories, proving to be permanent and stubborn as you try desperately to put fire to its pools.

you are still utterly and fascinatingly not over him.

and you suppose that is why your mind has chosen to drift off to candy land, marshmallow puff trees and gooey caramel lakes, visions of him swimming around, around, and around.

and you also suppose that you shouldn't be thinking of him while another man touches your skin.

key word: shouldn't.

but you can't help it. not when you're reminded of just how differently harry captured your senses and locked them away in the thumping of his chest, throwing away the key.

sight

you can still see him.

his dimples popping, inviting you to curl up inside one of them for just a moment, bunny teeth displayed in an ear to ear grin when he sees you, his lover, his everything, finally in 3D again, because boy oh boy pixelated facetime does not do you justice.

those two endless forests of green paired with wispy eyelashes, billboards for his every emotion, reeling you in and casting you back over and over and over again.

that body of his that makes you positively drool—fresh out of the shower, a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, those ferns that if you had it your way, would never be covered, tempting your eyes to what's below, other markings of ink scattered across a toned bicep, chest, thigh, an endless coloring book for you and only you to paint with your lips, diamond water droplets clinging onto tanned, sun-kissed skin, mimicking your fingers as they slide down the tight muscles, ridges and valleys, of his back, the velvet, rose scrunchie of yours that he has claimed as his own cozying up around those stubborn, chestnut curls atop his head, the ones that cause eyes to roll and skin to furrow between his brows because "they're always in my fuckin' way."

the way he looks when he's napping in the summer heat after taking a refreshing dip in the pool—cheek smushed against a lawn chair, causing his bubble-gum pink lips to pucker unintentionally, begging for a slow, lazy, warm kiss, a van gogh masterpiece of bright blues, oranges, yellows, reds, whites, greens, browns, swirling together in his canvas, those green forests peacefully hidden as his pure, innocent relaxation melts into a scene of serenity before you (you're guilty of laying directly on top of him one too many times, pressing your cheek against the warm expanse of his back and sneaking in a cat nap as well).

how he looks when he enters a room, especially those rooms with a stage and thousands of fans bubbling over with excitement, confidence and swagger exuding from his pores as the spotlights hit him in all the right places, bouncing off the numerous gems and glitter of that night's glamorous get-up. then later the way he looks as his face twists in pleasure during a post-show-adrenaline-rush-dressing-room-quickie.

his reflection in the mirror of your vanity as you do your makeup, broad shoulders leant up against the doorframe, watching you as you carefully add sparkles here and powder there, the glint of curiosity and pure infatuation in his eye, his fingers toying with the smirk on his lips when you meticulously swipe on your favorite his favorite red lipstick, knowing good and well that once he's finished with you there won't be a single trace of crimson left on your lips.

you can see all of him, from the tufts of hair you love to tug and pull and sink your hands into, to the perfect slope of his nose, the sharp pinch of his jawline, his cute ears you poke fun at much to his annoyance, his tongue darting out to wet his perfect, perfect lips, his neck that always seems readily accessible to leave bites and red stains along, the ship stamped on his bicep, his abdomen that isn't too tight or too soft under your touch, just right, the happy trails leading to that one part of him that leaves you aching for days, his thighs, all the way down to his toe permanently labeled "Big."

touch

you can still feel him.

the tips of his calloused fingers tracing down your spine, a valley of goosebumps following in their tracks, a sea of comfort washing over you. fingers intertwined between yours, squeezing your palm, fresh autumn air and central park and new coats and steaming, black coffee. fingers fanned out across your thigh, splashes of pastel purple polish on cuticles and knuckles (he was shaking too much from laughing at something on twitter like an avocado in a top hat or a dog in gucci loafers). fingers following directions on a well-traveled map, tracing over the outline of your chapped lips, up to the apples of your rosy cheeks, to your temples, and entangling into long locks of tangled hair, braiding, massaging and scratching when you've had a tough day, exhausted, hypnotized, harry.

lips against your ear, hushed whispers meant for only you in the midst of a thundering crowd (one too many neat tequilas and risky texts), cold rings sneaking underneath your shirt and spanning out against a piping hot back, the vibrations from the bass thumping beneath you joined by the organ in your chest, sweaty palms and shaky knees as rivers of suggestions flood from his earth to yours, promises that will be proven true later in seductive, blue moonlight.

his sudsy chest cuddled snugly behind your back, sinking beneath bubbles of lavender and rose because he couldn't just pick one scent, your missing puzzle piece, pruny fingers tracing shapes onto your knee beneath the water, vibrations from his giggles when you mistakenly guessed the shape as a dinosaur (it was a banana), warm puffs of breath against your neck, sopping scrunchies stacked on the ledge next to a half empty bottle of red, lips painting across your shoulder down your arm to your fingertips coating you in bright yellow, affection, admiration, addiction.

the prickles of the new addition to his face scratching up against you in the most agonizingly amazing way as his face buries between your thighs, the magic of that mouth of his, pixie dust, an arched back, an eager tongue accompanied by glistening, cherry lips, pleadings of "never shave again."

him buried inside you in the early hours of the morning, legs anchored around his waist, miles and miles of his soft, tanned skin washing against your own, nails digging into the toned ridges of his back, chestnut locks falling onto a sweaty forehead, scorching lips dancing over every inch of you over and over until he reaches that one spot, moans and exhales and crumpled sheets, your temple resting on a swallow, fingertips tracing a lone butterfly, clutching onto the cold metal of a cross, lazy smiles, bed head, halfway closed eyelids, a tranced daze basking in fresh, crisp sunlight.

taste

you can still taste him.

the bitter taste of whiskey coating his tongue as it encircles your own in the back of a taxi, wrinkled suit jackets and bunched up satin, fingers toying with buttons and zippers, giggles when his nose bumps against yours carelessly, a clouded drunken haze of city lights and sparkling sequins.

minty toothpaste covered lips smushing against yours because he just "couldn't wait," spearmint, foamy smiles wiped away on plush towels.

juice from a ripe watermelon dribbling down his chin and leaving a sugary path along his exposed neck and chest, glistening in the afternoon, summer heat, lapped up teasingly by your tongue, causing widened eyes and a harsh gulp, the reflection of heart shaped sunglasses rippling in a crystal clear pool.

a warm cup of coffee sitting on your bedside table, placed there by your lover before he leaves for a run, waiting for you in the early morning glow of your bedroom, the scent from a fresh pot still lingering in the air, the steaming liquid slowly cascading down your throat during his absence.

coconut chapstick coating his lips, stolen from your side of the vanity, even though he has countless of tubes himself he claims using yours "is more moisturizing" when in reality he just likes keeping a part of you with him at all times.

saltwater droplets clinging onto his skin, coating your lips as you leave trails of kisses along his chest and sunburnt cheeks, awaking him from his nap in the shade, waves crashing behind you, seagulls chirping and trying to steal crisps, low grumblings of "what's this fo?" accompanied by a dimple and a smirk ("just cause").

smell

you can still smell him.

the candle burning in his dressing room on tour, the one you bought him that you immediately recognize when you visit him for the first time since he left, a warm batch of butterflies brewing in your tummy when you notice the almost completely burnt through wick, apples and cinnamon.

his detergent, leaving your clothes coated in a fresh linen scent because "no way yeh leaving mine with laundry to do, love" a pair of his boxers that he knows you love to wear folded neatly on top of the rest of your belongings and sent off with a pillowy peck to your lips and promises of "see you tomorrow."

his body wash and hair product duplicates in your shower, dancing with daisies in the steam surrounding him, persisting in the small, tiled space for most of the week, even in his vacancy. sometimes you'll accidentally on purpose grab his bottle of shampoo with your eyes closed, using more than intended (harry goes through shampoo much quicker now).

the diffuser in his bedroom, spewing out vapors of a eucalyptus blend he ordered online after extensive research ("it helps with clear breathin' and relaxation"), another scent that can only be described as pure harry, later encompassing your abode as well due to your incessant claims of how much you love it (one night you came home from work to a perfectly wrapped package on the foot of your bed, a diffuser and the same eucalyptus blend hidden inside).

his cologne perched on your dresser, tom ford, tobacco vanille, harry in a bottle, sneakily spritzed on your sweatshirt when he's not looking (he notices every time), lingering on your pillow case, his purple robe hanging next to yours, and your hand towels, tokens of him dolloped throughout your apartment, a tornado of familiarity swirling you into his galaxy. the same scent filling your nose as it buries into his neck, arms wrapped around him in an ages-long bear hug, his cheek resting against the top of your head, the soft fibers of his sweater tickling your skin.

sound

you can still hear him.

the warm drip of his honey voice in the early hours of the morning, raspy and deep from his slumber, pooling in the pit of your stomach growing thick and heavy until releasing with moans and whispers lost in the rising sun.

that laugh of his that doesn't bubble up often, the one you cause more than anyone else, buckets of giggles that leaves behind tears, crinkled eyes, and hands over tummies.

his thick accent that repolishes itself after he's made a trip to london, mumbles of "bugger," "oi love," "rubbish," and your favorite, "absobloodylutely" leaving his cherry lips more often than he realizes.

his moans. your favorite kind is when you're riding him, locked in a sweaty, pulsating embrace—twisting here and turning there and doing the things you know drive him absolutely mad—those moans that erupt from deep inside him and uncharacteristically replace his typical, filthy language because you're doing him so good that he's left speechless in a heap of tangled limbs and panting breaths.

his voice as it echoes in the acoustics of the shower, the soft patter of the water serving as his own orchestra, notes belonging to rock anthems of the 70s or sometimes his own verses that have been freshly inked in his worn-in journal (occasionally you'll record him singing the new ones—unbeknownst to him—to listen to when he's away for too long).

the clinking of his rings together when he's in full-on discussion mode—using his hands as he elaborately details a story of his childhood or a conversation he had with jeff today or why he thinks salsa shouldn't go in the fridge or the reason behind this lyric and that chord progression.

his keys clanking against the ceramic dish by the door, the sweetest symphony to your ears because he's home.

and finally, the sound of those three words—smooth as butter rolling off his tongue effortlessly, a hurricane crashing and splashing against you, three strings lifting you off your feet and soaring into the clouds, green eyes and rosy cheeks pulling your heart strings, sweet sugar crystals floating from his lips to yours—"i love you."

physically, he's gone, probably off writing another album, undoubtedly doing much better than you are. maybe he's even moved on, cuddled up into another woman's side, whispering things in her ear, tangled up in her sheets.

but in every other way imaginable, he's still with you.

five senses, five million memories.

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pumpkin-stars · 4 years ago

Note

Fresh sheets at home after a long time away for the pedro boys

‘You’ are in some of these, but not all. There’s fourteen of them... blimey I’ve watched a lot of his stuff oops. Suggestive content is marked with a *

Masterlist

Din Djarin

He doesn’t really have sheets. The little mattress in the tiny bunk and an old blanket have served him well for years. But returning to the Crest with a bounty in hand always brings a little sigh of relief (often mistaken for frustration when his quarry inevitably tries to make a final getaway). It’s the promise of removing his helmet that’s most comforting. The kid conked out on the way home, so as soon as he gets into hyperspace, the bucket comes off. He rests his head on a pillow, gets to lie comfortably, relax for the first time since he stepped off the ship.

Javier Peña

He knows he should make his bed more often, but for the amount of time he spends in the shitty agency-provided apartment he doesn’t always see the point. Passing out half-drunk on the couch is far more common than making it to the bed. He’s gonna have to buy Connie a present for this, though. He and Steve have been on a steak out for three days and in that time the wonderful Mrs Murphy has used the spare key to tidy up a little, make his bed for him. It’s a helluva lot more comfortable than his lumpy couch, and, despite the frustration at almost being shot (again) and not getting the information they wanted (again), the soft sheets allow him to relax, he can forget - if just for the moment - the stresses of the job.

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales

His sheets hadn’t been clean when he left... Laundry day was Wednesday, after all. Three days, Santi had said... and it ended up being over a week. When he’d finally made it through the door, you were there, Maria burbling in your arms, and he’d almost broken down at the sight of you both - the two good things he had left... Santi texted me, you told him, get some rest. It was Monday. But there were clean sheets. You knew how to take care of him, exactly what he needed. The scent of cotton and patchouli (only recognisable ‘cause he’d read the detergent bottle one time) surrounded him as he buried his face in the pillow. It didn’t take long for you to join him, letting him be the little spoon as he told you about the latest shitty circumstances he’d ended up in, tears marring the clean pillow before he drifts off to sleep in your arms.

Pero Tovar*

He didn’t have a home for the longest time, part of him still debated it sometimes, but he found himself returning to the same little village year after year. To the same little house on the outskirts. To you. Home wasn’t a place to Pero, it was a person. Fresh sheets were the last thing on his mind as he dismounted his horse and strode to the doorway, hands already unbuckling his belt. You always seemed to know when he’d be home - and he hated to think he was so predictable, but he always said there was something mágica about you, his corazón, his alma. The bathtub was already full, your smile already directed to the doorway. The sheets weren’t clean today, there was no point - once he was finished they would be soiled with sweat and sweetness, a night of reunion and passion. His first job in the morning would be to help you take them, and his armour, to the river, and his second night home would be spent relaxing in the arms of his amor, freshly washed cotton beneath him.

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels*

Things go one of two ways when he comes home to you. The stress that comes with saving the world either exhausts him so much that he’s out for the count as soon as his head hits the pillow, or riles him up so much that he needs to expel the excess adrenaline. Having clean sheets under his back as you bounce above him is always a welcome experience, and that firm mattress does wonders for his other aching bones.

Ezra

Life on the green is not for the faint of heart, and the sight of his sleeping bag is always a welcome one after a long day hunched over his work. Today has not been one of his best, still getting used to operating with a single arm, more gems destroyed than properly harvested. Swapping the sleeping bags is a good idea, the clean(er) one has been airing in the corner of the tent for a week or so, and while nothing on the green is especially fresh, it’s the best he can do. It’s the most comfort a weary and worn prospector can get without any company to rub the knots from his back.

Max Phillips*

Romania was fun, those blood filled orgies were the clear highlight of his year, but there’s just something about coming home to his apartment in the city that makes that the best part of the trip. The warm body beside him, the thrum of blood pumping, and the soft rhythm of your heartbeat filling his head after a week of nothing but other cold bodied vamps... (you’d have been invited, for sure, but the chance of you becoming an appetiser was too great to risk). Unlike other years, he’d stuck to the sidelines of the orgy, content to watch and leer at the more enthusiastic participants. It’s just porn, babe. Not cheating. You’d, surprisingly, been okay with that, but it’s not like he’d have put up with you for so long if you hadn’t been equally vulgar. The red satin sheets surround you both, and he lies back, listening to the sounds of your body, heatbeat settling down as you come down from the high. As fun as the orgies are, the sheets are always kinda scratchy, and these ones are the softest he’s ever had. Company’s not bad either.

Marcus Pike

International Art Crimes was a great division to work in, and he enjoyed the work. He just hated when it took him away from you. Three weeks, he’d been in London. Three weeks counting the days until he could go back to DC. But he was home now, and you were cuddled up to his side on the couch, head on his shoulder. Cliche, but, he honestly felt like you fit there perfectly. Contentment- the overwhelming feeling of the evening. It wrapped around him like a blanket, relaxed him even more than the jet lag. He knew there were clean sheets on the bed, but you were both comfortable here. They’d still be clean tomorrow.

Oberyn Martell*

His sheets are never clean. He’d told the palace staff not to bother trying to keep them so. Within minutes of them being changed, at least one of his lovers would soil them. So, when he returns from a trip to the savage north, it’s no surprise that he enters his chambers to find both of them amidst the silk and the pillows. A fine welcome fit for a prince.

Dave York

His schedule gets a little messy when he’s on a job. He tries not to be gone too long, but sometimes things get fucked up and he’s delayed. When he comes home to clean sheets it’s a pleasant surprise - like a final disconnect between his life as a mercenary and his life as a father. His three showers between finishing a job and walking through the door are enough, but clean sheets really help him shut off the sounds of his targets’ dying by his hand.

Marcus Moreno

He’s not away from home very often anymore - he doesn’t go on missions, he doesn’t have to leave the city unless there’s a multi-agency conference somewhere else. But when he does come home, the last thing on his mind is clean sheets. Though it is nice to be enveloped in their warmth. He knows he’ll wake up extra toasty, Missy crawling under the covers to join him at some point in the night - she’s getting a little old for it now, but he doesn’t mind, she just wants the assurance that he’s okay.

Maxwell Lord

Max is used to taking care of himself, of working hard for anything and everything he has. So coming home after a disappointing visit to one of Blacc Gold’s oil wells... to find that you’ve cleaned the house, that Alastair is tucked up in bed, that you’ve made him dinner... To know that you’ve made his bed, given him fresh sheets to sink into... done something for him without expecting anything in return? There’s a lump in his throat. An even greater determination to give you both the life you deserve.

Zach Wellison

Sheets? A home? This guy’s just grateful to have somewhere warm and sheltered to sleep. He’s lucky, he’s so so lucky... and you? You’re wonderful. Amazing. Fantastic... He’s only been gone for a day, and he’d missed the warmth of you against him more than he’d missed anything else in his life. He can sleep anywhere, and while the lumpy motel bed wasn’t great, it wasn’t a park bench or a doorway during a storm. The sheets were still warm when he got home, you’d timed it perfectly - Zach was always on schedule, that military instinct still sharp as ever, and it made it easy to ensure the bedding was fresh from the dryer and put on the bed just minutes before he walked through the door. Dinner can wait, having a nap under warm covers with you in his arms is far more important.

Omar Assarian

The once cocky, almost-world-middleweight-champion had lost another match. It wasn’t surprising, really. His heart hadn’t been in it since that first incredibly public loss. But it’s not like he knew what else to do with his life! Coming home to the only person besides his Ma who could put up with his shit was good though. Distracting. It’s easy to forget the swirling thoughts at the sight of your smile. Fresh sheets had become part of his post-fight routine, last on the list, right behind getting food, being patched up, getting the residual adrenaline out of his system, and taking a shower (with you). He doesn’t need the sheets to be fresh, really... Not when he uses you as a pillow, strong arms wrapped tight around your torso, keeping himself grounded, distracted from the ever growing doubts that boxing is what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

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taetaespeaches · 5 years ago

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“You think I wouldn’t recognize the face of Downy?”

jungkook x reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 1.6K

a/n: Ok, lovelies! Here is the fic where guk meets his girlfriend in the long term couple fic. It’s the most unrealistic meeting out of all the couples and I don’t care at all how unrealistic it is. Our darling romantic Jungkook deserves a crazy romantic chance encounter. Anyways, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! :))

A sigh left your mouth as you chewed on your bottom lip, searching the shelves full of a variety of laundry detergents and fabric softeners. They had so many kinds, and yet, not a single bottle of the kind you liked.

Pausing from your search, you typed the brand into google, hoping to find a decent replacement. However, when you typed in Downy Infusions Fabric Softener, your phone screen displayed several articles all titled something similar to “BTS’ Jungkook Causes Fabric Softener Shortage”.

You couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of the situation, and just as you added “similar brands” into your google search, a man rounded the corner, drawing your eyes to him, and keeping them for a moment because, damn.

The man gave a polite nod, you returning it, though as he turned toward the laundry detergents, yours remained on him. You knew you should have looked away, but honestly, how could you?

He was dressed in a pair of black joggers that tapered in on his calves and ankles and seemed to hug his legs just enough to show you he was quite fit. His upper body was adorned in a baggy black hoodie and he wore a black mask on his face, though it was pulled down under his chin.

The man’s hair looked soft and bounced as he bent down to look at the lower shelves, where the Downy normally was at this particular shop. You noted the cute huff he released at there being no fabric softener of his choice, and an adorable pout found itself on his lips.

And as you looked at him, unable to pull your gaze from his handsome side-profile, you cocked your head in realization. Looking down at the phone, which displayed a meme photo of this said Jungkook with a bottle of Downy as if he was the face of the product, your lips curved upward in a smile. What are the chances?

“Are you looking for the Downy softener?” You spoke up with a small smile toying on your lips.

The man, slightly startled, looked up at you in surprise. “Huh?” His eyes scanned your face for a moment as he processed the question. “Oh, yeah, actually.”

“They’re all out,” you gestured to the shelf.

Jungkook looked at you in surprise again, his large eyes sparkling. “Really?” Jungkook asked, standing up straight as he looked from you to the shelves a few times quickly before his eyes settled on you. “Completely?”

You nodded, smirking. “Yeah, apparently some idol endorsed it on accident and now there’s a shortage.” You couldn’t hold back the breathy laugh that left your lips at the way his doe eyes widened.

“A what?” You noted that despite the look of utter shock and a tinge of guilt, his eyes glinted in amusement, his lips twitching upward just the slightest bit.

“Yeah, a shortage. The power of some idols, huh?” You smiled. “I’m looking for a replacement now,” you told him, pretending to peruse your options. Jungkook couldn’t hold back the smile at your words as he gave a small laugh, his eyes moving to the many containers of detergents and softeners.

You looked back to the man as his eyes darted from option to option. You could tell he felt nervous and was unsure of what to do next, and you found it quite endearing.

“So, you’re gonna help me find a replacement, right?” You asked with a bit of sass, obviously flirting with the man as he looked at you in wonder. “It’s the least you could do.”

“Huh?” He asked you, his eyes large and confused, giving him a very youthful and innocent look.

“What? You think I wouldn’t recognize the face of Downy?” You giggled, holding out your phone for him to see the article about his unintentional endorsement, accompanied by the meme photo. “That’s you, right?”

You had never seen someone look so pure before as he flushed with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” he quickly apologized, you immediately shaking your head with a kind smile.

“No, no, I was just kidding,” you laughed gently, immediately backtracking on your teasing. “No need for apologies.”

“Here, let me look up some brands real quick,” he continued his unnecessary plea for forgiveness as he leaned toward one of the softener bottles and speedily typed the brand name into his phone.

“I really was just joking, you don’t need to help me,” you insisted, though he seemed to ignore you as he continued his research. “Jungkook,” you said softly, the man quickly turning to you at the gentleness of your voice. “It’s ok,” you grinned, a small laugh slipping out between your lips.

Finally, a smile broke through his worried expression, though it was still small. “I still want to help you, if that’s ok?” He finished the comment as a question.

You nodded happily. “Yeah, if you want. I was actually thinking this one,” you grabbed one of the bottles off the shelf. “What do you think?”

He reached for the bottle, his fingers sweeping over yours accidentally, causing him to pull the softener from you quickly as your heart raced at the simple touch. Watching him as he read the label, you noticed how his head quickly tilted to the side. You couldn’t quite figure out why the gesture had you nearly cooing.

As he began to speak again, he stuttered his words a bit as he explained why he didn’t think the softener would be of your preference because, “I just don’t think it will soften your clothes as much”. Wow, he’s adorable. “But I think you’d like the smell,” he finished.

“What one would you recommend?” You asked him, locking your gaze on his own. “I trust you.”

He took a deep breath in, raising his eyebrows as he turned to the options. He pulled one jug off the self, handing it to you. As you inspected the label, he reached for another container.

“I’m thinking one of these two,” he told you.

“Have you used either before?” You questioned, peering at the bottle in his hands.

“No, but I’ve used that brand once,” he nodded to the one in your grasp.

You slowly nodded as your mouth formed into a small smile. “Ok, Jungkook. I’ll take your word on it.” He flashed you a stunning smile as he went to put the other bottle back. “Wait,” you said suddenly, Jungkook stalling his movements in surprise. “You have to get that one,” you nodded to the bottle that was still in his hands, watching as he pulled it back toward his chest slowly. “And then we’ll see which one is better.”

“Right,” he nodded, a large smile spreading across his face, his eyes crinkling in the corners adorably. “Ok, deal.”

“Deal,” you held your hand out for him to shake, Jungkook’s smile widening as he reached to take it in his larger one. His hand was soft and warm and you had a feeling you could get very used to the feeling. He was reluctant to release your hand when you told him, “unfortunately, I have more shopping to do.”

He continued to stare at you, as if he was in a daze. “Oh, right,” he nodded suddenly, giggling a bit. “I’ll let you get to it,” he bowed as he let go of your hand and took a few steps backward, preparing to leave.

Just as he was about to turn away from you, you spoke again, already smiling. “Jungkook,” you called to him amusedly, Jungkook spinning eagerly to face you, making you chuckle. “Maybe you should, uh, take my number. You know, so you can text me and let me know how that softener works. And then, you know, I can relay my findings to you.”

Jungkook pointed at you with a goofy smile planted on his pretty features. “Right,” he said enthusiastically. The playful demeanor he suddenly took on had you falling into laughter as you allowed yourself to wonder just how silly he could get. It intrigued you, and you wanted to find out.

“We’re kind of like research partners now,” you joked, Jungkook chuckling at the comment as unlocked his phone. Looking up at you with those beautiful expressive orbs, you told him your number. When you were done, he held his phone up to you to confirm he plugged it in correctly.

“Yup,” you chirped. “And if you wanted a name to go with that contact, I’m y/n,” you smirked.

He gave you a bashful grin as he quickly typed it in before saving the contact and pushing the phone back into his pocket. “I was gonna ask you your name, I promise,” he chuckled.

You nodded understandingly as you began to back away this time. “Just let me know how that softener works for you, Jungkook,” you smiled before turning around.

As you started walking away, you looked back to see him still standing there watching you, a flash of embarrassment taking over his features at being caught staring. You gave him a small wave, which he returned cutely, his face blushing as he directed his eyes back and forth between the sides of the aisle.

You giggled at the cute awkwardness he displayed, feeling absolute endeared by him. Before officially parting ways, you pointed an accusing finger at him. “Don’t go endorsing these ones,” you teased.

Jungkook brought a hand to his mouth as he let out an adorable boy-like cackle, his smile uninhibited. You were pretty sure it was your favorite smile already. “I would never,” he told you, still smiling widely. “Brand loyalty,” he let out a small giggle, you laughing at the comment.

You backed away still looking at him, Jungkook doing the same before he reached the end of the aisle. Looking to his left, he looked back at you, flashing you another stunning grin. “I’ll text you with my findings.” And with that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving you with a fluttering heart and an undeniable excitement to receive his text.

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hopeshoodie · 4 years ago

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I can’t believe it took me until part 8 to do my favorite boy but

Here are the pros and cons of dating

Noah

Cons

Noah is really non confrontational, so he tends to let issues fester. It’s not that he’s trying to let things build up, it’s just that he doesn’t think they’re important enough to bring up. He won’t start a fight about them when they’ve built up, but if MC is angry about something he’ll mention that there’s a bunch of things he’s let go but not have specifics. It ends up coming out like ‘yeah well what about all the other things?!’ ‘what other things!?’ ‘I don’t remember!!’. He’s not actively keeping track of all her mistakes, he genuinely does forgive and forget, but then when tensions come to a boil he needs to point out that there has been conflict that he just ignored. He’s not trying to guilt or gaslight MC, but sometimes it feels like it. If she thinks especially little of his intentions, it feels like he’s just pulling things out of thin air to be mad instead of focusing on the issue. That’s not what he’s doing- he just doesn’t address little things until they feel like big things. But of course he hasn’t done the introspection to truly understand how doing this is hurtful or articulate that he doesn’t mean it to be.

When he and MC disagree, he lets things go wayyy too easily. This is fine if MC is a really mature, self-reflective person who can see that she’s crossed a line after the fact. But if MC is a little more selfish/immature, like Lottie, this is a huge con because he doesn’t give her accountability that would help her grow. We saw this with Hope- she wasn’t able to recognize how harmful her temper was when she was dating Noah because he never pointed it out, he just rolled over. If there’s a genuine problem- financial, emotional, logistically, he’ll ‘let it go’ until it’s a way bigger problem (and much harder to solve).

Sorry that most of these cons are about how he fights with people, but that’s what we saw in-game lol. I’d love to know more about how Lucas or Rahim fight with their partners. But when you’re arguing, Noah tends to focus on really little details of what you said instead of listening to the whole thing and getting a sense of the bigger picture. So let’s say the issue is ‘Noah, I need you to tell me when you’re borrowing my car because you took it to the gym and then it went from having enough gas to get me to work in the morning to being on empty. This morning I had to stop for gas and that made me late.” The issue there is actually ‘please tell me when you’re using my car”, but he fixates on the gas part and says “well fine I can fill up your tank”. So he focuses on little details that he can fix instead of acknowledging the actual problem.

He internalizes things so fucking hard. Yes he intellectually knows that when MC gives him feedback on things she’s talking about his BEHAVIOR and not him as a person, but he definitely feels like shit about himself if he makes a mistake and MC calls him on it. He’ll definitely beat himself up about things for weeks after it happens, and his internal dialogue in general is pretty toxic.

I can see him being a bit of a workaholic. Not in the same sense that Camilo is in Boat Party, but Noah definitely will go into the library on a day he’s scheduled to be off if he has projects to work on or will stay late because he got engrossed in research. Same thing now that the library’s closed because of COVID- it takes him two times as long to put everyone online and work from home, so he’s spending more time working than ever. He views it through the lens of the ‘greater good’- getting that display set up for the patrons is more important that seeing his wife two hours earlier because many members of the community outnumber one person. Plus he just cares so much about his work that he has a hard time seeing it as an inconvenience to other people.

He loves his family so much. Even when MC and he get married and have kids, he struggles to prioritize them over his siblings and parents. So if his little brother Arlo needs money, Noah won’t hesitate to give him a loan even if he and MC are struggling financially. If his aging mom or dad can’t live alone anymore, Noah will invite them to move in with his family, even if their house isn’t big enough to accommodate more people. I can see this being a huge point of contention, especially in that second scenario where MC would have to take on a caretaker role as well. Noah just wants to help people so bad and has a hard time saying no, so that can sometimes impede his partner.

He’s really used to living on low income, and so he has a lot of frugal habits and concessions that he thinks are normal that someone more middle or upper class might find irritating. These are all coming from my experience and things partners have complained about- but think things like only eating out once a month or refusing to turn the heat on until it’s dangerous or making his own laundry detergent. He grew up doing them out of necessity (and still does, student debt on a public librarian’s budget? I couldn’t do it), so he doesn’t realize how strange or frustrating his habits might be to someone who isn’t used to it. He also has a really hard time justifying spending excessive amounts of money, so if MC has lavish taste there’s going to be some conflict.

He doesn’t like initiating anything. Conversations, activities… you know *smirk emoji*. He will, but the ratio of when Noah suggests something to when MC does is like 1:8

My boy is beautiful, and his clothes look lovely, but he has 7 outfits that he rewears all the time. The closest thing to fashion is him putting a different button up shirt underneath his vest. It’s definitely a joke at work that he wears the same sweater, button up, and quarter length shirt just in different colors. You know that vine where the teacher walks into the room wearing the same shirt in different colors, saying the same ‘hello’ for like a million days. Noah’s coworkers remake that with him, because that’s exactly what he does.

He’s a bit of a homebody, and loves routine. For me, massive plus, I love that. But for someone who wants to party regularly or be spontaneous, I can see constantly changing plans and going out with people being really draining to Noah. He has a small group of close friends, so he’d struggle to remember MC’s friends' names if she has more than five. Don’t get me wrong, Noah will take MC to galleries and dates at least three times a month, but it has to be discussed and scheduled in advance.

Pros

Honestly, what isn’t a pro about him? Noah is a steadfast, thoughtful, and kind person. His politics are about taking care of people, providing them dignity and respect, and building community. He loves his family and is incredibly patient. He’s incredibly smart but not at all classist or condescending about it. I know this is supposed to be about how the islanders affect the person they’re dating, but oh my god he’s such a good person I love him. Let’s just say the pro for this is his positive aura.

He’s really good at group dynamics and listening, so he goes out of his way to make everyone feel heard and valued. If someone says something and no one acknowledges it, he’ll specifically engage with them so they’re not left hanging. If someone’s trying to get a word in but can’t, he’ll get everyone’s attention then say ‘so and so had an idea’. He’s not one to boisterously laugh in group settings, but he always makes eye contact and smiles if you make a joke that flops or say something he agrees with. If people are teasing about something, he picks up if it’s gone too far really easily and will gracefully change the subject/tell them to knock it off.

He’s super conscientious about respecting boundaries and ensuring the people around him are taking care of himself. If MC and him are long distance and texting after 10pm, he’ll be like “I love you, but we’ve both got to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow”. He’ll always check and make sure people have eaten when meeting up with them, and if they haven’t he’ll insist they get food from somewhere. 100% gives you his jacket, brings you water bottles, in general just wants you to take care of yourself.

Above all else, Noah just always ensures the people around him feel safe. The last thing he’d want to do is make people uncomfortable, so safe driving, safe spaces, safe sex are all musts. He’s really good in crisis situations because he can calm people down and encourage them to think critically.

Building off of that, he’s really aware of how much of the housework is being done by who and always tries to ensure he’s doing his part. I bet that was a big thing he ripped on Rahim for- Rahim expects his woman to clean up after him and do the bulk of the domestic work, and Noah knows that’s bullshit. I think Noah likes cleaning, anyways, and will usually take laundry/disinfecting bathrooms/cleaning dishes over cooking or running errands. But the mental load of keeping track of recipes/groceries that need replenishing and keeping up with kids needs, he’s aware of the imbalance and does his part. Obvious plus, because it sounds fucking exhausting to date a man. He fucking hates vaccuming though, and will splurge on a roomba.

He has a dry sense of humor that’s very based in puns and hyperbole. Sometimes it’s hard to know when he’s joking or not, but he never makes you feel bad for missing a joke or dwells on something for too long. He absolutely subscribes to the Mcelroys’ No Bummers rule, there are some things you don’t joke about and he’s happy to shut down inappropriate comments or ‘jokes’. He definitely prefers physical gaffs and dumb ways of saying things, so his favorite comedians are John Mulaney and Chris Fleming. While humor isn’t an important part of how he relates to other people, Noah enjoys being around funny people and won’t shut down their energy like Rahim, Marisol, or Hope.

This is just me projecting again but Noah is generoussss. Even though he doesn’t make a lot of money at the library, he still has a ‘mutual aid’ budget each month (and goes over it often). He’s the first one to give money to panhandlers, donate to gofundmes, and give friends/family personal loans. That definitely gets him into sticky situations sometimes, because he has a hard time saying no and can get taken advantage of, but ultimately I think it’s a pro because he’ll never forget where he came from and always prioritize helping other people.

He has a really pretty, deep singing voice and this is a pro to me because fuck I meltttttt.

The shit he says to his partner or spouse? THE most romantic thing in the world. You think Mr. “you’re made of stardust” doesn’t shower his lover with the most meaningful lines at random times? You think he’s not quoting sappho and jane austen when he’s at a loss for words? You think he’s NOT going to turn over in bed on a lazy Saturday and say ‘this is the most perfect my life will ever be’? It’s not even prompted either, yes he’ll compliment Bobby or MC when they get all dressed up for date night, but more often he’ll profess his adoration in the middle of dinner, then take another forkful of food.

Fantastic with kids, and this is a huge pro because people who can work with kids and be patient/positive with them make me so fuckim soft. But if/when (hopefully when because if MC didn’t want kids I don’t think it’d last) they had kids, Noah is happy to be on bottle duty, wake up early to the baby, and generally be a really involved parent. He’ll take a big chunk of paternity leave, and generally be there as much as humanly possible. Even when they have multiple little tyrants running around, he always makes time to be alone with MC and make sure she’s not taking on too much.

He’s basically a lesbian, which is definitely a reason I love him so much. Hear me out- loves milfs, loves 80s music, communicates affection through meaningful glances and playing with hair but will die before explicitly saying any of it, crushes on his best friend for the longest time but never makes the first move, puts way too much emotional meaning and personal metaphors into objects and then presents them as gifts, is into fandoms and actively collects pop figures, is attracted to assertive/powerful women, wears beige skinny jeans, wears VESTS….. That’s a lesbian. He’s a bisexual man, but he’s also an honorary lesbian.

A really good confidant. Noah’s an amazing listener and never judges people harshly- his life philosophy is as long as you’re not hurting anymore or yourself, everything else is details. So you can definitely tell him secrets and confess regrets to him and he’ll listen with those soft eyes and gentle nods. Talking to him about mistakes always feels like unburdening yourself. And he’d never tell your secret to anyone. Doesn’t matter if you cheat on him, lie to him, or die, he’s never going to tell anyone your secrets.

#litg #litg noah #pros and cons

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seiin-translations · 4 years ago

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2.43 S1 Chapter 4.4 - Drifting Yunichika

4. APPROACH

None of these boys have brain cells

None of them

Previous || Index || Next

Until the fourth day of the camp, Kuroba was not incorporated into the combo plays Haijima was trying to perfect. Kuroba spent most of the time only practicing receives with Uchimura and Hokao, which only increased his frustration. His feelings of doubt and distrust were swelling now as he wondered if Haijima was seriously going to strip him of his role.

“I’ll be back on the night of the first. You free?”

At night, he noticed that he got a text message from Yorimichi. He was about to do his laundry at Tora no Yu’s coin laundry after taking a bath. He typed his reply with one hand while tossing his underwear, T-shirts, and towels into the washing machine with the other.

“Can’t do the first, but maybe after the night of the third.”

“I’ll come pick you up on the third if you want. Got my license.”

“You got a car? That’s amazing!”

“Still don’t have a car yet. Well I’m just riding around town. So, on the third.”

After he sent a single “OK” emoji, the conversation ended for now.

He did it. He made a promise. The Fall Tournament was from the first to third, so he made sure to leave them out, and the fourth was his day off, so he could sleep all day even if he stayed up late the night before…he made excuses for himself in his head, but he couldn’t shake the guilt.

“Oh crap, I forgot the detergent…”

Even though there was no one else there, he lifted his head and looked around restlessly as though to ask someone. Right then, Haijima passed the aluminum doors that were open wide.

“Ah…”

Without thinking, he immediately thrust his phone into the pocket of his shorts.

Haijima also noticed him right away. “It’s just you?” he said and briefly looked around. There were old washing machines and dryers lined up against the wall on both sides, and the aisle was barely wide enough for two people to squeeze past each other. The drum dryer, rumbling away, was making a lot of noise and leaking out stiflingly hot air. The fan with the swiveling head was working at high speed and trying to release the heat to the outdoors, but it couldn’t keep up at all, and the temperature inside the prefab was reaching quite an unbearable level. He had just been thinking of taking refuge in a chair outside until the laundry was done.

Don’t talk to me. ‘Cause you’re pissing me off. He tried to turn away and ignore him, but…he still didn’t have detergent.

“…Let me borrow some detergent. While we’re at it, give me all of it. We’ll do ours together.”

He thrust out his hand while glaring down at the washing machine tub, and a bag filled with laundry was hung from his hand without hesitation. A box of powder detergent was on top. Even though he was the one who suggested it, why did he end up doing Haijima’s laundry as well? He was extremely reluctant to do this, but he turned the bag upside down and dumped Haijima’s laundry on top of his own.

“It’s hot here.”

Haijima muttered, and quickly escaped outside while Kuroba was working. You really do take the service of others for granted, don’t you?

He inserted coins and started the washing machine, then pulled out a manga magazine off the magazine shelf and finally escaped outside. Even though he just came out of the bath, his back was already sweaty. Haijima bent down in front of the vending machine at the front of the laundromat and took out a bottle of water.

“I’ll treat you for the laundry money.”

He asked as he put in another hundred-yen coin into the machine.

“Ah, um, a Coke.”

He answered without thinking. “Don’t drink Coke…” Haijima complained and pushed the button. Don’t ask then. A diet Coke was carelessly thrown to him. “Don’t throw it, it’s carbonated.”

They each sat down on the stool placed on both sides of the aluminum door and twisted the caps of their bottles open. The chairs were on the small size, so they were low enough that the two’s legs were too long for it. Haijima had also just come out of the bath, and his hair was still wet. He was dressed lightly in a T-shirt and shorts, which doubled as his sleepwear, and his bare feet was in sneakers. But Kuroba, who was wearing sandals, was dressed a bit lighter than him. Not that he was competing with him.

Tora no Yu was an old public bathhouse located in the shopping district at the foot of the mountain where the school was, and the coin laundry was a prefab attached to it. The front street was the shopping street that led to Nanafu Station, but after nine p.m., the shutters of all the stores were already down and garbage bags and flattened cardboard boxes were piled in front of the stores.

He could hear the sound of the bugs bumping into the bare bulbs that lit the sidewalk. The sounds of the washing machines and dryers echoing off the walls of the prefab. The low sound of the vending machine’s motor. A sultry midsummer night without a breeze. Although it was somewhat more comfortable than being in the prefab where the heat accumulated, sweat frequently slid down the inside of his T-shirt.

“Our senpais started doing their laundry before they took their baths, so they collected it and went back first.”

“Oh, you can do that?”

“They could have just taught us that.”

He never did laundry at home, so such an efficient procedure never occurred to him. Thanks to that, he ended up being alone together with Haijima. Kuroba thought that the atmosphere was getting very tense, but it was unlikely that Haijima would be reading the room, so he wasn’t sure what sort of attitude he should take.

His eyes went to the right arm of Haijima, who was toying with his light blue cap. There four small crescent-shaped internal bleeding marks on his forearm. Ah…those are my fingernail marks from day before.

“…Your arm.”

When he said that sullenly with a side glance, Haijima’s eyes dropped to his arm and gave a weak reaction. “Oh.”

He was actually a guy who constantly had fresh wounds or bruises since middle school. It was odd how often he got into trouble at games. He dislocated his finger at prefecturals, and apparently Okuma almost injured him at a ballgame tournament practice. He wondered if his personality invited some sort of trouble.

Due to his wet hair, he noticed a long scar on his right temple, just behind the earpiece of his glasses. That scar…the one Yorimichi gave him…? It was from the winter of their second year of middle school. It still hadn’t disappeared…? That scar was faint, but it strangely stood out on his smooth and pale face. His eyes went to his arm scars again.

“Oh, I’m not apologizing. I’m not in the wrong…”

“You don’t have to apologize. Just practice hard.”

“I am practicing hard!”

He unintentionally raised his voice, then got sulky and plopped down his butt that had been half-rising from his chair.

“Y-You’re not going to use me at all, are you.”

Once he said it himself, he realized, Yeah, that’s right. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. He wondered if he was the only one who still wanted to play volleyball with Haijima. He wondered if it was just a one-sided feeling that he had for a year.

In the first place, he still hadn’t apologized to Haijima about what happened at the prefecturals. He thought they had buried the hatchet after Haijima joined the Seiin volleyball team, but he turned a blind eye to the fact that they hadn’t really resolved anything. Haijima doesn’t really seem like he cares—but it’s not like he wasn’t hurt by my betrayal back then.

——“I know what your judgement of me is. It’s enough.”

When he turned his back on Haijima, Haijima’s evaluation of Kuroba must have dropped by several levels. Maybe even to the bottom. He thought of him as the kind of guy who would run away from the next day’s game because he was embarrassed at the previous day’s game. He was still wary that he would cause trouble for the team by hanging out with Yorimichi. He didn’t even know how much of it was there to begin with, but his credibility in Haijima’s mind had sunken. He didn’t trust him, on or off the court.

Haijima turned his face towards him and was about to open his mouth. He was suddenly afraid of what he was going to say, so he interrupted him with a shrill-sounding “I-I…” before the bottle slipped out of his hands. The black carbonic acid spilled out, covering his sandal-clad bare feet.

“What are you doing?”

Haijima was amazed. “S-Sorry,” he said, lowering his head and reaching his hand to his feet. Once he submerged his face between his legs, he somehow couldn’t raise it anymore.

“…I…”

The words were stuck in his throat. With his head down so far between his legs that his bangs soaked in the puddle of carbonic acid spreading on the asphalt, he squeezed out a hoarse voice.

“…I’ll, make it up…so, don’t make up your mind about me just yet…’cause, I wanna be your ace…”

With a bubbling sound, the black carbonic acid continued to spill out of the bottle opening. He waited a long time, but didn’t hear Haijima’s response.

When he timidly sent a sideways glance at him, he was astonished to see Haijima turning his back towards him and fiddling with his phone. I really am going to punch you once…I knew you were a guy who wouldn’t understand my feelings unless I said it in words so easy to understand that there’s no way to misinterpret them, but still, this denseness…

“Whatever… Shit.”

Feeling stupid, he got up and conversely slumped down on his chair. He didn’t know where to put his feelings that were going nowhere, and he felt extremely embarrassed.

Haijima wordlessly lifted his phone a little. He was gesturing for him to look at his phone. He hated himself for being able to decipher what Haijima wanted to say, even though he made no effort to convey it clearly.

He looked at his phone that he had thrust into the pocket of his shorts and saw that he had a new message. It seemed to have come after he responded to Yorimichi’s message. It was from Okuma.

Right on time, his ringtone began ringing in his hand. This time it was a call from Okuma. He wasn’t in the mood to chat with him, but he had no choice but to answer his phone.

“Did you see my message? I didn’t get a response, so I sent one to Haijima too just now.”

Their quiet surroundings made Okuma’s boorish voice sound even more annoying and loud, so he moved the phone a little further from his ear and spoke.

“I was just about to look. Anyways, you could have taught us about the laundry thing.”

“The two of you are still at Tora no Yu? Can you guys go to the gym before you come back to camp? I think I forgot something there.”

“Huh…what did you forget? Isn’t the school locked?”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s open.”

“How?”

“Look at the dryer on the far left. You’ll get an item. I’ll need the both of you to bring it back, so make sure you go with Haijima.”

“But what did you forget…”

“You’ll know when you get there.”

He hung up on him without answering his questions properly.

When he stuck his head into the prefab, he saw a convenience store plastic bag hanging from the door of the dryer closest to the entrance. He inspected it and found a small flashlight within. Wow, he really thpught of everything. I wish he had left detergent instead, though.

The phone that was still in his hand rang again. It was from Okuma again, and this time it was a message. “If you want us to do an errand, just say it in one go…He’s so annoying…” He checked the message while grumbling.

“I forgot to say this, but our gym is haunted.”

***

I wonder if he heard what I said earlier…I hope not. He was beginning to think that as time passed by.

“I wanna be your ace.” That line was so embarrassing that it makes my stomach turn. I feel like I’m gonna die in agony when I recall it. It’s Haijima, so he probably didn’t listen to what I said. Yeah, it’s definitely like that. May it be like that.

Even when he glanced to his side, he could barely make out the outline of Haijima’s profile and couldn’t gauge his expression at all.

There were no lights in the school at night. Both of them walked in silence on the narrow path illuminated by the flashlight in Haijima’s hand. The silence seemed even more awkward because there was no place for their eyes to escape to. The rustling sounds of the laundry bags they both were holding was deafening to his ears. The weight of the wet laundry hanging from his arm was also somewhat uncomfortable.

Every time the light brushed against their surroundings, the sight that emerged looked completely different from how it was in the daytime. Although he had memorized the school’s layout, he was losing confidence in whether or not the mapping in his head matched up with the place they were actually walking in. There was no doubt that the area that lay before ahead of them like a calm jet-black sea was the first sports ground. The shadow of the club room row house looked like some sort of crouching giant creature that was slumbering.

The school building was at the end of the path between the first sports ground and the row house. As they advanced forward, unable to grasp the distance to the school building, an ochre-colored wall suddenly appeared in the round light. When they moved along the wall, he saw that the doors to the passage that they usually used to go in and out of the gym from the club room was open on one side, just as Okuma said.

He stretched his neck and peered into the door. It wasn’t perfectly dark because there was a faint blue in the sky, but it was completely dark indoors. It was dominated by only black. The corridor in front of the gym was an open space with a few exercise machines and training mats, but he couldn’t catch their shadows at all now.

Haijima took off his sneakers and stepped inside, leaving the laundry bag there on the spot. Kuroba wondered how he could move so confidently with this visibility, but he hurriedly took of his sandals and followed him.

“Haijima, wait…Shine it better, I can’t see my feet.”

“I am shining it. And don’t cling to me, your hand’s hot.”

“I-I’m not clinging to you…”

When he suddenly let go of the hand that he had unconsciously put on Haijima’s shoulder, he heard footsteps coming from behind him. Sounds like the wet slapping of webbed feet—like a kappa’s footsteps!

He was about to scream and run away when he pushed Haijima down and he fell forward with a “Wah!” The light from the flashlight jumped in the wrong direction, there was the sound of metal hitting the wall, and the light went out.

His vision was blocked by a curtain of complete darkness that made even his sense of up and down uncertain.

“You…”

“T-There was just someone behind me!”

“Laundry.”

“Ah.”

On all fours, he looked behind him. There were no suspicious shadows, just a dim blue cut-out in the shape of the door. There was no sign of a yokai with a shell on its back. Was that the sound of the laundry bag falling?

“What are you so scared of? Don’t tell me you really thought something was gonna come out?”

“I-I-I-I wasn’t scared! I-Is the flashlight broken?”

He raised his voice deliberately and crawled on all fours, fearfully running his hands in the direction the light had jumped to. He was pretty sure the exercise machine was around here, so he might crash into it if he moved carelessly.

“You’re a hundred years too early to be my ace like that.”

Haijima’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness.

…It seems like he did hear me. All of it.

“Uh, um, that’s, you know…”

“It seems like you got the wrong idea about something.”

He couldn’t help but stumble over his words as he tried to excuse himself. “No need for that, I already understand,” Haijima interrupted him, and Kuroba crouched down with his head in his hands. Stop, stop, don’t kick me when I’m down any more than that. I already know that I had the wrong idea.

“You’re the team’s ace, at least.”

He covered his ears and stiffened his body to withstand the damage from the merciless Haijima’s dagger-like wor——.

…Huh?

“Ummm…can you say that one more time…?”

He asked back blankly. He stealthily looked up from the gap in his arms and craned his neck around, but Haijima’s figure was hidden by the curtain of darkness that had fallen on all sides. The only thing he could hear was a voice that had a clear quality even though it was muttering, permeating the darkness like ripples spreading in water.

“You’re the one who hits the fastest, highest, and strongest on this team, Kuroba. That’s what they call an ace, right? That’s why you’re the only ace, not anyone else. Oda-san and the others know that.”

“Oda-senpai…? Really? Our senpais really said that?”

“You think I’d lie?”

After shaking his head with vigor, he realized they couldn’t see each other and said it aloud. “I don’t think that, but then why do you keep leaving me out…?” Haijima didn’t follow up on people to the point of flattering them. He always said what he thought, so that notice of dismissal from the day before should have also been what he really thought…

“…At the prefecturals…”

There was suddenly interference in his voice, like he was hesitating to say something. The ripples, which were once undistorted perfect circles, arrived a little warped. The word “prefecturals” seemed to have been used for the first time between the two of them since that day a year ago. That word he heard in Haijima’s voice weighed heavily on his heart.

“At that time, I only had you. That’s why I had no choice but to act recklessly… But now there’s people like Oda-san and Aoki-san and Kanno-san, who are all better than you, so I can do things differently this time. I won’t let something like that happen again. I’m doing that different way now.”

“…? Sorry, I don’t really get it.”

Since the information was conveyed in chunks and not clear at all, Kuroba, who had been listening with a tense and meek expression, gradually began to tilt his head in confusion. Just when I thought I’ve been acknowledged, it sounded like I was being called shitty after all…

His fingers touched something hard. “Ah,” he muttered, and fumbled for the flashlight that had fallen into his hands. When he ran his hand along the cylindrical body and found the switch, he heard the rest of Haijima’s speech.

“I’ll prove it. At the Fall Tournament. I’ll make every ball I set to you the best one. …Because, I’m the one who wanted to make up for it…”

A white light lit up in his hand. He held up the light in the direction of the voice, but Haijima wasn’t there. Didn’t I hear his voice just now—? It seemed to have just disappeared, and he was suddenly assailed by uneasiness. It was impossible, but for some reason, he thought that he had suddenly gone back to Tokyo——

“Hai…”

The moment he got up and prepared to run,

“…Ow, what the hell is this…?”

He heard a grumble. When his shin hit something and he pitched forward, he narrowly managed to keep his footing and pointed the light at his feet. The light illuminated the seam of a worn-out undyed exercise mat. Now that he thought about it, there were always mats piled up at a height where it was easy to stumble over them around here.

Haijima had fallen down on that mat.

“Lame…you tripped.”

While feeling so relieved that the energy drained out of him, he put on a look of amazement and extended his hand with a “Here.” For a moment, he seriously thought he was gone, and he panicked.

He wanted to properly hear what he said earlier one more time. Can you say that for me one more time…he wanted to ask, but he didn’t want him to take it back, so he didn’t.

Those best sets our best setter talked about. They must be amazing sets that would astonish not only the opposing team, but also the entire venue. How nice it must feel to be the attacker who hit them. He said he would give them to me, didn’t he? All of his best sets, to me…

His body was starting to itch. He couldn’t wait to play a game. Hurry up and come, Fall Tournament.

“You…aren’t going back to Tokyo anymore, are you. You’re gonna play volleyball with us, right? We’ll play in the Fall Tournament together.”

He couldn’t help but confirm that no matter what. He didn’t know why he still felt anxious about the possibility that Haijima would one day leave this area where their spoken language was understood, but it sometimes crossed his mind.

The rim of Haijima’s glasses glinted faintly as he sat on the edge of the mat, and Kuroba knew that he was looking up at him. It was irritating that he couldn’t see his expression even though he wanted to. He still had the feeling that if he turned the light there, he would disappear again, and his anxiety wouldn’t go away.

“I said I ain’t going back.”

It was just a few words, but it had the local intonation—in a voice that contained a bit of laughter, Haijima said that and took Kuroba’s hand. When he felt the force of the two of them pulling each other in his arm, he felt like he had finally grasped something solid.

***

When they pushed open the metal doors of the gym, an unpleasant sound shook the air, as though their nerves were being filed off. It was of course pitch dark in the gym. Because it was closed off since evening practice, heat and humidity accumulated. As soon as they stepped in, it felt like a damp cloth hanging from the ceiling was sticking to his face…the lack of visibility was allowing him to imagine all sorts of things. Despite himself, he put his hand on Haijima’s shoulder again, hiding half of his body behind him.

He put the flashlight on Haijima’s shoulder like it was a bipod (the thing a sniper put a rifle on) and shined it forward, illuminating a very small area of the floor. Overlapping colored tapes were laid on the floor to indicate lines for volleyball and other sports. “Don’t put your hand on me,” Haijima growled, but he didn’t attempt to shake him off.

“What did he forget? He said we’ll know when we get there…Hmm?”

When he moved the light, something metallic glinted. It was a rusted pole…with a net attached to it…?

“Oh, by something forgotten, did he mean that we forgot to put away the net?”

“We did put it away.”

“Yeah we did,” He remembered untying the strings by himself and carrying the poles after they finished evening practice.

“Why did they go out of their way to put it back up…?”

Plop…

Something white cross the light in a parabola. After a big bounce, it rolled into a corner of the gym—it was a volleyball. “…?” After he turned the light around and followed its whereabouts, he thought it was strange and turned the light back to the net——.

A hand was caught on the net. Two hands, actually, and covered in blood. The five fingers hooked onto the net and began climbing upwards at a great speed. When the hands reached the white band at the top, a human face poked out from above the band.

“…It’s your fault…”

A gloomy whisper descended from the ceiling. A trail of blood trickled down the edge of the face’s half-open lips. The eyeballs that had stagnated at the back of the sunken eye sockets took on a dim and resentful glow.

“——It’s your fault!!”

The whisper suddenly turned into a cursed scream that reverberated throughout the gym.

The head began to quickly move sideways with the chin hooked on the white band. There was no way that a two-meter-looking person would be able to stand like that and poke their face over a 2.43 meter net like that, so it was an impossible movement.

“It’s your fault——!”

Amidst the echo of running footsteps, the head went from one end of the white band to the other and back again with the thudding sounds. It was starting to look more and more like…it was at a loss because it couldn’t get a reaction.

Kuroba stared in amazement, standing at the doorway.

“…What are you doing, Kanno-senpai?”

When he quipped that with his eyes half-closed, the head clearly looked relieved.

Kanno, who played the role of the head, called out downwards and stopped moving sideways. One part of the ceiling lights was turned on to illuminate the gym. Kanno turned over the black curtain he was coiled in from the neck down and jumped down to the floor. Another person came out from the curtain. “Oi oi oi, that was so boring, we were covered in sweat over here,” Okuma said, his face flushed.

“Are we done here?”

Hokao, who was in front of the lighting control panel at the side of the stage, said. Even Uchimura came out of the broadcasting room. All four of the second-years on the boys’ volleyball team were here.

“What, I was gonna scare you so hard you’ll piss yourselves, but you got more guts than I thought.”

Okuma complained, wiping his face that was drenched in sweat.

“Isn’t it because it’s so obvious?”

“What, it took a lot of work to do his makeup.”

“They forced me to play the ghost…”

“No, it really suits you!” He gently quipped at Kanno, who seemed to be unhappy with his casting and was pouting. The circles under his eyes and the blood were makeup, but he was a pale person who looked like a ghost in the first place, so he didn’t look that different from his regular self. “What is this anyways? Are you second-years bored?”

“It’s the annual test of courage for our boys’ volleyball training camp. It was done to us for the past two years too. Aoki-senpai’s production when he went all out wasn’t at this level, you know? You should be thankful that Okuma wanted to direct it this year.”

Hokao said, and Okuma stuck out his chest. Even though he was casually dissed, he seemed to take it as a positive compliment. “It’s that suspension bridge effect thing, you know? They say that when two people experience fear together, they become closer.”

For a moment, Kuroba was speechless. Were their senpais also concerned about the fact that things were cold between him and Haijima…?

He was grateful for the sentiment, but a forced laugh slipped out, thinking that they were just a second too late. It’s probably resolved now…I think I said most of what I wanted to say, and I’ve heard Haijima’s response.

“There’s no way Haijima would be scared of such a cheap prank, let alone me. Right…”

When he turned around, his smile faded and he cut himself off.

“…Haijima?”

Haijima wasn’t looking at him at all. He was standing bolt upright, staring at some other point. The blood had drained from his face to the point where he looked even paler than Kanno’s makeup, and his expression was stiffening with his narrow eyes widened. When he followed where his gaze was fixed, it led to…Kanno’s hands?

Kanno, who was wiping the bloodstains smeared on his hands, noticed his gaze and said in puzzlement, “Yes?”

“Uhya-hya-hya, Haijima had a better reaction, didn’t he? Is he weak against blood…”

Okuma’s guffaws floated up from the atmosphere of the situation, and trailed off awkwardly. The second-years all had quizzical looks on their faces, because Haijima was acting abnormally by his standards.

Haijima’s gaze left Kanno’s hands and moved to a corner of the gym where the light didn’t reach, as though he was afraid of something. One ball was lying around in the stagnant darkness. His gaze moved again with an awkward movement, like he was tracing something while getting caught on the splintered surface, and turned to the net next. He looked up at the net that didn’t have a bloody hand stuck in it anymore—what was he doing?

“…What’s...wrong…?”

Kuroba was the one who was shocked at the color of Haijima’s face, which he had never seen before. His voice was scratchy as he asked that question.

It’s nothing, Haijima muttered as he removed his gaze from the net and didn’t look anywhere else. He rubbed the tip of his left middle finger in front of his abdomen. He was curious about what that gesture meant, but he couldn’t ask anymore questions because Haijima’s mind, which had been properly directed outwards until earlier, had abruptly turned inward.

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#2.43 #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 book 1 #2.43 translation

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

Text

No Matter What

CW: Hungover whumpee – headache, nausea, etc all mentioned. Alcohol use referenced. References to throwing up, nothing graphic or descriptive. References to conditioning, past noncon and its effect on a whumpee and their view of themselves years later, trauma responses, and trauma recovery. VERY brief transphobia reference. References to domestic violence and child abuse, including verbal abuse and abandonment.

I… promise I was going for fluff.

Set post this drabble where Chris is drinking and this one where Laken gets him back to Jake’s house.

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions

Oh, he hurts.

His head is one giant throbbing ache, like someone wrapped a hammer in wool and smacked around his brain until it bounced against his skull. The worst pain is just behind his eyes and he can barely crack them open before he has to squinch them shut again, pulling a pillow over his head with a groan to hide from the hint of morning sunlight cutting lines through the blinds.

He knows enough to know he’s in his own room at home, not his dorm, but he’s not entirely sure how he got here and why he’d come here, anyway.

One hand presses the pillow down - the pressure against the top of his head feels so good, cool from the pillowcase but firm, soothing some of the ache - and the other moves to find the feather around his neck, rubbing at the little carved vanes in the gray plastic. Did he take the feather last night? He must have, but he can’t remember anything past throwing up Sir’s favorite martini in the bar’s bathroom, rinsing his mouth out, drinking water straight from the bathroom sink and then going back out to order a gin and tonic and do it all again.

He hurts.

Did the bartender refuse to give him the gin and tonic? He might have, he knows Kauri, all the ones who know Kauri - and it feels like every bar in town knows Kauri and half the men in them - seem to know who Chris is, too, the second he walks in the door.

He hopes the bartender refused him.

He hopes he didn’t offer the bartender anything more than money.

There’s a shifting weight in the bed next to him and Chris freezes, for just a second the breath catches in his throat, but then he relaxes with the knowledge that it can only be Jake or Antoni, there aren’t anymore silk sheets, there aren’t anymore nights with his hands gripping the headboard to hold back the scream inside his head, there won’t ever be again.

Dead in the ground, rotting away, his Sir can’t hurt him anymore.

Chris swallows - there’s a pain in his throat, too, probably from throwing up, and his mouth tastes awful, his tongue is a dry dead weight - and dares peek out from under the pillow.

Laken lays next to him in the bed on their stomach, naked except for their underwear, a pair of black boxer briefs that look like bike shorts, lying on their stomach and Chris would love the way the light hits their shoulder blades if he wasn’t hurting too badly to focus his eyes.

Their hair is a riot of thick black curls across the pillow their head rests on, lips curled in the slightest half-smile. Chris just watches their back rise and fall as they breathe for a few seconds, wondering what happened after his last memory - stumbling out of the bathroom at the bar, shoving Will away, going back to the bar for another drink.

Hating himself for being glad his Sir is gone, hating his Sir for what he had done to Chris’s life, loving his Sir for all the times he was the only good thing in the world, loving him so much he couldn’t bear the loss.

Laken is beautiful, their mouth slightly open, parted just enough to show a hint of the bottom of their top teeth, maybe the slightest bit of pink tongue. Black eyelashes lay so lightly along their skin, eyeliner from the night before still there with the little swoop at the ends smudged into something closer to smoke than kohl.

Laken is a lightning bolt that walks the earth near him, and Chris is a bit of copper tarnished, turning green, a penny rubbed to shiny nothingness with all the hands that have touched him when he had no voice to refuse their attention.

Laken is worth everything there is, and Chris feels like money no one will take because too many hands have already held it.

Chris’s fumbles blindly off the bed, searching for the side table he knows is right there, finding his phone facedown next to the lamp and pulling it under the pillow with him. The lockscreen is a photo of he and Laken together down by the campus lake, Laken in their usual black-and-slightly-less-black with a slight knowing smile and Chris laughing at whatever Dill was saying when he took the picture. He winces at the brightness, the light and the looks on their faces, and unlocks it with the pincode, 5-2-5-3.

The homescreen is he and Jake and Antoni standing outside the house the day it belonged to Jake for real, Jake holding the deed in one hand and his arm around Chris’s shoulders, all of them smiling. Chris kind of hates that photo, too, right now.

He scrolls through text messages, wincing as he sees his own words garbled, letters switched, eventually nearly nonsensical. He wants to sink into the ground and disappear when he sees seven calls, three to Laken, two to Jake, one to Antoni, a final call to Laken again. He must have called them to come get him, but he can’t remember any of these calls, not one.

There’s a soft sound from near the door and Chris pulls the pillow off his head, wincing as the pounding headache suddenly worsens, making him close his eyes against it and whimper, lowin his throat. Oh, last night was a mistake. Through his eventual hesitant squint, he can see Jake framed in the open doorway, holding two steaming mugs of coffee, with the white childproof cap to a bottle of tylenol visible just above the rounded shape of the pill bottle stuck in his front pocket.

Chris blinks at him - once, twice, three times - and then slowly nods, watching Jake come in. He’s so tall, full of muscle and there’s so much to him. Jake is sunlight and a warm touch and Chris should have known Jake would be the second thing he saw when he woke up here, that he would have coffee ready.

Jake’s eyes flicker to where Laken is still sleeping, then back to Chris, and he carefully gestures at them with his coffee. It takes Chris’s hurting, slow-moving brain a minute to realize Jake wants him to cover Laken up more, give them some privacy so Jake can’t see their back, see them topless, see them without the ever-present binder that Chris pictures even when he thinks of Laken naked.

Laken seems so vulnerable, without it. Lightning brought lower, closer to earth. Chris pulls the covers up on their side until only their head and hair is showing and then slowly pushes himself up to seated, rubbing at his forehead, swallowing over and over even though his mouth is dry.

“G-... g’mornin’, Jake,” He whispers. His throat hurts. How much did he throw up last night? Did he throw up here, too, not just in the bar?

“Hey, kiddo.” The scrape of the ceramic against the side table as Jake sets down the mugs is so loud. Chris whines and drops his head back down, looking pitiful and he knows it. His hair is a dirty blue mess around his head, from sweating and dancing and holding it back with one hand as he bent over a barroom toilet, crying all his grief out.

He wants to cut all his hair off, suddenly. Shave it short, as short as the hair on the sides of Laken’s head. Let it grow in strawberry blond all over again, back how he used to be, when his hair was the thing Sir loved most about him. Would sit and rub it between thumb and forefinger while Chris hid under his desk, perfectly still and silent, statue boy to decorate a man’s days nd nights.

Laken shifts but doesn’t wake, and Chris is too dirty, too gross to be anywhere near someone so good and clean and without all the things Chris has had to learn, to do. Did he and Laken talk last night? He has memories, he thinks, of taking his shirt off - of Laken leaning over him - of maybe saying things he knows he should regret, but he can’t remember what exactly he said.

The pain and the cotton-brain want him to stay lying down but the feeling of how dirty he is, inside and out, drives Chris up. The grime on his skin, left by his handler and his Sir and everything that hurt him inside and out, pulls him out of the bed to stand on trembling legs in just his boxers - when had his pants come off? How had his pants come off? Laken maybe? He picks up one of the coffees and leaves the other for if Laken wakes up and moves, one hand holding the feather bumping against his bare chest, the other clutching the coffee as a lifeline.

It’s not until they’re in the hallway with the door closed behind them that Jake says, in a low voice, “How you feeling?”

“Like I, I, I-I-I ate a live ostrich and, and threw it back up and then ate another one,” Chris mutters, and Jake’s lips twitch in a smile he tries to hide underneath genuine sympathy.

“I’m sorry, man.” Jake pushes a bit of hair out of his eyes for him as Chris takes a sip, and the coffee doesn’t taste like anything but hot but that’s still better than the taste that was in his mouth before.

“Sorry for, for, for what?”

“That I forgot the day. I’ve been really busy with work shit and I let it slip that it was going to be the anniversary yesterday. I should’ve called you, been there for you, and I wasn’t. I knew it would be hard.” Jake’s blue eyes are full of utter sincere regret, and Chris moves to him with all the instinctive trust and need he’s always had for his big brother to fold his arms around him, hold him, chase away the lingering need to be good.

Some of the pain fades, in Jake’s arms, like it always has.

“You don’t have to, to… to babysit me just because he’s dead a year,” Chris mumbles against the fabric of Jake’s t-shirt. Same smell as always - same laundry detergent, same Jake-skin, same deodorant, same same same. The smell of safe. “I, I shouldn’t have gone out, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all gone out and gotten blackout over stupid shit before, in this house,” Jake says gently, resting his chin lightly on Chris’s head. “I once got drunk and called an ex-boyfriend and cried about how much I missed him when I was the one who dumped him. For cheating on me. Six times. So… no judgement here. Recovery’s a process, not a straight line, man.”

“You, you, you you you sound like Nat.”

“Yeah, well, my whole career plan is to turn into her, isn’t it? Might as well start there.”

There’s a silence for a second, and Chris sighs, keeping his eyes closed, not willing to face the light and the pain in his head again just yet. “I think I, I, I said something stupid to Laken last night.”

“Couldn’t have been too stupid, they came downstairs after you fell asleep talking about how great you are.” Jake shrugs, the movement shifting him where he holds Chris.

“They did not.” Chris feels blood rush to his face, the flush in his cheeks making him dizzy. His stomach lurches and spins with nausea but sipping the coffee, held so carefully between his body and Jake’s, helps. “They, they, they they-they did not.”

“Yep. They got you to bed around 2 and we were up ‘til almost 4 just talking about how fucking great you are. Accept it, kiddo, you’re stuck with both of us even on your bad nights.”

Chris is quiet for a long moment and then whispers, “He didn’t even-... even have me that, that, that-that that… that long.”

It takes Jake a second to change gears when Chris does, and then he takes in a breath. “It’s not about time, Chris. This shit doesn’t work that way.”

“I, I didn’t want to be good, Jake. I always… I, I always wanted to scream.”

“I know, man.” Jake presses a kiss to dirty blue hair, without hesitating, without caring what Chris looks like, how everything about him feels gross now. Layered over with what was taken away, what he can’t get back. “I know you did.”

“I… think I tried, to, to get Laken to… have sex with me last night.” The words tremble, they’re miserable. He’s ashamed of himself for trying to make something happen he didn’t even want, just because it would have felt familiar. Reliving the memories he has, forgetting for a while about the ones he wasn’t allowed to keep.

“They wouldn’t have,” Jake says. There’s a pause, and then he adds, “And I’d slaughter them myself if they did. Just… I could probably google how to hide a body, right?”

Chris can’t help the way he shakes in silent laughter, but it makes his head hurt worse and he buries himself back against Jake’s collarbone, sipping the coffee in the safety of Jake’s arms. “Probably, sh-... shouldn’t. Get on a, a, a list.”

“Oh, Chris. I’ve been on a government fucking watchlist since I got arrested at my first pet lib protest. I like being on all their lists. Makes me feel important. C’mon, let’s go downstairs, I’ll make some eggs and hash browns to soak up all that alcohol you poisoned yourself with.” Jake moves, and Chris goes with him, secure in the arm that stays around his shoulders, in the slight rattle of the painkillers in Jake’s pocket as they head down the hall. He can hear Antoni’s light snoring from behind his bedroom door and smiles, just a little. It’s nice, having Laken come here, be part of the other half of his life, the one where he can be safely known.

Jake gets him settled at the table, keeping the lights off and the kitchen dim, pulling the curtains closed. In the slightly surreal half-light Chris feels more relaxed, pulls his feet up to sit cross-legged on the kitchen chair, feeling at the feather hanging around his neck, letting the shift of air through the kitchen make his skin feel less sticky and gross, less dirtied by last night and the years before.

“More coffee?”

Somehow Chris had had the whole cup. He frowns down into it and then looks back up at Jake. “Is, is, is is is it okay for me to have, um, more?”

“More caffeine? Yeah, Chris. Trust me, everyone in this house needs more sleep than what we got last night. Three cups of coffee’ll knock you right out, and here we are at two.” Jake pours him more, even adds milk and sugar for him, and Chris hums and takes more sips, finally tasting the coffee’s flavor and not just its temperature. Something in him soothes, as his thumb rubs at the rough ridges in the feather necklace again and again and again.

“I, I… I think I should, uh, break up with Laken.”

Jake stills, at the cutting board where he’s grating potatoes for the hashbrowns. He doesn’t look back at Chris, but there’s a tension in his shoulders when he asks, “Now why would you need to do that?”

Chris swallows another mouthful of coffee, and answers in a low voice. “They shouldn’t have to, to, to-to deal with this, Jake. With…” He pauses, and the words bottleneck in his mind, three separate tracks of thought colliding in a terrible wreck of with someone this dirty with someone who was used like this with someone who misses the man who hurt them with someone like me

with someone like me

“Chris… I’m the last person to lecture on trust issues, or pushing people away, but…” Jake takes a breath and looks over at him. Chris’s lower lip trembles, just a little, at the wealth of love in his eyes. “Have you considered that it’s Laken’s decision to make? That they’ve already had the chance to say it’s too much - when they found out what you had to heal from - and instead they chose to stay?”

“But-”

“Ask them if they want to handle it, but I know that if you were my boyfriend, I’d want to stay.” Jake goes back to grating the potatoes, his hand moving in sure strokes to press the flat-cut end of the rounded potato and Chris watches the thin grated bits create a small pile under the grater, like a rounded pyramid.

“Even though-”

“Even though.” Jake says it firmly, strong as every stone they pulled out of the backyard to make the new garden and moved to the front to look like landscaping. “I talked to your partner for two hours last night, Chris, and all they talked about that whole time was how great you are and how much they fucking love you.”

There are tears in Chris’s eyes that run down his face when he ducks his chin to hide them. His stomach roils, his throat aches, his head throbs and the coffee is only barely holding off the bad taste in his mouth. He doesn’t know what he said or did after the bar bathroom except he kind of thinks he came on to Laken in ways he didn’t want to, because lying in the bed screaming in his mind underneath someone who didn’t care had felt, for just a while, like it might be closer to who he really is than all the things he’d worked so hard to build after.

“When you love somebody,” Jake says, talking as though he doesn’t know that Chris is sniffling but really he does and he’s giving him the space to calm. Chris feels gratitude cut him apart into ribbons for the moments Jake will give him to breathe. “You do what you have to do. Sometimes that means being there when they fall apart.” Jake pauses, staring into space, then starts grating the next potato. “Sometimes it means… other things, going with them or letting them go or forgiving them for stupid shit they did a long time ago-”

Chris smiles, wondering what Nat’s up to today, anyway.

“-but last night Laken saw you fall to pieces and said, that one, that’s the one I want, that boy who lived through hell and came out smiling, that’s the Chris for me. Let that count, man. Let that mean something. They fucking love you. Shit run of luck and all.”

“I… I know.”

“Bigger than that, they think you deserve the love, just like Ant and I think you deserve it. Just like Nat thinks so, just like Kauri, just like everybody loves you, Chris, even on the days you don’t love yourself. I know everybody in this house absolutely fucking sucks at remembering to care as much for ourselves as we do for other people, but…”

Jake sighs and steps over to the table, opens up the painkiller bottle, lays two small blue pills in front of Chris. Chris fights back the residual fear and takes them, swallowing them dry. He’s never lost the ability to take pills whenever they are given to him, only lost the requirement.

“These will help your hangover. I can’t give you anything to fix feeling down on yourself except tell you that we’re all here, and I’m sorry, again, for forgetting about yesterday.”

“It’s b-been… it’s been almost f-five years since you saved me. I sh-shouldn’t… shouldn’t ever-... I shouldn’t, um, shouldn’t care any, anymore, right?”

Jake spreads the potatoes out on a baking pan, shakes salt and pepper over the top, slides them into the oven and sets the timer. A faint blast of heat from the oven hits Chris just before the door closes again.

Jake pours himself a cup of coffee, then, and sits across the table from Chris, holding the cup in both hands and looking him right in the eyes.

“My dad sent me fucking packing when I was fourteen years old,” Jake says, quietly, holding Chris’s gaze with his own. “With a black eye and my backpack still packed. The last thing my dad ever said to me was that I wasn’t worth loving, wasn’t his son anymore, my mom’s life and his would’ve been better if I never existed. The very last thing he said before I got on that bus was Jacob Collins Stanton, you are the worst mistake I wish I never made.”

His voice never wavers as he speaks, and Chris stares at him, his hangover forgotten in the wake of the horrified cold that washes through him at how casually Jake speaks, describing abandonment in the same tones he might talk about his least favorite topping for pizza.

“I haven’t seen him since then. I’m almost thirty, Chris. I haven’t seen my dad for half my fucking life and sometimes I still hear his voice in my head, telling me that shit. You were a mistake, no one’s going to love you, all that shit. It still makes it hard for me to trust anyone because if I couldn’t-...” Jake’s voice hitches only slightly then, but his face is impassive, hard to read.

His face tells Chris nothing, and the simple act of removing his usual open expressions tells Chris everything, too.

“-... if I couldn’t be good enough for the people who made me, who can I be good enough for? More than half my life, man, and I still… still live the way I do because of what that asshole tried to make me believe about myself and my mom. It built my whole life, that last conversation, because I thought to myself that I was going to be a better person than he was in every fucking way. And... here we are. So… yeah, it’s been five years, but you also do a lot of not letting yourself think about it, and… I think it caught up with you, man. The way it catches up with me sometimes, too.”

Chris keeps his hands curved around his coffee mug, then, and says softly, “I love you.”

“Yeah, I know. I love you, too.” Jake takes a drink of his coffee, gives Chris a half-smile. “It’s normal to have stuff come back like this. Especially when you do so much pretending it’s not there. Trust me, I know. Next time, though… call us before you need a ride home from a bar, huh? I’d rather be the one that goes with you, and I know Laken would have gone with you last night, too, if you’d asked. We… everyone in this house right now, including Laken… knows what it means to be told you’re too fucked up to deserve the love that you should never have been denied. But it’s a fucking lie.”

“The love?”

“The idea that you don’t deserve it. You deserved the life you had before they took it from you, you deserve the life you’re living now. You deserve Laken, and more importantly - Laken wants to be here. They’re choosing you, every time. Let them choose you. You’re not dirtied, I’m not a mistake, Antoni’s not responsible for all the pain he went through. Promise to remember that, if I do?”

Chris pauses, then reaches his hand out across the table for Jake to take, closing his eyes at the feeling of Jake’s thumb rubbing back and forth across his knuckles. “Promise. I, I, I’m not dirty.”

“I’m not a mistake.”

“An, Antoni isn’t a, um, a a a a bad person.”

“Laken’s a fucking deity and no asshole hiding behind his bigotry gets to tell them whether or not they’re worth loving unconditionally.”

Chris snorts laughter and opens his eyes to see Jake grinning at him, head tilted, coffee mug in hand. “You really did talk to them last night.”

“Yeah, I probably know more about their life story than you do by now. We bonded over shitty dads.”

Chris hesitates, then says again, “I’m, I’m not… dirty.”

Jake holds his eyes. “I’m not a mistake.”

“I’m good… good enough for Laken to, to, to-to love me. Even when, when I’m drunk and, and do stupid things.”

“Even when you’re drunk and do stupid things.”

“Even though I used to be-... to do-...” He can’t finish the sentence. He lets the silence hang between them, full of all the words he won’t say.

“Even then.” Jake squeezes his hand, and Chris squeezes back. “You can’t do anything, or have anything done to you, that takes away what you deserve. We love you, Chris, whether you like it or not. You’re stuck with a couple of fucked-up brothers and Laken, too. We’re all choosing you.”

Chris feels the tears again, barely holds them off, and smiles through blurry vision at Jake, who won’t let him fall too far into the cold horror of the light, who always pulls him back to the dark.

Upstairs, Laken sleeps, another person in this house who saw Chris fall apart and still said that one, that’s my Chris, the boy who went to hell and back, that’s the one I won’t let go of.

No matter what.

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