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yourtamaki · 4 years ago

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the broken melody of us

matsukawa x f!reader

word count: 4k

request: mattsun hurt/comfort + neglect?

warnings: hurt/comfort, neglect, body worship, praise kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming

it was a song and dance at this point. a well rehearsed play with a blinding spotlight on the exhausted actors onstage. both of you go through the motions, no life behind the words you’ve spoken so many times they held no meaning anymore. you don’t know why you keep up the charade. you never expect a different result yet still you pick up the phone everyday and call your boyfriend.

“you think you’ll be home in time for dinner?”

sometimes you get a different, automated message. “maybe. might have to stay late,” or “can’t, i’ve gotta finish something up,” or your least favourite. a simple, clipped, “no.”

“don’t stay out too late.” you should cut this part from the script, he never listens.

“i’ll try.”

“i love you.” this line is always to be spoken quietly, followed by holding your breath while you wait for his response. it’s the only reason you make these calls. this is your only chance to hear him say it and pretend he means it as much as he once did.

“love you too.” the line goes dead, the lights dim and he’s gone. you’re alone on an empty stage staring out at a bored audience. bored of the foolish protagonist who keeps them locked in the theatre, playing the same ending over and over and expecting something to give, to change. they watch on, silent and judging while you barter away what little dignity you have left.

let them watch.

the rejection doesn’t sting as badly as it used to. you’ve learned to bear it, swallow down the hurt that sits like a stone in your gut and go about your day, filling it with any meaningless errand that would stop your mind from wandering back to him.

mattsun was subtle, you could give him that much. the way he slowly pulled away from your arms until you could hardly remember how he felt beneath your palms. the realization that you don’t really know your boyfriend anymore was slow to hit you but it knocked the air out of your lungs when it did. it crashed down on you when you woke in the middle of the night and turned to stare at his back gently rising and falling with every breath. his hair is longer then you remember and you don’t know why the thought has a lump forming in your throat. you focus instead on the broad expanse of his back. he’s tense, even in sleep, shoulders rigid and you’re sure if you could see his face, his brows would be furrowed. subtle changes that are enough for you to realize you’ve been shut out of his life.

you used to know him. when you were university kids who thought the future would never catch up to them and spent countless days in each other’s company. it wasn’t so much you knew him, it felt like you were him. and he was you. less attached to the hip and more intertwined with one another. you two were of one mind, to the point where you knew what the other needed before they’d even say it.

your mattsun who was always just a text away.

your mattsun who would indulge your late night drives, who would look at you with a permanent crooked smile on his face and love in his eyes.

“you think we’ll always be like this?” you said one night, straddling him in panties and a baggy hoodie in the backseat and lazily kissing beneath the stars. and because he was yours and understood every little anxious thought that crossed your mind, he didn’t question why you were asking, didn’t make you explain what you meant, didn’t try to make a half assed joke about it.

his hands trailed up your sides as he contemplated his answer, sending shivers up your spine. “probably not. things always change. we’ll change with them.”

“what if things get worse?”

“they might. but what if they get better? just cause it’s different doesn’t mean it's scary, angel.”

“i know. but i hate thinking about it cause things are so good right now. i want it to last forever.”

“we got time. let’s make the most of it, yeah?” he gripped your hips, slowly grinding you against his growing bulge and pulling you back into a kiss, sighing as your lips slotted together. you took control of the pace and grinned against him when a groan spilled into your mouth.

“is that your way of saying we should hurry up and fuck?”

“it’s working, isn’t it?” before you could pull your sweater up over your head, he cupped your face and brought your forehead to his, sincerity shining through his dark eyes. “i’ll always love you. that’ll never change. got it?”

“got it.” you managed to push the words out despite the lump that formed in your throat. he kept his eyes locked on yours as he slid your panties to the side and sank inside you, the familiar stretch a welcome one.

it was nothing special, one night of many spent panting into each other’s mouths with an unspoken promise still hanging from your lips. but it was a memory you circled back to often, so often you could hear the echo of his vow ring through your head.

your fears came to pass not long after that. life caught up and tore him from you, leaving you a shattered mess in the aftermath. you tried to fit jagged pieces of yourself back together in an attempt to remake the person you used to be but what stared back at you only left you keenly aware of the empty space he used to reside.

these days, you like going to the roof of your apartment and letting the wind blow through those countless gaps in your soul. you feel whole for a short while as it whistles through you, the air filled with the broken melody of you, of the relationship that slips past your grasp more everyday. it’s shrill and ear piercing and leaves goosebumps littered on your skin.

you can’t stop listening to it.

it’s where you were now, staring out as the sun dipped below the horizon and listening to the haunting sound that’s been your only company in recent memory. later, you’ll go home and crawl into bed desperate for any warmth and no time to miss the heat of a body next to yours. your phone lights up bright in contrast to the darkening sky and it takes you a few moments of staring blankly at the screen for it to sink in that mattsun is trying to call you.

this isn’t part of the script.

you don’t know your lines.

and yet you find yourself answering anyway, hitting the green button before the call drops and you raise your phone to your ear silently.

“are you okay?” his voice comes out rushed and strung together almost before your phone is pressed to your ear.

“why’re you asking?”

“remember that time you failed that essay? i think it was third year and you hid in your room all day and wouldn’t answer the phone?” you did remember. how you couldn’t bear to face the world that day with the crushing weight of failure hanging over you and how shocked you were to see mattsun standing at the front door. “did i ever tell you why i checked up on you?”

“no.”

“the whole day i felt, in my gut, like i needed to see you. i can’t describe it, it was like a stab that just dug deeper until i went to your place. would you believe me if i said i have that feeling right now?”

“i- i would.” you say quietly, wondering if he could even hear you over the roar of the wind.

“are you okay?” he repeats. there’s a weight behind his words that has tears springing to your eyes.

“no, issei ‘m not.”

“i’m almost home, i’m parking right now. i’ll be up in a few minutes, okay? wait for me, angel.”

you were always waiting for him, weren’t you? what's a couple more minutes? you hang up and try in vain push down the wave of anxiousness that hits you. it’s just mattsun, you try to remind yourself. even if it’s been awhile since you’ve really felt like a part of his life, he’s still the person you fell in love with. right?

even if the issei from the past would never have made you feel so alone. the issei that was free from the hardships of real life, of 9-5s and bills due and rent to pay. you miss that issei, mourn for him on empty rooftops everyday. maybe he’s still alive somewhere within this new issei but it’s not like you would know.

you head off the roof, shivering slightly as you make your way home. the days were only getting colder, you should’ve known not to stay out for so long. you were trying to get your shaky hands to cooperate and unlock the door when you hear the elevator dings open and your name being called out.

“you weren’t home?” he asks, gently prying your keys from your grasp and opening the door for you both. as soon as he locks it behind you, his hands are covering yours once more. “baby you’re freezing.”

words. where were your words? you couldn’t call up any as he brought your joined hands to his mouth, blowing hot air on them and rubbing them between his to warm them up. this is the closest you’ve been to him in who knows how long and you couldn’t summon up a single sentence. it’s not your fault. his attention has always stunned you into silence.

he thought you were painfully shy the first time you met and though that was half true, you mostly found yourself silently panicking about the handsome man that suddenly sat beside you. the professor had paired the class off to discuss the readings for that lecture and your interest had only come to life when you saw the dark haired man make his way to you.

“i’m gonna be honest.” he said as he plopped down beside you and showed you the blank document open on his laptop. “i have no idea what we’re supposed to be doing right now. do you?”

it was his eyes, you decided much later, hugging your pillow and staring at the text you just received from a new number. you came alive under his gaze like you could finally catch your breath, everything dull until his eyes landed on you. you don’t believe in love at first sight, this was something different. it was the dust of collapsing stars finding each other once more. it was strings of fate being braided together. it was more profound, more important than love and it all happened in a moment.

you nodded in response to his earlier question though it was clear neither of you were paying any attention to what was going on in class, too caught up in the small bubble that surrounded you and drowned out the rest of the world.

“matsukawa. i’m- my name’s matsukawa.” you must’ve given your name in return judging by the smile he gave you in return. “so what’re we doing, partner?”

this time, you forced a proper response, intensely aware of how you held yourself in a way you’ve never been before. “yeah, she just wants us to talk about today’s reading.”

matsukawa watched you pull up your notes, resting his head in his hand while you began explaining the general concepts. you paused when you noticed he was still looking at you and not at the notes you had angled towards him.

“am i explaining it okay?”

“we’re a month into the semester, how have i not noticed you before?”

“guess you don’t notice something you’re not looking for.”

just then the professor grabbed everyone’s attention, the student’s quietly migrating back to their seats but matsukawa stayed where he was. instead, you could just hear him speak under his breath, more to himself then to you but you still managed to pick it up, your face going hot as it echoed in your head. “trust me, i’m looking now.”

the memory leaves you more vulnerable than you expected, soft in his arms as the numbness finally fades and the shaking stops.

“where were you?” he says.

“the roof.” his brows furrow, lips pulled down in a frown. it’s strange feeling yourself falling back into reading him so easily, not needing him to ask to know he wanted you to explain why. “i like going up there. this place is too quiet with just me in it.”

the longer you watch him, the more you pick up from his body language. the confusion then understanding that flits across his face, the underlying care you’re so familiar with as he smooths his thumb over the back of your hand. but more than anything you start to see his guilt. his muscles are rigid with it, it swims in his eyes that never quite seem to meet yours.

“i’ve fucked up, haven't i?” he finally says when he realizes you won’t be the one to breach the subject.

“issei…”

“no, i have. things have been so endless, i feel like i’m half awake and i’ve hurt you because of it.”

you squeeze his hands, trying to reassure him. “just talk to me. please.”

“i hate it. work is nonstop, everyday is the same shit over and over. it’s just a wave that keeps knocking me down and i can barely get my footing before it pushes me down again. and every day i think about quitting just to get ready the next morning.

“if i was alone, if… if i didn’t have you i would’ve quit so long ago but i want to give you the life you deserve and i can’t do that if i’m broke. and it all might be for nothing cause i might’ve lost you already.”

the confession ends with mattsun clearing his throat, blinking fast and concentrating solely on your laced hands. you can’t seem to catch your breath, struggling under the weight he had carried silently until now as he finally shares the burden with you.

“you haven’t lost me, issei. look at me.” you wait until his eyes meet yours before dropping your voice to a whisper. “you haven’t lost me.”

“i don’t deserve you.”

“it’s not about deserving, i chose you. i chose to love you, i chose to stay when things got bad. yeah, you hurt me.” it’s impossible to miss the full body flinch at your words, “and i’m not ready to forgive you just yet. but that doesn’t mean i’m giving up on us. i don’t want you working yourself to death for me. i don’t care where we live or how much money you spend on me. i don’t need all of that, i just need you. got it?”

“got it.” you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows down whatever feeling overcomes him, “i’m sorry.”

“i know.”

“tell me what you need, please. i need- i need to make this right.”

you answer by leaning forward and mattsun meets you halfway. the kiss is soft in contrast to the way you bundle the front of his shirt in your fists, afraid the moment might end before it’s even begun but mattsun takes his time cherishing you. there’s regret and gratitude and love that dances across your tongue and the taste has pressure building behind your eyes.

it isn’t enough. you need him closer, need him to line the cracks of your soul with his touch. you pull just far back enough to break the kiss and mumble against his lips, “more, ‘sei please. i’m so cold.”

“anything you want, pretty baby. let me make you feel good, yeah?”

his lips crash back down on yours with renewed eagerness. there’s a desperation that wasn’t there a moment ago fuelling you both and urging you to stumble blind into the bedroom, barely letting your mouths detach as you fumble and undress each other.

it’s not until you’re naked before him that your head clears a bit and shyness comes creeping in. he cups your face as though he could sense you curling into yourself and simply says, “beautiful.”

the utter conviction in his voice is enough to dispel any insecurities before they have a chance to latch on and you turn your head to kiss the center of his palm, silently telling him you were all right. together you land in a tangled heap in bed, his half hard cock resting on your thigh. mattsun kisses his way down your neck, licking and sucking at every sensitive spot he had mapped out over the years.

“issei…” you say, impatience tinging your voice as you feel your core throb with need.

“i’ll get you there, angel, you know i will. let me take my time, i missed you.”

true to his word, he began kissing every inch of skin he could reach. your tits, your stomach, your thighs all the way down to your ankles, he made sure to shower with affection. it’s nearly overwhelming. you knew you were starved for his attention but it feels like something breaks loose inside you the longer his mouth trails over your body, whispering declarations into your skin that left you tingling in his wake. by the time his fingers dip between your legs, your thighs are sticky with arousal, clit thrumming and begging to be touched.

“look at my pretty baby’s pussy. all wet just for me?”

“mhmm ‘s all for you, issei.”

he hums, swirling his middle finger around your entrance and pressing the thick digit inside with ease. it’s only a few pumps later he adds another, stretching out your gummy walls. his other hand drifts over your mound, his thumb finally giving your clit some attention as his fingers graze over a spot inside you that has your hips rising off the bed.

“stay still. you want to be my good girl, right?” the quiet authority that radiates from mattsun has you clenching around him, doing your best to do as he asks and keep your legs spread for him. “there you go. you’re taking me so well, baby. you’re close, aren’t you? i can feel it”

mattsun loves showing off how well he knew your body, how it never took long for you to crumble beneath him. a few more idle circles with the pad of his thumb and your orgasm washes over you, rising gently and leaving you relaxed in its wake.

that state didn’t last long as he replaces his thumb with his mouth, sucking at your clit that twitches against his tongue, still sensitive from your high. “issei! w-wait please give me a sec-”

his glare is enough to cut through your babbling, his fingers never slowing in their strokes against that sweet spot. you let out a low moan as he adds yet another finger, the stretch just shy of uncomfortable but it’s quick to fade into pleasure once again. the flame in your gut is far more intense this time and you can’t stop the whimpers he pulls from you. you thread your fingers through his dark curls, tugging on them and pulling him deeper into your folds.

“that’s it, princess. cum on my tongue and i’ll stuff you full, i promise. you can do it, c’mon baby.”

the encouragement has the coil in your gut tightening once more and the lewd sounds of mattsun lapping up every drop that escapes you is enough to snap it. when the blood stops ringing in your ears, you realize he’s shifted your positions. he’s sat cross-legged on the bed with you pulled into his lap, legs locked around his waist. his cock is pinned between your stomachs, smearing precum on your skin and your mouth waters as you catch sight of the blushing tip.

he whispers your name to grab your attention, naked devotion plain on his face when you gaze up at him. “i love you.”

this. this was your breaking point. the words you longed to hear every time you picked up the phone for those dreaded calls. your vision blurs with tears that well up and spill down your cheeks before you could blink them away. “you do?”

“i do, baby, with everything i’ve got. i-“ he falters for a moments, visibly steeling himself for what he wanted to say. “i want to spend the rest of my life with you. there’s not a future i can picture that doesn’t include you. you’re it for me.”

“i want that too ‘sei.” you hiccup, more tears trickle out faster than you can wipe them clear.

you feel his whole body relax, hands rubbing at your sides to soothe you. “don’t cry, angel. wait till i’m inside you at least.”

“shut up.” your laugh comes out watery but it feels good to smile. “how do you go from sweet to nasty so fast?”

“just wanted to see you smile.” you try and fail to suppress another grin that only widens when mattsun peppers your cheeks with loud kisses. “so pretty and all mine.”

“all yours.” you repeat, grinding your soaked folds along the underside of his cock. “and you’re mine, right?”

“that’s right, princess. go on, take what’s yours.”

sinking down on mattsun feels like coming home, the empty ache finally gone as he fills you and you both moan when he bottoms out. there’s no way for you to bounce in this position but you find that you don’t mind. you feel closer to him like this, what little space there is between you vibrating with how vulnerable you both were.

it’s relaxing, slowly rolling your hips against each other, not building towards anything and indulging in the other’s touch. your hands roam across his broad back, sucking dark marks into his neck while he grabs at your ass, kneading and groping so possessively you clench around him.

“fuck.” he groans next to your ear. “keeping squeezing me with that princess cunt, you feel so fucking good. just like that, good girl.”

“issei…” you whimper, pressure gradually building in your gut as your grinding gets sloppy and legs grow weak.

“what is it, baby? use your words.”

“want more, ‘sei i want your cum.”

“yeah? want me to fill up this greedy pussy and keep you warm with my cum?” he leans forward, keeping you cradled in his arms as your back hits the mattress, your legs still crossed around his waist keeping him as close to you as possible.

you nod, half delirious with need and mattsun begins thrusting in earnest. his cock is so thick he nudges against every sensitive spot along your walls, his tip battering just below your cervix and hitting so deep you swear you can feel it in your throat. his hands pry yours open from where you had been gripping the sheets and laces his fingers with yours. a swell of love rises in you and has you gasping for air as he fucks you into the mattress. you can’t even hear your own moans over the squelch as you grow wetter and wetter and the smack of his heavy balls against your ass.

your orgasm takes both of you by surprise, ripping through you so violently you’re left a shaking mess. mattsun’s hips stutter, bucking wildly into you as he nears his own high and you stare in awe as he reaches it. it’s a sight you’ll never get enough of, how beautiful he looks as he spills endlessly inside you, mindlessly grinding it deeper with his softening cock.

“you okay, angel?” he asks, pulling you in for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“mhmm. can we stay like this?” you weren’t ready to put any space between you, not so soon after reconnecting.

“‘course we can.” he settles over you, knowing exactly what you need. his weight a reassurance that grounds you in a way words never could. it’s a conversation in its own right, one that could only pass between two people who knew each other as well as you knew each other. in the quiet afterglow he tells you that he’s here with you. that you were going to work on being okay again. that he wouldn’t let you feel that lonely ever again. and you believe him with every fibre of your being.

dedicated to: @honeykeigo @ohno-otome @keigobaby @saintdabi @toshidou @sawam0chi

#matsukawa x reader #matsukawa smut #matsukawa angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu angst #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei smut #matsukawa issei angst #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! smut

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jtargaryen18 · 3 years ago

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His Inheritance ~ Chapter 8 Preview

“Your temperature is slightly elevated but everything else seems okay,” the ER nurse told you. “If the fever returns or you experience other symptoms with it, please get in touch with your personal physician if it’s a non-emergency. Otherwise, come back here.”

Nerves were getting the better of you now. The niacin Nat gave you managed to mimic a short-lived fever. It made you feel strange enough to be convincing to the ER staff that took care of you. They ran several tests, found nothing. The clipboard holding your paperwork was clutched tightly in your shaking hand, half-completed and barely legible.

“Where’s your friend?” the nurse’s voice cut into your thoughts.

She’d walked you back into the waiting room that was literally filled with people, some injured, others visibly ill. Not only did you feel guilty because there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with you, but you didn’t see Nat anywhere.

“She’ll be back for me,” you said to her, finding a seat near the door, hoping it was true even as you said it.

Hopefully, she was getting to visit Clint. How she planned to get around Steve’s men who were there to watch over him, you didn’t know.

All you knew is that you were alone in the ER with no car. No way out.

If what Steve told you was true, you could be in very real danger. Someone shot Clint. Was it ordered by Bucky Barnes? An old enemy of your father’s? What if they figured out you were there at the hospital? All alone?

You checked your phone every few seconds, hoping for a message from Nat. Praying you wouldn’t see one from Dyson. Or Steve. Your heart raced and your anxiety was through the roof. The window was cold behind you, blasts of winter air hit you each time someone came in or out of the automated glass doors.

You needed to get back. Dyson had barely had time to react when Nat had rushed you out the door, into her SUV. The poor man looked on the verge of apoplexy as he stared out the open doorway of Steve’s house, watching you drive away with Nat.

You wanted to earn a trusted friend in Nat. But what had you gotten yourself into?

Mere moments passed and you couldn’t take it anymore. You started typing a quick text to Nat. You hated infringing on any time she had with Clint but…

You shivered in the chill from the door opening by your side.

You jumped in your seat when a heavy hand dropped onto your shoulder. The scent of sandalwood caused your fear to spike. Your phone tumbled from your hand.

Steve scooped it up with a speed that startled you, his sharp gaze meeting yours as he handed it to you. There was a dusting of snow on his hair, on the shoulders of his heavy black coat.

Oh, you were caught.

You didn’t recognize the men who walked in behind him, both dressed in suits and overcoats as he was. The taller one had dark eyes and slick black hair. His face was stern as Steve plucked the clipboard from your lap and handed it off to him. That man made his way towards the desk.

The other man was shorter with warm brown hair, warmer blue eyes. His gaze was sympathetic on you.

Kneeling in front of you, Steve took your hands in his. It wasn’t until then you realized just how bad you were trembling. Your heart beat so fast and so hard your chest hurt.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked you, his tone soft.

“I’m fine,” you managed. “I had a slight fever and Nat was nervous. She insisted…” It was the best you could remember on what she told you to say.

Steve’s smirk was knowing. “I’m sure she did.”

Still, he insisted on talking to the nurse who attended you, the older woman charmed by his polished appearance, his obvious concern for you.

Like it was real…

Signaling to his men, they approached the two of you. Steve grabbed your coat from the seat next where you were sitting and held it for you to slip on.

“Take her to my car,” he told them. “Don’t leave her under any circumstance. Got it?”

To you, he said. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Then I’m taking you home.”

The stern-faced man nodded and headed for the door. The friendly one motioned for you to follow him.

You glanced back over your shoulder to see Steve walking away, heading into the hospital.

He was looking for Nat you knew.

You felt worse about the day’s events, the decision you made, as the minutes ticked by.

#His Inheritance #Who's in more trouble?

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 4 years ago

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Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit, MINORS BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 15/16 (all chapters)

UA’s press conference aired two days after the incident, a deceptively simple move in the grander scheme of things. Their status as a household name and initial hesitation to comment on the incident had captivated the country. By the time the conference began, everyone had grown morbidly curious. Reporters chomped at the bit for answers; the general public watched with bated breath.

Hizashi glowered into his beer at the izakaya, stomach churning as the other patrons watched in suspense.

Nemuri sat down in front of her TV, ready to bury her face in the pillow she held to her chest.

Shigaraki and the League of Villains watched with expressions of glee, glancing across at Bakugo every so often in the hopes of catching the exact moment he lost faith in hero society.

Jirou, Hagakure and the other students yet to recover from the forest attack watched from their hospital beds.

Midoriya, Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, Iida and Todoroki watched from Kamino ward, hands trembling at the grim reminder that they shouldn’t have been there.

Your mother watched from the couch in your childhood home, alternating between sewing and shooting disapproving glances at the television, all while your father bellowed into his cell phone, demanding to know the name of the person that had allowed Moonfish to escape. In an oddly fortuitous turn of events, UA had escaped his ire. He had been personally involved in Moonfish’s conviction and took your injuries as a slight on his honour. It had never occurred to him to blame UA.

The world watched as Aizawa, Nezu and Vlad stepped out onto center stage, a fact that was not at all lost on them. Vlad gave his tie a forceful tug before stepping out into public view. Shouta took a deep breath and followed.

He had taken a crash course in interview techniques the night before, though if anything Hizashi’s coaching methods made him even more nervous. Hizashi was used to taking interviews, a consequence of years as a public entertainer. Eraserhead was rarely seen in public, much less interviewed by the press.

As Shouta, Vlad and Nezu bowed in apology, your eyelids twitched. You opened one eye by a sliver and then the other, taking in the darkness around you. You were still woozy from surgery and multiple rounds of treatment from Recovery Girl, every inch of your body feeling like lead. You didn’t remember who you were, much less where you were, and your initial inspection of your surroundings gleaned little in the way of answers.

The last thing you saw before closing your eyes again, overwhelmed by exhaustion, was the punnet of peaches at the foot of your bed- a flash of colour in the otherwise monochromatic room.

You slept for two days after that, fingers and eyelids occasionally twitching. The doctors were hopeful that you would wake up soon, though the news of any potential recovery on your part was swiftly drowned out by the chaos in Kamino ward.

The age of All Might was over and all of hero society needed to adapt. UA needed a plan now more than ever.

You were moved to Musutafu’s city hospital three days after the incident, Recovery Girl insisting that you were well enough to make the trip and it would be more convenient to have you closer to home. You slept through most of this process, briefly opening your eyes and staring at the strip lights above your head as they wheeled you through the hospital corridors.

You woke up fully coherent the following morning, eyes burning as they opened. Your body didn’t feel as heavy as it had before, but it ached instead, as stiff and sore as if you had run a marathon at full speed.

You sat up and immediately regretted it, for your side throbbed and left you flinching. You stroked a hand over the spot, remembering the last few moments before you had lost consciousness. You remembered the blade cutting through you; remembered the tightness in your body and stench of blood. When you lifted your pyjama shirt, though, there was no wound, only a ghostly patch of raised skin.

You wondered how long you had been asleep and scanned the room for any sort of hint, heart fluttering at the realisation that you weren’t alone. Someone was sitting in the chair next to your bed, face obscured from view by a textbook and snoring softly.

From the clothes and book title, you were able to make an educated guess who lay beneath. You only knew one person who taught English grammar.

“Hizashi,” you murmured, reaching out to touch his arm. “Hizashi.”

You tapped his elbow and he shifted in place, perhaps thinking your touches were part of his dream.

“Hey...Hizashi.”

“Hmmm?”

You eased the textbook off his face and put it down on the bed, watching as he began to stir.

“You’ll get a crick in your neck if you sleep like that,” you said, poking his arm.

“Sorry, (Name),” he said sleepily, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face, only to freeze in place and realise what he’d said.

He jerked up straight and shoved on his glasses, hands trembling so much that it took several attempts to actually get them on, much less see you properly.

“You’re real, right? I’m not dreaming,” he said, sitting down on the bed next to you and throwing both arms around your shoulders, resting his chin on your head.

“If it is a dream, it’s pretty meta,” you said, reaching up to touch the arm closest to your collarbone and looking up into his face, gaining a faceful of scratchy, tearful kisses in response.

You remembered dialling Hizashi’s voicemail; the way you had cursed every time you reached his automated message.

You had resigned yourself to never seeing him again, but there he was, holding onto you and kissing your cheeks. You closed your eyes, absorbing his warm body and familiar scent, tears running down your own face before you realised what was happening.

“Hey, (Name),” he said, loosening his grip on you and stroking his fingers through your hair, “are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“I’m just so happy,” you sniffled, “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer,” he said, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

You sat in silence for a while, overwhelmed with emotion and enjoying the moment. You rested your head against Hizashi’s chest, afraid that he’d disappear into smoke if you let go.

Unfortunately, the more you relaxed and focussed on his heartbeat, the more memories of that night came flooding back. You remembered stumbling through the woods, remembered why you had dialled his number in the first place.

You couldn’t breathe, your heart raced, memories of USJ creatures and men with patchwork faces dominating your every thought.

You knew you were having a panic attack; you knew dozens of techniques to get through them. Even so, it had been such a long time since you had had one and it crept up on you with so little warning that you were powerless to do anything. All you could do was grip onto Hizashi for dear life, hands growing sweaty and chest rattling with shallow breaths.

Hizashi picked up on your struggle relatively quickly and stroked a hand over your back, gently prising you off him and slipping one of his bracelets off his wrist.

“Here we go,” he said, slipping it onto yours, “slow and steady, focus on my voice.”

You reached for the bracelet and snapped the elastic against your exposed skin, relishing the sharp shock that rippled through your body and eased you back to earth.

“Just like that,” said Hizashi, stroking your hair, “nice and easy.”

You took a deep breath and rubbed your temples, head clearing and tension slowly leaving your body.

“How long have I been out?”

“About a week.”

“A week ?”

From the heaviness of your body and severity of your wounds, you assumed it had been much, much longer.

“Did you get my message? The address? What-“

“One thing at a time, princess,” he laughed. “A lot happened while you were asleep.”

“Really?”

“Well, for a start, UA’s reputation has taken a nosedive. Almost all of the students at the camp were injured-“ he reached for your shoulders as you flinched at the news, “-they’re fine, don’t worry!”

“Ragdoll,” you whispered, remembering the way she had told you to run, “is she-“

Get out of here, (Name). Tell the others!

Hizashi’s grave expression was all you needed to know. You clapped a hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you whispered, Hizashi letting go of your shoulders and holding you to his chest. “It wasn’t…”

“I know, sweetie, I know. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“No, I need to know,” you said, wiping your eyes. “Is she dead?”

You needed closure.

“No,” said Hizashi, “she and Bakugo were taken away by the League of Villains. Ragdoll lost her quirk, but Bakugo was rescued in time…in part because someone led us straight to their front door.”

“Poor Ragdoll,” you sniffed. “And Bakugo? Is he…”

“He’s going to be fine,” said Hizashi. “The League wanted to recruit him, but no such luck.”

You knew from conversations with Shouta exactly how volatile he could be. It was naive to think villains wouldn’t have noticed it too.

“Wait,” you said, “Shouta...”

Had he been caught up in the villain attack? Was he okay? You remembered dialling his number too.

Hizashi frowned, which only added fuel to the fire.

“Hiz...Hizashi? I-“

You willed him to tell you Shouta was fine, that he hadn’t thrown himself into danger. You knew him too well to believe that, though. You remembered how angry you had been with him after the events of USJ; how quickly he had thrown himself into the line of fire to protect his students.

Your throat tightened and you snapped the bracelet against the inside of your wrist.

“He’s fine,” said Hizashi. “Came out of it with nothin’ but bruises. Thing is, though…because of everything that’s happened in the last few months...a lot of people have lost faith in UA. We’ve grown negligent, taken peace for granted…”

“What are you saying?”

“Something happened the night they rescued Bakugo,” he said. “All Might’s power. It’s gone.”

“ Gone ?”

“I don’t know all of the details,” he said, “only that he can’t use his quirk to fight anymore. He’s going to retire soon. Without him, though…”

You shuddered, knowing exactly where this was going. All Might had maintained Japan’s low crime rate for decades. His departure from the hero ranks would almost certainly create a power vacuum on both sides.

“What does that have to do with Shouta?”

“Well, as I said, UA’s reputation has well and truly tanked,” said Hizashi. “Sho, Nezu, Vlad and All Might are going to visit the students today...try and persuade their parents to let them come back.”

You tried to absorb the news, habitually snapping the bracelet on your wrist to keep you grounded.

“Is he...okay?”

Shouta would blame himself for this. You knew that much without having to ask and Hizashi chuckled under his breath.

“As good as anyone can be when their lady’s in the ICU.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that. You remembered plotting with the Pussycats, the strategy they had put in place so the two of you could talk alone.

You’d never mentioned your feelings for Shouta to Hizashi. You’d never told him the pair of you had slept together. Before leaving for summer camp, you didn’t think you had never given him any reason to suspect you might have been Shouta’s ‘lady’.

Of course, the more you thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. You remembered calling him ‘Shouta’ in conversation without realising; remembered probing Hizashi for his address. Hizashi wasn’t an idiot and knew Shouta better than you ever would. It was naive to think he wouldn’t have noticed something was off about the two of you.

“You knew about that, huh?”

“You kiddin’? I don’t get how anyone could meet you and not fall in love with you.”

His words were so sincere that you giggled.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Did you know you have your own background music? What’s it like having cherubs sing behind you every time you take a step?”

“Stop it,” you said, face flushing red, “you’re making me blush!!”

“Good,” he said, kissing your forehead.

“Say, Hizashi.”

“Mm?”

“Don’t call me Shouta’s lady like I can’t be yours as well.”

There was no point dancing around the point now. You were well past the stage of breaking it to him gently.

For a second, you wondered if you’d made a mistake. He sat incredibly still, breath warm against your forehead. Slowly, he lowered his face, touching his forehead to yours as he caught your lips.

“Hizashi,” you murmured into his open mouth as he broke the contact.

“Sssh,” he said, cupping your face and moving in to kiss you again, “the cherubs brought out tiny violins.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“Adds to the appeal, don’t ya think?”

You looped your arms around his neck to draw him in deeper and lowered yourself down onto the bed. He crushed his lips against yours, every kiss sending ripples through your core.

It felt so good that you forgot you were in a hospital and why you were there. In that moment there was only you, Hizashi and months of lost time.

Hizashi slipped a hand under your pyjama shirt, lifting the fabric higher to expose your scar. He broke away from you and sat up a little to get a good look at it, pouting as you instantly dragged your shirt back down.

“I guess my two piece days are over,” you said, blushing bright red in an attempt to deflect your embarrassment.

You had exactly two scars on your entire body and both were from Moonfish, each as ugly as the other. Hizashi linked his fingers through yours and guided your hand away from your shirt.

“I was just thinking,” he said, exposing your scar, “it makes me kinda nostalgic.”

“Nostalgic? For w-“

You caught his meaning too late, remembering the night you’d slept together. You remembered the moment he dragged off the condom and came across your middle, covering you in spots as ghostly white as the raised skin.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” you squeaked, hiding your face in your hands.

“Am I wrong?”

He prised your hands away from your face, grinning widely. He wasn’t wrong and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“(Name), look at me.”

Against your better judgement, you looked up at him, only for him to lean over and steal a kiss.

“Am I wrong?” he murmured, face inches from yours.

You looked up into his face, slipping a hand out of his and tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

“No.”

You looked into each other’s faces for a while, enjoying the warmth and one another’s presence. You had had so much to say, but the events at the lodge had given you a new perspective. It didn’t matter to you anymore if you said it out loud. Actions spoke far louder than an awkwardly planned confession ever would.

“Let’s get out of here,” you said at last.

“You sure?” said Hizashi, nuzzling his face against your hand. “You were really badly hurt, ya know? Couldn’t hurt to rest for a little longer.”

“No,” you said, motioning for him to get up. “I have work to do.”

You had been gone for a week and the world had fallen apart. The children needed you; your colleagues needed you. They were the future of hero society and had already suffered enough. You couldn’t fix the world or undo the night at the lodge, but at the very least you could give them pats to the head and a sympathetic ear.

~~~~~~

It took a lot of coaxing for the doctors to let you discharge yourself. They insisted that you still needed rest, to which you argued you needed fresh air. You pouted your way through their examinations and tests, insisting you had rested enough. Your wounds weren’t open anymore and you hadn’t been on a ventilator since arriving in Musutafu. You were wobbly on your feet, but you weren’t in danger and you weren’t alone.

“Be careful,” your doctor sighed as you handed over your discharge papers, “your injuries were severe and it’s important you don’t push yourself too much.”

“I’ll be okay,” you said, knowing that he couldn’t stop you even if he wanted to.

“Don’t worry, doc,” said Hizashi, lifting you up into his arms like a newly wedded wife. “I’ve got Recovery Girl on speed dial.”

You giggled as he carried you out of the hospital and into the car park, holding you gently so as not to aggravate your injured side.

“Do you really have Recovery Girl on speed dial?”

“Of course I do,” he said in mock offense, “though I called her so many times this week that I’m pretty sure she blocked me.”

“Wow, should I be jealous?”

Hizashi laughed, stopping in place to kiss you on the lips.

“ Are you jealous?”

“Just surprised,” you said. “I didn’t have Recovery Girl pegged as a cougar.”

The pair of you sniggered as you crossed the car park, arriving at a flashy car that could only belong to Hizashi. He set you down on your feet as he reached for his keys and opened the doors, easing you into the passenger side front seat as if you were made of glass.

“Comfortable?” he asked as he fastened his own seatbelt. “I have some cushions in the back if you want one.”

“You sleep there often?”

“Only when I’ve got company!”

The ride home was a short one, though you made sure to absorb every detail; the soft synthwave music playing through the car radio; the city’s afternoon glow; Hizashi’s hand slipping into yours whenever you hit traffic.

Hizashi pulled up outside of your house and went on ahead to unlock your front door before helping you inside. You lingered in the doorway, Hizashi a couple of steps behind you.

“You good, little listener?”

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath before crossing the threshold, “it’s just been a while, that’s all.”

Your home was exactly the same as when you’d left it, which shouldn’t have surprised you, yet did all the same. You hadn’t been there for so long that it smelled foreign. You normally didn’t smell the pot pourri or candles you had used to decorate the place, but suddenly they overpowered your senses.

You had left in a hurry, without much time to tidy up. Your breakfast dishes from that morning were still drying on the rack; your pyjamas lay abandoned in the laundry basket. You had left your laptop on the kitchen table, a pamphlet for Yamanashi next to it.

It was like a perfectly preserved time capsule and Hizashi wrapped an arm around your shoulder at your hesitation.

“We can go to my place if you’d like,” he said gently, “if it’s easier.”

“No,” you said, snapping the bracelet against your wrist and taking a few shaky steps towards the couch. “It’s fine.”

You sank down onto your couch, rummaging through your purse as Hizashi pottered around in the kitchen. At some point someone had switched off your phone and you turned it over in your hands, all too aware of how spotlessly clean it was. Someone had scrubbed away the bloody fingerprints, perhaps the same someone who had painted your nails. You spread out your fingers as you powered on your phone, taking note of how carefully it had been done.

Your phone came on at 13% battery, immediately bursting to life with messages, missed calls and voicemails.

You recalled the USJ incident, how overwhelmed you had felt back then when you had been in no danger at all and out of contact for only a few hours. This time you had a week’s worth of notifications to sort through. The groupchat you shared with your girlfriends had exploded; you had voicemails and missed calls from your brother, as well as a few from your mom. You had missed calls from Hizashi and Nemuri, though one name cropped up more than any other. Shouta seemed to have called you multiple times a day every day since the incident.

“Hey,” said Hizashi, sitting down next to you with a cup of steaming tea, “enough of that.”

He prised the phone out of your grip and set it down on the coffee table, slipping the tea into your hands instead.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, though for the tea or the intervention you weren’t quite sure.

~~~~

Several hours later, you sipped ice water at the izakaya, Hizashi peering out from your booth to the doors.

As a morale boost, he had invited the other teachers to the izakaya for drinks that evening. If the students refused to come back, they could drink away their woes. If they agreed, they could raise a toast to the new school year.

He hadn’t expected you to be awake, much less eager to join them, but you had looked so desperately lonely that he couldn’t refuse. What’s more, he didn’t want to leave you on your own. He never wanted to ever again.

You had gotten there early, long before any of the regulars, much less other teachers. Despite being the one to suggest getting wasted in the first place, Hizashi stuck to soda, not quite so desperate to let loose that he was willing to drive you home drunk.

He stole glances at you every so often, watching for any shiver or grimace of pain. It had seemed like a good idea to steal you away from the hospital at the time. Perhaps it was selfishness on his part, but he wanted to relive the moment of joy when you spoke his name. He could think of no better way to do so than by reuniting you with the other teachers, who needed the excitement now more than ever.

Now, though, he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

After you had finished up your tea, he’d sent you away for a nap. You had been reluctant to go, but he’d insisted, claiming you needed your strength for the partying that night. You’d pouted as he tucked you in, only to fall asleep again in minutes.

For the past few days, Hizashi and Nemuri had taken turns visiting your hospital bed. They both had lesson planning to do, though nothing they couldn’t do remotely. Shouta had visited a few times as well, though lesson planning and dealing with the fallout of Bakugo’s rescue took up almost all of his time.

Hizashi had continued to plot out his schedule while you slept, getting up every so often to poke his head through your bedroom door.

Even now he watched you like a hawk. He knew your movements were slower than usual, that your injured side burned with pain if you stretched too far. He had helped you bathe and dress ahead of the night at the izakaya, only too happy to rinse the smell of the hospital from your hair under the guise of being a pervert.

It was a useful facade, for whenever you caught him glancing in your direction, all he had to do was slip a hand onto your thigh and tell you you were pretty to deflect how concerned he still was and likely would be for the rest of your lives.

Nemuri was the first to arrive, massaging her shoulders as she stood at the bar. She glanced around the room to see who else had arrived and waved at Hizashi, unable to see you because of the angle of the booth.

She cursed as she arrived at the table, beers under her arm as well as a portion of garlic fries.

“Wake me up when the-” she grumbled as she arrived at the booth, freezing in place when she saw you sitting there.

“Hi,” you said, to which she let out a shriek of joy and threw herself into the seat beside you.

“It’s you!” she cried out, trapping you in a tight hug that she swiftly reconsidered. “It’s really you!”

“Yep,” you said as she pressed your head against her chest and carded her fingers through your hair, “it’s really me.”

“How did you... when did you?!”

She glanced from you to Hizashi, suspicion and joy playing out across her face. You had been fast asleep the last time she visited you, fingers occasionally twitching.

“This morning,” said Hizashi, leaning back against the walls of the booth and sipping his soda.

He’d considered texting her with the news, but you had been sleeping at the time and he knew she’d come right over. He’d considered texting Shouta too but decided against it. It would come across as incredibly unprofessional if a text came through while he was speaking to a concerned parent, after all. In the end, for better or worse, selfish or otherwise, he’d left it as a surprise.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she said, tears rolling down her face. “Pinch me.”

You pinched her arm and she cupped your face, swiftly squishing you against her again.

“I’m coming to stay with you for the next few days,” she said, “we can watch movies, I can do the cooking-”

“Nemuri, she just got out of the hospital.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” she said, glowering at Hizashi and stroking your hair. “(Name), just ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Hizashi protested the point, though you barely paid attention, catching only the occasional word here and there. Nemuri combed her fingers through your hair, defending both her honour and cooking skills.

“Honestly,” she said at last, reaching up to touch her own cheek. “I should go and fix my makeup. (Name), you come too!”

Neither you nor Hizashi commented on the fact that her makeup was fine and you weren’t wearing any.

~~~~

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

Nemuri paused, eyeliner pen in hand.

“Whatever do you mean?”

She had lifted you up onto the counter to get a better angle, silently painting away the dark circles under your eyes and returning the colour to your cheeks.

You spread out your fingers, flashing your scarlet fingernails.

“Guilty as charged,” she said. “It was the least I could do, considering…”

You remembered the last conversation you had had with her, right before you had rushed out of the door to meet Shouta and take on her duties as chaperone. She had sounded so upset over the phone; you had gone without a second thought.

“You couldn’t have known what would happen,” you said, tilting your head as she applied the eyeliner. “No one could have.”

“(Name),” she said, swallowing loudly, “the truth is...there was never anything wrong with me. I sent you there because...Hizashi and I wanted you and Aizawa to talk.”

“Huh?”

You had wanted to get Shouta alone, of course, but hadn’t thought of the trip to the lodge as anything more than a lucky break.

Not for the first time that day, you realised exactly how naive you had been. How many conflicts had passed by without your notice? How many sacrifices?

Shouta had pushed you towards Hizashi, Hizashi had pushed you towards Shouta. Both wanted the other to be happy, both wanted the best for all involved.

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. Every moment of hesitation; every second thought; it had always been part of something much bigger. You had always been part of a far more intricate sequence of events and now it was unravelling before your eyes.

You laughed so hard that your eyes blurred with tears, Nemuri joining in soon after.

“I’m such an idiot,” you said. “We’re all such idiots.”

Nemuri laughed with you, doubling over and smudging your makeup in the process.

“It’s really been that simple the whole time,” you spluttered, “ all this time .”

You laughed until your side hurt and you sucked in a deep breath, touching your hand to the spot as Nemuri ran a makeup wipe over your smudged eyeliner.

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Speak to Aizawa at the lodge.”

“Oh,” you said. “No. The attack happened before…”

Nemuri tossed aside the wipe and folded her arms with a smirk.

“Seems to me that you three have a lot to talk about,” she said, glancing from you to the makeup bag. “I need to rethink this...I need to rethink all of this .”

She reached for different eyeshadows and fresh brushes, ready to paint you in different colours.

“You listen to me, kitten,” she said, reaching for lipstick, “if they mess around with you like this again…” she ran her thumb over your bottom lip, “you come to me.”

Her thumb was warm against your lip, gentle enough to tickle but hard enough to bring heat to your cheeks.

Was she...

Surely she wasn’t...

Surely she didn't…

Your eyes darted from her slender fingers to the bright red polish coating her nails; the same shade she had used to paint your own. She smelled intoxicatingly sweet, like the fancy soap stores you often passed in Roppongi, the ones that left their doors wide open to lure in passers by with exotic fragrances.

Right then you felt just as curious; imagination wandering to paths never taken and decisions never made. A different lover in a different bathroom...maybe even this one.

“O-okay.”

~~~~~

Night had fallen by the time Shouta arrived at the izakaya, loosening off his tie with a grunt. He hadn’t bothered to hide the fact that he didn’t want to go. He could think of a dozen or more things he’d rather be doing. He had lesson planning to do, streets to patrol and that was without mention of stopping by the hospital. Your transfer to Musutafu made things a lot more convenient in theory, though his schedule had been so unforgiving that he still hadn’t been able to visit as much as he wanted to.

He walked towards the bar, ready to order something fruity and deceptively strong. For a moment at least, he wanted to distract himself from the chaos of the past few weeks.

“Sho,” said Hizashi, stepping out from a booth and draping an arm across his shoulders. “You made it!”

“Looks that way,” he said, eyes immediately darting around the room.

It had been a few days since they’d slept together and, in truth, he was still waiting for it to feel wrong. Hizashi had never been a stranger to putting an arm around his shoulders or reaching for his arm, but there was something different about his touches now. Shouta half expected everyone in the izakaya to stop what they were doing and stare in disgust, yet they carried on as if nothing had happened. Snipe and Nemuri faced off against each other on one of the arcade machines while Cementoss and Vlad played pool. Thirteen was sitting in a nearby booth with Ectoplasm, engrossed in a game of poker. All Might and Nezu discussed the day’s events, drinks long forgotten.

Shouta wasn’t used to public displays of affection. He wasn’t used to dating or letting down his guard. He had brushed off any of Hizashi’s attempts to hold hands, had been deliberately non-committal in arranging dates, and all because it felt like a betrayal. He wasn’t ashamed of being with another man, didn’t care that said man happened to be Hizashi. He did, however, care a good deal about doing either of those things without your blessing.

He didn’t want to commit to another person without hearing what it was you’d had to say that day at the lodge. He had told himself that you were better off not knowing how far you had gotten under his skin, but he didn’t believe himself anymore. He wanted the first thing you heard from him to be a prayer: a prayer that you wouldn’t leave him again; a prayer that you would forgive him for every time he had pushed you away and been upset when you didn’t follow.

Hizashi, who not only knew him better than he knew himself but had found himself in a similar predicament, didn’t push. Shouta told himself he would thank him for it when all of this was over.

“Listen,” said Hizashi, expression grave as he flagged down the bartender, “don’t freak out, okay?”

“Freak out? About what?”

“Hmmm...well…”

“You can’t just tell me not to freak out without context.”

“Uhhhh...well...the thing is…(Name) woke up earlier on today.”

Shouta’s eyes widened. He was glad he hadn’t yet ordered a drink, for he was certain it would have shattered on the floor.

“I have to go,” he said without a moment’s hesitation. “I need to-”

He moved to leave, only to look back in surprise as Hizashi took hold of his arm.

“What are you doing? Let me go.”

Before this, Hizashi had encouraged him to go and see you. Why was he stopping him now?

“She discharged herself,” he said. “You won’t find her there.”

“She what ,” said Shouta, pulling his arm away. “That idiot , what was she thinking?”

“Wait,” said Hizashi, grabbing his arm again, “where are you going now?”

“Where do you think? I’m going to her house,” he said. “What if she tries to cook something and passes out by the oven? What if she tries to take a bath and dr-”

“Sho,” said Hizashi, looking more than a little bit offended, “you won’t find her there either.”

Shouta blinked, contemplating where else you might have gone. Had you gone to your parents’ house? No, he knew for a fact that it was unlikely. He paid close attention to just about everything you said and you hadn’t exactly made a secret of how little contact you had with your immediate family.

Had Hizashi set you up at his place? Had Nemuri taken you to hers?

Where were you?

He needed to talk to you, needed to wipe the last memory of you from his imagination. He didn’t want to speak your name and immediately think of you pinned to a tree. He didn’t want to remember your voice as a croak of despair.

Hizashi chewed at his bottom lip and Shouta’s imagination ran wild.

Was this his weird way of telling him you’d died?

“She’s over there,” said Hizashi at last, nodding his head towards All Might’s booth.

Shouta’s blood ran cold.

No way.

No fucking way.

He had wanted to speak to you so badly for so long. He’d wanted to see you up and about on your feet, back at UA as if nothing had happened. Now that you were there, though, in the same room and surrounded by other teachers, he didn’t trust himself to look at you. What if he fell to pieces like he had on that night at the lodge?

“You okay?” said Hizashi, prodding at his arm.

“I’m fine,” he said with a sigh. “Just...”

He wasn’t prepared to be vulnerable in plain sight. He didn’t know how he’d react when he saw you.

“Okay,” said Hizashi. “Hear me out…”

~~~~~

The past week had passed by you in a second, yet it felt like you hadn’t seen your colleagues in years and apparently the feeling was mutual. You found yourself on the receiving end of more hugs than you could count, more pats to the head in half an hour than you had received in the past twenty years.

That was without mention of your ever expanding collection of ice water. Everyone wanted to buy you a drink and you knew for a fact you couldn’t drink them all.

You ran your fingers through the condensation on your nearest glass as All Might and Nezu discussed the home visits, eyes darting to the izakaya doors every time they opened.

You had expected Shouta to arrive with All Might and struggled to contain your disappointment when that wasn’t the case. The more time passed, the more nervous you became. Part of you hated the idea of the first years’ hard work and training going to waste, but you didn’t know what you would do in their parents’ position. If your child went through the same experiences as 1-A and B, would you allow them to go back? Would your need to protect them overpower your need to see them happy?

You were biased and you knew it.

It was almost a relief when Hizashi came back to the booth and reached out an arm.

“C’mon, Little Listener,” he said, guiding you out of the booth and onto your feet, “let’s stretch those legs and greet your adoring public!”

You linked your arm through his and used his weight to steady your own, grateful for the prospect of leaving the booth even temporarily. You had been sitting there for so long that you were pretty sure it had remolded your butt.

“This way,” said Hizashi, leading you past the arcade machine and jukebox, through a side door that led outside to the back of the izakaya.

You took a gulp of fresh air, relishing the coolness against your skin.

“You okay, sweetness?”

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s good to see everyone again.”

He laughed softly, patting his hand over the one you had linked through his.

“ Almost everyone,” he said, pointing out a shadowy figure further along the street. You followed his gaze, eyes blurring with tears.

You would have known that silhouette anywhere.

You had wanted to see Shouta for so long; had wanted to speak to him for longer. There he was, right in front of you, and none of it seemed real.

He looked good , dressed up in a suit, though plainly tired of it, for he had taken off his tie and unfastened his top two buttons, leaving his collarbones on full display. You realised this was the first time you’d seen him with his hair up since Ego and, in all honesty, you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle.

“I’ll leave you to it,” said Hizashi, clapping his hands together and stepping back into the izakaya, leaving the pair of you completely alone.

You stared at Shouta; he stared at you, neither of you quite believing this was happening.

“I,” you said at last, “the thing is…”

You never got to finish your sentence, for Shouta moved, stepping closer and resting his head on your shoulder. For a moment, you were sure your heart stopped.

“Forgive me,” he murmured into your neck, voice rumbling against your skin. You closed your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks.

You considered asking him what it was he wanted forgiveness for, though decided against it. He’d spent the entire day apologising for events out of his control and this wasn’t the time to dwell on them even more.

You reached up to cradle his body, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other combing through his hair.

“Okay,” you whispered back, saying nothing of the wetness against your neck from tears that were not your own.

He lifted his head and touched his forehead to yours, catching your lips in his in a kiss that consumed every inch of you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes; a kiss you wanted to burn you to ashes and scatter you on the evening air; a kiss you would remember with perfect clarity for the rest of your life, long after other details of that night lay forgotten.

~~~~

You stayed at the izakaya for another hour or two, Hizashi’s jacket draped over your shoulders while both he and Shouta hovered in your general vicinity like a pair of mother hens.

All Might and Nezu were the first to leave, staying only for a couple of rounds and catch up with Shouta, followed a short while later by Thirteen. Nemuri, who had had more than a little bit to drink by that point, tried to persuade everyone else to finish up the night at a club. Ordinarily, Hizashi would have said yes, but he had other responsibilities today, namely getting you home and finally hashing it out with you and Shouta.

He didn’t speak much at all on the drive to your house, glancing at you in his rear view mirror every time you hit traffic lights. He wanted to reach out for Shouta’s hand as he had yours; to congratulate him properly for his hard work that day. Once or twice, as you leaned your head against the passenger side window and drifted in and out of sleep, he reached in Shouta’s direction, only to pass it off as resting his hand against the gear stick.

Even if he did make contact, he knew Shouta wouldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t do anything without your knowledge. It was exactly the sort of honour he loved him for, but did nothing to warm his fingertips. Hizashi loved to touch and be touched; he liked being on the receiving end of attention almost as much as he liked giving it out. Not being able to touch Shouta was like being starved of oxygen and he felt himself wither with every second that passed.

It was a relief when they finally arrived at your house, Shouta lifting you up into his arms as you rifled through your purse for the key.

Hizashi followed the pair of you inside, watching as Shouta set you down on the couch and slipped off your shoes with a good deal of care- far more care than he ever afforded himself.

“We need to talk,” Shouta said as you rubbed your eyes.

“Sho,” said Hizashi, suddenly paranoid that you would be too tired for such an important conversation.

You sat up straight, though - of course you did - not quite wide awake, but coherent.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Let’s talk.”

The three of you sat in silence for a while. None of you had ever imagined getting this far.

Finally, Shouta broke it.

“I fucked Hizashi,” he said, so bluntly that Hizashi choked on his own spit.

“Hey, you...you don’t have to put it like that!”

“Why not,” shrugged Shouta. “It’s what happened.”

“Well yes, but...it sounds so dirty .”

For Hizashi, at least, it had been more than just fucking and even though he knew Shouta wasn’t an overly sentimental kind of guy, the notion that he felt otherwise prickled at his skin. He had been one too many people’s one night stand for it not to.

You glanced from Hizashi to Shouta with an unreadable expression. Finally, you nodded, crossing one leg over the other in the pose you very often took at your desk.

“Okay.”

Hizashi was sure his stomach fell through the floor. He’d expected you to be shocked, hurt or at the very least confused. He hadn’t expected your reaction to be so subdued.

“Does it bother you?” said Shouta.

“Why would it?”

“Well...uh…”

Hizashi glanced from you to Shouta, increasingly agitated by both of your poker faces. You were normally far more expressive than this and it was making him nervous.

“I fucked Hizashi too,” you shrugged and it took everything in him not to gasp.

It was one thing for Shouta to say it, but you?

“Does it bother you two?” you said. “That I’ve slept with you both.”

“Of course not,” said Hizashi, so quickly that it was a surprise even to himself.

The idea of being upset with you and Shouta for sleeping with each other was absurd. He wasn’t even completely upset that you’d kept it from him for so long. Shouta hadn’t been upset by the revelation that you had slept with him either, accepting it as easily as if he’d been told the pair of you had gone to the movies or eaten dinner.

“Then why should it bother me ?”

“We’re both men,” said Shouta almost immediately, to which you finally broke out into a smile.

“Trust me, I’ve noticed.”

“If we did it again...would it bother you?”

“Do you want to do it again?”

“Yes,” said Shouta, once again without any sort of hesitation.

“ Really ?” said Hizashi, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Sure.”

You sighed and rubbed your temples, adjusting your weight on the couch. Both Hizashi and Shouta stepped forwards to help but you waved them away.

“It’s okay with me,” you said. “It’s not like I own either of you. You don’t need my permission.”

“No, but I want it,” said Shouta, stubborn as ever.

You pushed yourself up from the couch and folded your arms, wrapping your fingers in the sleeves of Hizashi’s jacket.

“Do you remember how all of this began?”

“ Ego ,” said Shouta.

“No, before that,” you said, shaking your head. “When I got dumped...it made me question everything. Akira told me he didn’t want to settle down, he didn’t want to lock himself into a particular path...and I hated him for it. I thought I wasn’t good enough, that I was boring, that my entire life until that point had been a waste of time…”

“(Name),” said Hizashi, but you waved him off.

“I understand it now, though,” you said. “It was never really about Akira. It’s just...up until then I’d always been the one who settled. I was always the one who made sacrifices and hard choices. I was always the one who caved. Up until Ego I’d never done anything self indulgent. I’d never thrown caution to the wind and chased something I wanted. Until then I’d shaped myself to fit other people, because at some point I’d convinced myself that everything I actually wanted was silly or an imposition.”

You breathed a heavy sigh, cheeks flushing a bright pink.

“I want both of you,” you said. “I don’t want to choose or settle. Life’s too short to talk yourself out of doing things that make you happy. If you want to choose, I’ll support it, but don’t feel like you have to because of me.”

Hizashi looked across at Shouta. Shouta looked at him. Both of them turned to look at you and all of the confidence melted from your body.

“That is…” you said, shuffling on the spot, “I mean…”

“This is new territory,” said Hizashi at last, “it’ll take time to figure it out.”

“If it doesn’t work we can just reset,” shrugged Shouta, “it’s not a problem.”

“We’ll need to,” you said, trying and failing to stifle a yawn, “....go over boundaries.”

“We can have a longer conversation about it tomorrow,” said Hizashi, as you rubbed your eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

He reached into his pocket for his car keys, turning to Shouta with a knowing look.

Hizashi had had you all to himself for much of the day. It was only fair that Shouta got some time too, especially considering how much you likely still had to talk about. He doubted either of you would declare your undying love in an alley behind the izakaya.

“I’m heading home,” he said, “you two...don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

~~~~

After Hizashi left, you and Shouta fell into a comfortable silence. He helped you into your pyjamas and tucked you up in bed, planting kisses on your forehead any time you got close enough. It was so casually affectionate that you thought your heart might burst and you quite deliberately turned your face to his for more attention.

Your heart sank, though, when he actually tucked you in.

“I’ll be right next door,” he said, backing away, “call me if you need anything.”

You glanced from your bed to him, finally pulling back the sheets and motioning for him to come closer. You had wanted to hold onto him for what felt like an eternity and you weren’t going to pass up the chance now that it was right in front of you.

“Come here,” you said, patting the space next to you. “Get in.”

He considered it, the dilemma visibly playing out across his face.

“Fine,” he said, “move over that way.”

You did exactly that, wondering what his motives were. It would have been easier for him to take the side you pointed out to him. Had he picked the other side for no other reason than to be contrarian? It wasn’t outside the realms of possibility, but you had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

He unbuttoned his shirt and dragged it from his shoulders, exposing the sharp angles and scars of his body. This wasn’t the first time he’d done so in this room and heat pooled inside of you at the memory. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself staring then, either. You had seen the scar on his face from USJ, but not the mark on his elbow. You skimmed over the ripples in his skin, the same discoloration as on your own body.

Realisation sank in.

Shouta did indeed have a reason for choosing that side of the bed and it was far simpler than you might have imagined.

Anyone who broke into your house would have to pass your couch. Shouta had picked the side of the bed that was closest to the door. Anyone who came in would have to go through him to get to you.

You lifted up the covers so he could crawl in beside you, heart skipping a beat as he rested his head on the pillow. He looked at you in confusion, no doubt feeling your eyes on him.

“What is it?”

You rested your head on his chest.

“Nothing.”

In this situation, Hizashi would surely have pestered you for an answer. Shouta was almost certainly curious, but he didn’t say so, instead combing strands of hair out of your face in an attempt to see more of you.

You closed your eyes and listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body enclosing yours. He held you close, though not so tightly that it hurt, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you to sleep.

You fell asleep safe and warm, with a peaceful expression that Shouta watched long into early morning.

~~~~~~

A week passed.

Your energy returned, albeit slowly. It took the best part of a day to get through your notifications and update your friends and family on your condition, much less make the time to have them over. It took all of your energy on that first day to make a single pot of tea, much less make conversation.

Nemuri, true to her word, stopped in every morning to make breakfast and help with laundry. Her cooking wasn’t the best and you found yourself redoing the laundry more often than not, but her heart was in the right place and you couldn’t bring yourself to turn down her offer.

Hizashi created a group chat with you, Shouta and himself as the only members. You knew exactly what it was for the moment you received an invitation, smiling at the emojis he had used as a title: 🐱 🎤 👑

If you were all going to date it made sense to have a group chat, though it made your stomach flutter nonetheless. You still couldn’t quite believe you’d signed up for this, much less that Hizashi and Shouta were just as up for it as you were.

It didn’t sink in even as the three of you ordered food and worked over the final details, which in the end took only a matter of minutes. You were all fairly laid back when it came to preferences and boundaries. You didn’t mind who slept with who or how many dates you had with each other. You were all busy for one reason or another and there was no point in keeping score.

You discussed threesomes last of all. Given your triangular relationship, it had always only been a matter of time before it cropped up in conversation. You and Shouta had never had one, while Hizashi’s experience mostly amounted to drunken fumbling with beautiful strangers. He’d never done it with anyone he wanted to date, much less anyone he actually was . It was new territory for everyone and all three of you were nervous for different reasons.

You agreed that if you were to test run something of that nature, it made sense to do so before the next school term. The teachers would become incredibly busy almost overnight and, while Nezu had gotten you a temporary replacement for the first couple of weeks, you would have just as much to catch up on when you returned.

And so it was that Hizashi sent an address to the group chat, one sent you flushing a bright pink.

👑: You do realise that’s a love hotel?

🎤: Yup! Best for it to be on neutral ground, don’t you think?

👑: I guess you’re right .

🎤: Plus, this one has alllllll kinds of facilities. They have a minibar, they sell toys at the counter, they have every kind of lube and condom you can dream of...it’s the perfect place for de p r a v i t y

👑: what do you think, Shouta?

🐱: whatever

🎤: Then it’s settled! We’re going to have so much fun! 🎉 🎉 🎉

You lowered your phone into your lap with a giggle, which prompted Nemuri to look over from the kitchen with a raised eyebrow.

She hadn’t asked too many questions about who it was you were always texting, mostly because she hadn’t needed to. Hizashi and Shouta took turns staying the night with you long after the strength returned to your legs. It never progressed any further than cuddles and they were always gone before she arrived, but you knew she wasn’t a fool and had likely already guessed what was going on. You’d agreed to tell her once the dust had settled and you’d figured things out.

“Something funny?”

“Somewhere, at this very moment, I’m pretty sure Shouta’s questioning his life choices,” you said between giggles.

“Ahhh,” she said, reaching into your cupboard for dishes, “must be Tuesday.”

~~~~

However nervous you might have been about going to the love hotel paled in comparison to how it felt when you actually arrived.

You had spent hours going through your wardrobe, wondering what on earth to wear. Hizashi was quick to remind you that whatever you wore would end up on the bedroom floor anyway, which did little to quell your nerves. You wanted tonight to be special; the kind of night you revisited over and over to better enjoy each detail. In the end, you settled on a simple dress and shoes, with the fanciest lingerie you owned underneath.

Your stomach fluttered as you caught sight of your reflection while you were getting dressed, the anticipation of the night ahead almost too much to bear. After tonight everything would be different for what you prayed would be the right reasons.

You bobbed on your heels as Hizashi booked you in, glancing around at your surroundings. It didn’t look any different to any ordinary hotel, though you weren’t sure why such a thing surprised you. You had heard stories of people spending the night in one by accident, as well as people who took advantage of the cheap rate to do so on purpose.

You glanced across at Shouta to see if he was as nervous as you, only to see him examining one of the posters on the wall. From the looks of things, the hotel offered themed rooms as well as generic ones and while some of the themes were pretty run of the mill, some were far more unusual. They had a dinosaur themed room and an aquarium, as well as a superhero room designed to look like a back alley.

They also had a cat themed one, complete with fluffy pink bed sheets and equally fluffy cat themed lingerie, which seemed to have grabbed Shouta’s attention the most. You made a mental note to do some online shopping at the next opportunity.

“Let’s go!” said Hizashi at last, dangling a key labelled 215.

You took a deep breath and followed him through the building, taking note of the luxurious interiors. You’d expected it to look seedy and the reality was quite jarring.

“Who’s excited?!” Hizashi cried out as you took the lift to the second floor. “This is going to be awesome!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, but even he fell silent when you stepped inside of your room for the night.

This...this was everything you had expected and more besides. Everything you looked at was more obscene than the last.

The room was bright red, with silk sheets and a mirror on the ceiling. There was a pole and set of couches in the right hand corner, as well as bookcases full of erotica. Across from the bed was an enormous flat screen television and a cabinet underneath it that you knew without looking contained porn.

Hizashi fiddled with the switches on the wall, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the spotlights on the floor and ceiling, all three of you taking a step back when one switch made the room rumble. The ceiling mirror shifted and a set of straps lowered through the gap.

“Is that…” you whispered.

“It’s a sex swing!” cried out Hizashi, unable to contain his excitement.

You had only ever heard of them until now and mostly as a joke. Hizashi rushed across the room to test the straps, looping his wrists into the cuffs and hoisting his weight up off the floor, laughing as he began to swing as if the three of you were in a playground and not a room full of sin.

On the leftmost side of the room was a wooden divider screen, with multiple wardrobes behind it. You approached them slowly, morbidly curious about what you might find inside.

What you actually found there made you cry out in glee.

“Oh my god,” you said, rummaging through the drawers. “Oh my god!!!”

“What is it?” said Hizashi, trying to unravel himself from the swing.

“It’s...oh my god. They have costumes.”

“Oh? You gonna be a dominatrix for us?”

“No, you don't understand,” you said, stepping out from behind the divider. “They have costumes.”

Both Hizashi and Shouta’s eyes widened when they saw what you were wearing. You’d found a familiar spiked leather jacket and gloves, as well as the shades to match the set.

“Hey, hey, hey listeners,” you called out in your best Present Mic impression. “It’s a beeeeeeutiful day to boogie!”

Hizashi was delighted; he struck a pose of his own.

“Put on your dancin’ shoes and happy smiles,” he said, “tonight we’re going Plus Ultra style!”

“I knew it was a bad idea for you two to spend time together,” sighed Shouta, rummaging through the mini bar.

“Are you saying there’s not enough room for two Present Mics?” Hizashi pouted, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“I don’t think the world is big enough for one .”

Shouta pulled out three beers and unscrewed the lids, passing one to you and another to Hizashi.

“Cheers,” you said, taking a long sip before setting the bottle down on the nearest surface.

Hizashi and Shouta did the same, the reality of what you were about to do sinking in.

“Anyone want to back out?” said Hizashi.

“Nope,” you said, Shouta shaking his head along with you.

“Okay,” said Hizashi, “in that case, let’s set the mood .”

You stripped off the leather jacket and gloves, watching as Hizashi played around with the various switches in the room. He returned the sex swing to its original position and fixed the lighting, choosing a setting that left the room in a soft light that resembled candles.

Shouta pulled the pillows from the bed and set them down on the nearest couch, fluffing them up as you slipped behind the divider screen and unfastened the zipper of your dress. You slipped it off your shoulders and down to the floor, excitement rushing through you at the knowledge that neither Hizashi nor Shouta had noticed yet.

You rearranged your hair, taking a deep breath before stepping out and perching on the end of the bed, stretching like a cat and waiting for them to turn and look at you.

It was Shouta who noticed first, turning from the couch and freezing on the spot. You flashed him a knowing smile and he reached out for Hizashi, who was searching through his phone for the perfect playlist.

“...so I’ve been putting this together for the past few days. I wanted something that was mellow but had a bit of a beat and-ow!”

Shouta poked him in the ribs and pointed in your direction, prompting Hizashi to almost drop his phone.

“I seem to have lost my dress,” you said, crossing both arms over your chest in pretend modesty. “Won’t you help me?”

“O-o-o-of course,” said Hizashi, “though for what’s worth, you seem to be doing just fine without it.”

Shouta sank down into a chair at the foot of the bed, reaching for his beer as Hizashi climbed up onto the bed behind you.

“You look,” he said. “I’ll supervise.”

Hizashi’s breath was warm against the back of your neck and you shivered as he planted kisses along your exposed back.

“Maybe it’s hiding behind your ears,” he said, lifting your hair and swirling his tongue around your earlobe. “Hmmm...nope.”

“Maybe this one,” you said, tapping your finger against the opposite ear and giggling at the tickle of his lips against your ear.

“No,” he said, sounding genuinely forlorn even as he kissed the back of your neck. “Not there. Perhaps… maybe...”

He looped his fingers through your bra’s fastening and unhooked it with ease. Your bra dropped down onto your lap and you tossed it aside, watching as Shouta leaned back in his chair and sipped his beer, an expression of satisfaction across his face as Hizash looped his hands around your middle and reached up to give your breasts a squeeze.

“Not here either,” he said, tightening his grip on your nipples and grazing his teeth against your shoulder. “Where else might it be?”

He slipped his arms under yours, maneuvering them into his line of sight and turning your hands so they were palm up.

“Not here,” he said, spreading your fingers in the same way you wanted him to spread your legs, “my my, we are in a pickle.”

He set your hands back down and moved a little further up the bed, leaning over to pull at your shoulders so that you followed. He guided you up onto your knees and tossed his own shirt to one side before resting a hand over your lower stomach. He snaked his free hand over your breasts, burying his lips in your neck as his other hand dipped into your underwear.

“Is it in here, perhaps?” he purred, slipping his fingers into your folds and earning a gasp from you in response. “Hmmm…”

He slipped a single, exploratory finger into you and you nibbled your bottom lip, remembering the last time he had gone down on you. You’d been a shivering, shuddering mess afterwards and you couldn’t wait to experience it a second time.

“What do you think, Sho?” he asked, glancing across at Shouta, who had cast aside his beer in favour of reaching into his pants.

“I think you should get a better look,” he said, resting his free elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his chin in his hand.

“Roger that,” said Hizashi, taking his hand out of your underwear. “Lay back for me, princess.”

You obeyed, rolling over onto your back so that your head rested at the foot of the bed, facing out towards Shouta.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, easing your panties down your thighs and over your ankles before tossing them over to Shouta, who held them up to the light, admiring the way the soft light shone through the pattern.

You blushed, heat pooling deep inside of your core as Hizashi planted a kiss between your breasts, hair tickling over your lower stomach as he spread your legs wide to expose your cunt.

The chill of being so thoroughly exposed lasted only a second; Hizashi ran his tongue over your clit before it could truly register. You gasped, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair and catching your reflection in the mirror on the ceiling.

You knew for a fact what was happening; you knew you were there, you knew who you were with. You saw your face, your naked breasts, the lacy stockings you had yet to remove and Hizashi’s head bobbing between your thighs. Even so, you didn’t recognise yourself.

You released Hizashi’s hair and spread your arms across the bed, watching as the girl in the mirror did the same. You watched the pleasure play out across her face, the muscles in Hizashi’s back shifting as he reached to slip in a finger. You cried out and so did the girl on the ceiling, back arching from the bed.

You could see Shouta too, jerking his cock in time to Hizashi’s movements. You watched the ceiling, watched as Hizashi took note of your silence and followed your gaze.

“Ah hah,” he said, waving at your reflections. “So Sho isn’t the only one who likes to watch!”

You blushed and turned your head to look at Shouta. You were on your back, so he was upside down, but the intensity when your eyes met was no different than usual. Before you knew it, you were reaching out to him, willing him to come over. You wanted to feel his hands against your body as well, wanted to see all three of your naked bodies on the ceiling.

You didn’t speak a single word of invitation, but you didn’t have to. He got to his feet and kicked off his pants and underwear, showing off how hard he had gotten just from watching.

Hizashi sat back, wiping your juices from his lips.

“Nice of you to join us,” he said, letting you relax your legs and roll over onto your side. Shouta approached the bed and you reached for his dick, propping yourself up on your elbow to coax him closer. He climbed up onto the bed and sat down on his knees, providing the perfect angle for you to run your tongue over his hardness.

You hadn’t tasted his cock before. Technically speaking, you hadn’t tasted Hizashi’s either. You had dipped a finger into the pool of cum he left on you while he was busy running your bath, curiosity and lust overtaking you.

It was too simplistic to say it tasted good or bad. The only way you could describe it was that it tasted of him, sweet and earthy in equal measures.

Shouta’s cock tasted far more bitter, though in a way that was more intriguing than it was unpleasant. He was broad, so broad that you couldn’t take all of him into your mouth without gagging, though you were so intoxicated by him that you were more than willing to try.

Hizashi crawled off the bed and kicked off his own pants, slipping a kiss to the side of Shouta’s mouth before leaning back down onto the sheets. He shuffled his weight until he could comfortably rest his head between your thighs, lifting one of your legs up onto his shoulders before returning to his earlier ministrations.

Maybe it was the change in angle; the moans you dragged from Shouta every time you moved your head. Maybe it was the way Shouta used his position to grip onto Hizashi’s hard cock. Whatever the case, you found yourself quaking at the prospect of everything to come. You could feel your stomach churning in anticipation; the wet sound of your lips on Shouta’s skin combined with the wet feel of Hizashi’s lips against your clit sending shudders of pleasure down your spine.

The first time you came, it was like butterflies in your belly, sending shockwaves through your middle that teased at what was to come. You moaned onto Shouta’s dick, Shouta squeezed Hizashi’s and all three of you groaned at the combined sensation.

“Do you think you’re ready for me, sweetness?” said Hizashi, sitting up from between your legs to look you in the face.

You nodded, rolling over onto your back while he got up to choose a condom from the box beside the bed.

“Hey,” he said, unable to hide his glee, “they have Present Mic ones!”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

He laughed as he tore open the packaging and pulled it on, still overjoyed as he got back up onto the bed and aligned his hips with yours. He gave your clit a tentative stroke and you raised your hand up to get a good grip on Shouta’s dick from this new angle, jerking it gently even as Hizashi held onto your hips and slid his tip into you. You sighed at the feeling of being stretched, Hizashi slipping himself in and out a little deeper each time.

Both of you moaned the moment you took him to the hilt, as he gave one gentle thrust.

“Oooh, she feels so good, Shouta,” he said. “I’ll get her all nice and warmed up for you!”

Shouta didn’t answer, he was watching the three of you in the ceiling mirror and Hizashi reached for his shoulder.

“Sho,” he said, “earth to Sho.”

Shouta looked down at him, only to be dragged into a searing kiss, one that came with its own soundtrack of moans and flesh hitting flesh. Hizashi thrust his hips into yours with such force that it pushed you up the bed, leaving you little choice but to grip one of Shouta’s legs.

“Okay, little listener?” said Hizashi, breaking the kiss to peer down at you.

“Not going easy on me, are you?”

“What me? Never!”

He slammed his hips into yours and crushed his lips against Shouta’s, all while you moaned and held onto Shouta for dear life. Hizashi held one of your legs in place to secure you further, tangling the other in Shouta’s hair.

You wrapped your free hand around Shouta’s cock, jerking it roughly in time to Hizashi’s thrusts. You looked up, watching the pair of them kiss both above your head and on the ceiling.

Your insides grew tighter still; a spring inside of you ready to unwind.

You weren’t naive enough to believe Hizashi would let you come there and then. Sex was an artform to him and he had had enough time to plan.

“You feel so good, cupcake,” he said, breaking free of the kiss for a second, “Sho’s really missing out.”

He slowed down his thrusts to an agonisingly slow and deep pace that left you gasping into the sheets and digging your nails into the back of Shouta’s legs.

“...listen to that,” Hizashi murmured against Shouta’s lips, forcing him to listen to the wet sound of him fucking you, “it’s driving me crazy and I’m the one balls deep.”

He stopped for a moment and Shouta reached for his jaw.

“Don’t hold out on me, now,” he said. “Don’t start something you aren’t prepared to finish.”

Hizashi grinned at the command; you realised this was exactly the outcome he had been waiting for. He fucked you so hard and fast that you squealed in a mixture of surprise and delight. Shouta adjusted his weight, crossing his legs beneath him and guiding your head into his lap.

He stroked your lips as gently as if he had kissed them, reaching for the hand that had held his dick not so long ago and planting kisses on your knuckles.

“Harder,” he said, in a commanding tone completely at odds with the tender way he held your hand.

Hizashi was only too happy to comply, lifting your knees higher to get a better angle. You gripped Shouta’s hand and arched your back, trying to link your legs behind Hizashi’s back to hold him in place, only for him to tickle your feet in punishment.

Part of you couldn’t stand the growing tension between your thighs. You wanted to let go and lose yourself completely. The other, more rational part of you wanted to relish this moment, the combination of Hizashi’s rough and increasingly sloppy thrusts and Shouta’s soft touches.

“Deeper,” said Shouta at last and you screwed up your face as Hizashi obeyed, so close to shattering to pieces around his cock and yet so tortuously far. You spluttered in sheer desperation, holding Shouta so tightly that you feared you’d break the skin.

“Oh my g-don’t stop,” you pleaded, “like that, like that, like-“

You let out a whine, holding your body still as pleasure rushed through it. You bucked your hips into his as flutters of delight rushed through your core, enough to shake your legs though not enough to take over completely.

“Oh fuck,” you said as your walls clenched around Hizashi’s cock, a taste of what was to come and enough to send him over the edge.

He gave a strangled whine as his cock twitched deep inside of you, holding himself perfectly taut to ride out the wave. You knew the exact moment he finished, for the bones left his body and he flopped forwards, a goofy smile on his face.

“You tryin’ to kill me, Sho?” he murmured, head resting on Shouta’s chest and dick still buried deep inside of you. He pulled out with a sigh and rolled backwards, climbing up off the bed without any sort of grace. He reached for his beer as he pulled off the condom, making an impressed sort of noise as he held it out in front of him. “Look how much you made me cum!”

He threw a couple of fresh condoms onto the bed and Shouta picked up the closest one: a luxury branded one in simple silver packaging. He eased your head up from his lap and shifted positions, leaving you to watch as he put it on, body so close to release that it ached.

“Come here,” he said gently, helping you up onto your knees and holding his body against your back. “Just like that…”

“I’m so close,” you whined, “so close…”

“I know,” he whispered in your ear, “you’ve been very good and patient.”

You laughed at that, knowing for a fact that you’d been anything but.

Shouta reached down to take hold of your waist, holding his hand over the flat of your stomach and kissing the back of your neck. You arched your body into his every touch and ground your ass against him, relishing every time you brushed against his hard dick.

He guided you down onto your hands and knees, slipping a finger into you a couple of times before replacing it with his dick. You moaned in relief at not only being filled again, but in a different position. Every time Shouta pushed into you, he teased the sensitive spot inside of you that would turn you into a squealing mess; a spot that had gone thoroughly neglected until Akira dumped you.

Shouta went almost torturously slow and deep, gripping onto your hips to steady you. At first you gripped onto the bed sheets, before sliding one hand down to your clit. You wanted to cum so badly, but no Shouta wouldn’t go any faster no matter how much you moaned.

You never made contact with your clit, though. Hizashi got there before you.

“Let me,” he said, sitting down next to the bed and leaning over to reach his head between your thighs. You gasped at the combined sensations: Shouta’s deep thrusts and Hizashi’s masterful tongue.

“Oh my god,” you said, so overstimulated that you feared you’d explode. “Oh my god, don’t st-ahhh!”

For a moment, it was as if time stood still. You weren’t there; none of it was real. All you knew was pleasure, rippling from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, Hizashi’s tongue hot and sticky against your clit while Shouta groaned, your walls clenching around him almost unbearably tightly.

Your body shook, still twitching as both Aizawa and Hizashi eased you down onto your back.

“You okay, listener?” said Hizashi, stroking sweaty strands of hair from your face. “Are you with us?”

You blinked, staring blankly into their faces.

“I think,” you said, voice hoarse, “I think my soul left my body for a second there.”

Something cold touched your cheek and you realised Shouta was holding out a bottle of water from the minibar.

“Maybe we went too hard on you,” he said, sounding more than a little concerned.

“No,” you said, flapping a limp arm as you leaned over to sip the water. “That’s not what I meant! It left my body in a good way!”

“Hear that, Sho,” smirked Hizashi, “your dick is killer.”

“Speaking of which,” you said, “you didn’t finish.”

“You’re right,” gasped Hizashi. “Where are our manners?”

Both he and Shouta had flopped down on either side of you, cocooning you in warmth to negate how cold you had suddenly gotten. Hizashi shimmied over to the other side of the bed, leaving Shouta in the middle, all of his earlier fatigue forgotten.

“Now then,” he said, peeling the condom off Shouta’s dick, “let’s do something about this.”

At first you watched, body still heavy. Shouta rested his hand on Hizashi’s head as he trailed his tongue over the underside of his dick, looking Shouta dead in the eye as he lapped up all of his precum and took his dick into his mouth.

It was mesmerising; so different to when you were on the receiving end. You could make out every flutter of Shouta’s eyelashes; the way his body tensed whenever Hizashi hit a particularly sensitive spot or sucked that little bit harder. He looked so vulnerable there and then and you couldn’t look away.

Shouta opened his eyes and looked towards you, crushing his lips against yours before cupping your face in his hand. He pulled you further down his body, until you joined Hizashi at his waist. Hizashi leaned back to make room for you, holding the base of Shouta’s cock and guiding your lips down onto it, earning a sigh of relief.

“Like that,” said Hizashi, holding Shouta in place as you sucked at him. “Wow, you’re really good at this, check you out!”

“Maybe one day I’ll be as good as you!”

“Haha! Maybe! Now, (Name), I want you to do something real quick.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to sit tight and then, when I give you the nod, I want you to do this.”

He leaned over and wrapped his lips around the tip of Shouta’s cock, giving it a hard suck before letting go, making a loud popping noise as he let go. Shouta’s response was instantaneous; he hissed with pleasure and bucked his hips into Hizashi’s touches.

“Think you can handle that?” said Hizashi, bright eyed.

“I think so.”

He nodded and you sat up on your elbows to watch, eyes darting from Hizashi to Shouta as Hizashi began to jerk Shouta’s dick without a hint of mercy. Shouta ground his hips into the bed, arching his back just as you had and making deep, guttural noises you would never have guessed he was capable of. You could see how close he was getting, cheeks flushed and eyes darkened with need.

He gasped when Hizashi finally let go, though the torture wasn’t over. Hizashi gave you the nod you’d been waiting for and you wrapped your lips around the tip just as he had. You sucked hard, relishing the noises Shouta made almost as much as the pressure when he planted a hand on the top of your head in an attempt to hold you in place. You let go, knowing it would drive him insane.

You really were learning from the best.

Hizashi gripped Shouta’s cock and motioned for you to take the tip between your lips. He held on tight and jerked him hard, both sensations leaving him squirming into the bed.

“J-....F-...I…” he babbled, arching his back and reaching his free hand to grip the bed frame. “H-”

Hizashi tapped your chin, motioning for you to sit back. You obeyed and he jerked Shouta’s dick with even more force, only stopping as Shouta sighed in relief and cum seeped across his body.

You and Hizashi both watched him in contentment, taking in the ripple of his muscles as he gasped for air. You crawled back up to lay beside him, giving him a soft kiss to the cheek that he leaned into.

Hizashi crawled up to Shouta’s other side and flopped over onto his back, folding his arms behind his head.

All three of you stared at your reflections on the ceiling, drinking in the sight of your naked bodies and perhaps even thinking the same thing.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

‘What now?”

Art by the lovely @earthbender/ earthbender on tumblr / ArtemisRedd on AO3~

#erasermic x reader #poly!erasermic #aizawa shouta x reader #present mic x reader #hizashi yamada x reader #erasermic #habanero

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years ago

Text

Wip Wednesday

Untitled fic (Correspondence)

Summary/Story so far: HotchReid, slow burn, AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. We are now months into this... tentative thing that is beyond friendship, beyond flirtatious, they still don't know much about each other on paper... but this feels a lot like dating. And then one day, Hotch abruptly stops answering his phone.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

(Set in season 6, unbeta'd, still the first draft, text/email templates are temporary)

((Notes: Spencer's POV this time, he is 29 and working at CalTech, Hotch still doesn't know how old he is though he does know that he's at least younger than 45 now. Hotch has been MIA now for about 18 hours.))

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch is working. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be apart of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking.

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]You're going to get me in trouble.

[][]Did I make you smile?

[]I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[][]Then why are you checking your phone?

[]You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague.

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules.

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is.

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, and Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath.

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes realize he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call.

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it.

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

Please let me know of his well-being.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s.

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

His morning routine progresses as usual, to start. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well.

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling.

He becomes even more distracted when his email pings, a response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen, right in the middle of his department announcements. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is hurt, he’s in surgery, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt.

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a faction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted.

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

The reply is almost immediate.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. But then his mind sticks on something from the email.

Boy Wonder.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch?

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or lables as official.

It’s easy to see, now why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean.

Except, every victim has elevated potassium rates.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?”

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “... Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.”

tbc...

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #I s2g it is but it is also long af #legit this ended up being 1900 words i just didn't feel like stopping you know?#so yall get like... 25% of the entire chapter basically #sorry not sorry #expect a wip every week now #wip wednesday #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting #don't ask about the dots tumblr and I are in a formatting fight and aren't on speaking terms rn

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angelivily · 4 years ago

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What the lore of the WAIA is (Because GT didn’t do one yet)

So Mark’s Warfstache Automated Interview came out as a HUGE surprise to us. We had NO idea it was even coming, or at least I didn’t.

I remember coming home from working out at the YMCA and seeing it there. I felt like the entire world fell into my hands, and I got extremely excited.

Watching the video, it seemed as if Will had created a robot who looked like him, only creepier and more...metal, and made it into an interviewer! Maybe to make his life easier, maybe to interview more than one person at once. I have no clue.

If you look in the description, you can see that Will got this idea from a little pizza restaurant. (Freddy Fazbears)

So basically Will had us doing a LOT of little calibrations to make sure the robot was working and doing all the right things to be able to start interviewing.

First we had to listen to some numbers, which all we heard was screeching and a Windows computer notification sound. And than the fucking robot went batshit insane which scared the hell out of me.

But the thing that got me completely interested in the lore was when Will said, “this message is completely pre-recorded.” Which was NOT the case at all.

Because if you continue playing and you click the, “I Think I Heard Numbers”, and “Uh...Potato Salad”, you can hear him say “WOW Potato Salad, a real thinker you, but the test has been passed with fine colors and you’re still alive!”

1. The message is definitely not pre recorded because Will REPEATED what we said. And 2. Guys I think he was expecting us to die.

He even said, “I wouldn’t want to be in the same room as that thing.” Because the WAIA is NOT safe. When you heard him say, “Now the list of survivors...” there wasn’t any. He was expecting us to die because all of the other testers died. That’s why there are so many endings where Will has expected us to die.

And there’s also a third thing. If you continue to watch the video you can hear these simple instructions.

“Left, right, up, down, down, basement.” That has to mean something...right? Maybe it’s instructions for the next game? Or maybe it’s Yancy’s dialogue from his ending in AHWM.

But he also says another dialogue after that. “Who. Where. What...Am...I?” Than he restarts his system only to say some colors before he stops and goes, “I saw you die...”

Later on in the video, Will says that the WAIA has EVERY piece of memory and thought that he has. He placed all his shared memories with the WAIA..

Since the WAIA has all of Will’s memories... it’s going to remember everything that happened before Will became who he is today. When he was the Colonel.

We continue to play, and we click “He said...potato salad?” And than Will starts to make up a “fake interview” with the WAIA. It starts all cheerful with a colorful background and exciting music. The WAIA starts speaking normally until he says.

“How many people have you killed?” Which would be somewhat normal for Will... but if you look back to “Warfstache Interviews Markiplier”, he asked Mark the SAME question. The WAIA is obviously going back to that because he remembers it from Will’s memory.

And as we’re waiting for the next question... the lights go out and the WAIA’s face lights up. He begins to tell us a story, sort of like Candy Cadet from “Pizzeria Simulator.”

“A man goes to a party. This man met an old friend. The two friends shared some wine. The two friends played a game... the most dangers game...” WAIA stops for a moment before saying, “I didn’t know the gun was loaded...I didn’t know.”

Will didn’t intentionally kill Mark. We all knew he didn’t in the first place, but this is Mark confirming it.

The story probably goes like this.

Mark was talking to Will when he brought up the fact of Russian Roulette. Will, in his pride of being exclusively good at the game, probably remarked on how he was an amazing player and how he and Mark used to play it all the time. Mark laughed and said, “hey, how about we escape the party for a moment and go to the winery. We can use the excuse that we’re grabbing some more wine, but we can play a single round down there for good times sake.” And Will agreed. They went down, and that’s where it happened.

Did you ever notice in one of the little clip scenes when we’re drunk at the manor and we see Will with a gun? Where do you think he got it?

You see, Mark always knew the gun was loaded. Mark GAVE him the loaded gun on purpose so he could die. It was all apart of Mark’s plan so he could get his revenge. From the moment he got “killed” by Will, he immediately got his plan started. I mean, he obviously wasn’t done with his true revenge because he still needed revenge on Damien and Celine, but he had already gotten what he wanted from Will.

And than WAIA proceeds to ask, “Was it my fault?” And my broken heart at that point said “No!” Because it’s not. Will didn’t know. He was completely drunk and especially blind to the fact that the gun was loaded.

If you click no, he answers with “You can’t change the past. You can tell all the stories you want to tell. It won’t change what happened. You can’t rewrite the past. If you live in fantasy forever... you’ll lose yourself in the story.”

I think this is Will’s way of saying that he’s sorry. He can barely remember what he did (The NO ending.. ill get to that in a moment) and he still questions if it was his fault or not. The fantasy part he was talking about was how he didn’t believe that anyone had died. He believed he didn’t kill anyone, that life was just a joke. He could shoot, stab, murder whoever he wanted, and they’d come back to life.

WMLW explains this canonically because Abe was in the same experience. He got shot in the heart and he made this scenario, this fantasy, that he had been chasing Will for years... but he wasn’t... and Will was trying to break him out of that confusion so Abe could move on.

If you pick the YES ending, this is what he says, “I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done... I don’t remember who I was... I wish I did..but... I am sorry...”

He doesn’t remember who he is or what he’s done. He lived in that fantasy world where death is inevitable for so long, he forgot what reality actually was.

(I think that Mark intended us to click “NO” first, before the “YES”. So we’d get a better understanding.)

Will doesn’t remember ANYTHING he’s done. He’s lived in this world of stories and fantasy for so long.. he doesn’t remember who he was. And he probably won’t.

People paint Will to be this guy that “puts on a facade but at the end of the day, remembers and recalls everything he’s done”...However he doesn’t. That’s the truth.

Remember WMLW when he kept mistaking Abe’s name and after Abe yelled at him about how he was a “murderer”, Will remembered? He can’t remember anything specific until you specifically say it in complete detail. And even than he doesn’t remember everything.

He doesn’t remember who he was, he wished he did, but I think it’s for the best that he doesn’t. I think it’s better for him to move forward as a character, than to look back. That’s what character development is for. And I’m genuinely happy for what Will is now, than what he used to be.

And this definitely won’t be the last we’ll see of the WAIA...

Ps. If we don’t get the WAIA saying “Potato Salad” at least once in AHWM 2 ... I’m suing...

#a date with markiplier #a heist with markipler spoilers #a heist with markiplier #markiplier #markiplier egos #markiplier theory #who killed markiplier #wkm actor mark #wkm damien #wkm darkiplier #wkm william #wkm wilford #waia #waia spoilers #markiplier waia #wilfordmotherlovingwarfstache #wilford automated interview automaton #wilford warfstache

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jimlingss · 5 years ago

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Sugar and Coffee [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 4.5 OR Chapter 5

➜ Words: 4k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

You miss Seokjin. You know that you shouldn’t, but in the middle of the night while you’re unable to sleep, you pick up your phone again. And you send him a text. 2:03 am. Y/N: hey The bright screen stares back at you, illuminating your face and blinding your vision in the darkness of your quiet dorm room. Your messages are lined up in a row, the same exact text left unanswered. Ones you sent from a week ago to two days ago. The radio silence makes the realization sink in — he broke it off. Jin really has no plans of communicating with you again, of giving you an explanation other than telling you that it’s run its course and that you’re not the one at fault. It doesn’t sit well with you, so your thumb moves, quicker than you can list the consequences for. You call his number. It dials. But instead of hearing the tone ring, you hear an automated message. Seokjin changed his number. // It’s morning while on the way to class with you hiding beneath the hood of Jin’s sweater that you end up catching sight of someone familiar walking towards your direction. It’s your only strand of hope, but you step forward before the opportunity is lost. “Hani?” “Y/N?” Hani stops and greets you with a smile. She’s a friend — well, Seokjin’s friend. But she still regards you with the same warmth as she gave to you for the past two years, albeit the atmosphere is awkward. The both of you know what happened, know it’s looming over your heads. But no one speaks about it, no one dares to broach the subject. “Hey, how are you?” And her question is asked at a higher pitch, cautious as if you were a wounded animal that she was afraid of scaring. “I’m...fine, how are you?” “I’m okay.” Hani nods and gathers the courage to approach the issue that you’re skirting around. “I...heard about what happened. It’s a real shame. I hope you’re holding up well.” “Trying.” You muster a smile, shrugging your shoulders. Yet in spite of her friendliness, you can still feel it — the distance. Like you thought, they sided with him. They’ve chosen him with no plans of getting between you two and involving themselves in the conflict. “Well, I should go. I might be late. I’ll see you around, Y/N.” You nod and she brushes past you. But then you twist on your heel. “Hani?” “Yeah?” She spins around. “Did,” you hesitate, “Jin say anything about me?” “No, he didn’t,” she says, quietly and sadly. You bob your head again, meeting her eye. “How is he?” “He’s okay.” You wonder what that means — if he never really cared, if he’s already over this. But you’re also glad that he’s okay. You’ll never have any ill wishes against Jin. You still love him.

Jungkook and his friends have a system, if one could call it that — a shitty system of crashing each other’s dorms. Sometimes they’re crowding around Taehyung’s gaming consoles, other times it’s Jimin’s computer. Or Jungkook’s flat screen that he spent his entire summer job’s savings for. Or even going to Hoseok and Yoongi’s apartment to raid the fridge and be as loud as they want without getting noise complaints. Hoseok and Yoongi didn’t like the dorm life, so they were willing to raise their living expenses and pool their money together for an apartment off campus. And that’s where Jungkook finds himself this evening. They’re watching a soccer game, but the only person invested is Taehyung who actually knows the teams and who is who. Hoseok is preoccupied pigging out on the snacks, Yoongi sipping his drink, and Jimin is playing a game on his phone. “Can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks out of the blue, smacking his lips after taking a swig of the beer. He can’t wait till Taehyung gets curious and drinks some — he’d probably gag from the taste. Yoongi looks up. “What?” “It’s not about me, but I have a friend of a friend and this friend of theirs was...dumped pretty badly and now they’re depressed and not talking...at all….and they don’t really have friends anymore because all their friends were my friend’s friends, so it really sucks for them.” “Uh-huh.” “So what would you hypothetically say to my friend’s friend to make them feel better or like what would you do?” “Well, for one, I’d take Y/N out,” Hoseok pipes up while chuckling. Jimin lifts his head and Taehyung looks over. The two of them exchange expressions and burst out laughing. Jungkook sighs in irritation. “Who said this was about Y/N?!” “We’re not total idiots, dude.” Jimin grins. “Sometimes.” In the meanwhile, Taehyung leans down to give a punch to Jungkook’s arm and winks. “Trying to slide into her DMs now that she’s single, huh? I see you, Kook. Still got game. Can’t say I’m not impressed. Go get that puss—” “As if.” Jungkook scoffs. “I just feel bad, alright? Forget I asked. Whatever.” But Yoongi isn’t ready to drop the subject quite yet. His cat-like eyes narrow in on him as he sips on his drink. He puts the bottle down on the coffee table with a clank. “Since when did you start caring about her?” “I don’t—” “You don’t have to get defensive,” Yoongi deadpans boredly. He isn’t that interested, merely stating a fact. “I’m just surprised.” “She’s going to be my internship partner whether I like it or not in a few months.” The youngest sighs. “I don’t want to make it awkward. And I thought it would be better in the long run if we become friends now. It would be nice to have each other’s backs. Or at least be civil enough where she’s not trying to rip my head off every other second.” Yoongi appears mildly understanding and nods. “So it’s a diplomatic thing.” “Yeah.” “Invite her to our game night,” Hoseok says from the kitchen. “Don’t do that.” Yoongi scoffs, expression wrinkled like he bit into a lemon. “It’s our thing.” “Are we ten? Boys only?” Hoseok argues, “We already have our thing every single night anyway. Plus, it might be a nice change since Jungkook always wins.” “Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Do whatever you want.” “That actually sounds kind of fun!” Taehyung grins, tearing his eyes away from the soccer game. Jungkook’s amazed that he had half a mind to pay attention to the conversation. “But I wonder if Y/N is any good at board games or if she even plays.” “Is everyone cool with me asking?” Jungkook looks around — Hoseok and Taehyung are enthusiastic about the prospect while Yoongi is passive aggressive at worst and apathetic at best. It’s Jimin who looks uncertain. “She’s….intimidating,” he mutters. “But….I think you’re right. Y/N looks like she’s having a tough time and if we can help, then we should. At least then we know we tried.” He nods. There’s only one issue left. “I don’t even know if she’ll even accept…” Knowing you, you might just laugh in his face and then spit at him for even making such a suggestion. Then again, with how you’ve been acting lately, you might just start crying from gratefulness and freak him out. Both scenarios are equally horrible.

The pair of you bake alongside each other as the teacher watches for technique and the order of the procedures done. Jungkook works on the dough while you focus on the custard filling. It’s surprisingly perfect teamwork — you’re in sync with one another and assemble the final cake together. And when the teacher returns to eat it, he’s astounded that it’s been exactly replicated. From the taste to the presentation. You leave the room with a ninety percent grade, having absolutely aced the midterm. “That was pretty good, huh?!” Jungkook grins, putting his hand out. You muster a small smile, and high-five him back. “Yeah.” “Man, all our hard work paid off! Did you see the look on Mr. Chu’s face?” He was over the moon, especially considering that napoleon cake isn’t all that easy to make under strict time constraints. But when Jungkook glances at you, you don’t seem very happy over it. Your eyes are on the floor with your downcast head. “Hey.” The doe-eyed boy pokes your shoulder until you look up at him. “Do you wanna…” “Pardon?” Your brows furrow. His voice became so quiet, you couldn’t hear him. Jungkook clears his throat noisily. “I asked how you were holding up?” You shrug. “Fine. I don’t know. Do you really want to hear about it?” You doubt he would trouble himself with your problem, but what catches you off guard is that he stops in the middle of the hallway and nods. You stop with him too. “Sure. Shoot.” “Really?” “Yeah, I don’t see why not. It’s not like I have anything better to do.” You inhale a deep breath. It catches in your throat. Your fist tightens, nails digging into your skin. You swear you wouldn’t cry again. “I texted Jin, even though I know it wasn’t a good idea and yeah, it wasn’t. He changed his number.” “Oh….shit.” “And I talked to one of his friends yesterday and she said he’s doing fine. He hasn’t really talked about me. And I don’t really know what any of that means. I haven’t seen him around either. I think he’s avoiding me and I can’t help thinking about what I did that was so wrong for me to be treated this way. I don’t….I don’t think I deserve this.” You exhale a shallow breath, eyes stinging painfully. Jungkook suddenly plops his hand on the top of your head. You frown at him and he realizes what he’s doing and withdraws his hand awkwardly. “That really...sucks.” “Yeah, thanks, I know.” “Sorry, I don’t really know what to say.” “You don’t have to say anything,” you tell. “Thanks for not laughing, I guess.” “Why would I laugh?” Jungkook asks, genuinely confused. You shrug. You always thought Jungkook would be the first to applaud your misery — he’d goad you and cheer you when you’d cry. You guess you severely misjudged him. “Are you free tonight?” “Why?” “My friends and I are doing this thing.” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck and diverts his vision elsewhere. “We meet up to play games sometimes. It’s really Taehyung’s thing cause he’s the one who likes games, but if you’re free, then you should come along. We’re in need of new players actually, cause it gets boring when it’s the same people over and over again….” “Would they mind?” He swallows hard, taking in the way your head is quirked to the side, your eyes big and glimmering with hope. It seems like you’re taking him up on the offer or at least considering it and he’s pleasantly surprised. “No, no, they wouldn’t.” “I don’t want to make it weird or anything…” “No, you wouldn’t. Trust me. They’re just a bunch of lame dorks, and you kind of already know Taehyung and Jimin. They’re nice guys. So if you wanna come, you should. No pressure whatsoever though.” “Sure.” The corners of your mouth lifts. “Really?” “Yeah. That’s….okay, right?” “Totally. Yep. I’ll text you where and what time.” You never knew one day you’d be going off campus to some random apartment for a night of game boards, much less with Jeon Jungkook. Part of you is skeptical about his offer, envisioning that he’s catfishing you somehow, that there isn’t actually anything happening and he’ll text you ‘sike’ after making you wait hours. But then you remind yourself that he hasn’t been exactly an asshole lately and that you’re not in the cruel world of High School anymore. Jungkook would have to be sick to prank you in this state. You can already hear the boisterous noise on the other side of the door before you even knock. But after some hesitation, the sounds taper off when you do. The door swings open and Jungkook greets you with his doe eyes and messy dark hair flopping in different directions. He’s in a black shirt and loose, gray sweatpants, casual unlike how he usually dresses for class and the kitchen. “Hey!” He reaches in to give you a quick hug. You stiffen and he lets go. “Come in!” “Finally, she’s here!” Hoseok stands from the couch with his beer and moves to the table Taehyung’s setting up. “Sorry, am I late?” “Right on time actually,” Jimin says with a gentle smile. “Beer or cooler or wine?” Yoongi suddenly asks, twisting around from the fridge. “A-Any.” It’s fast paced, but they’re welcoming. There’s not a moment for awkwardness to settle in. Yoongi comes over with a beer can, tosses it, and you catch it with both hands. “Thanks.” “We usually start with a game of good ol’ Janga.” Taehyung grins from his spot at the table. “Usually the person who goes before the loser gets to pick the next game, but since you’re our guest of honour, you can pick. There’s a whole shelf of them over there.” He gestures towards the living room and you head over to look at the boxes that are accumulating. There’s a ton of boxes stack on each other on the shelf — The Game of Life, Risk, Twister, Battleship, Monopoly, Connect Four, Snakes and Ladders, and even CandyLand. “What’s this?” you ask, pointing at the bottom shelf with a huge bin. There seems to be small bags inside, place mats, and books too. “It’s stuff for D&D,” Jungkook clarifies with a sigh, popping a can of beer open to drink. “Dungeons and Dragons.” “Taehyung’s been wanting to get us to play,” Jimin tells with a smile. “I’m a great DM,” Taehyung chirps, “It would be so much fun, but we don’t really have time for a whole campaign. Otherwise I’d pull together official content and stuff from Unearthed Arcana and run a module from Wizards of the Coast—” “Alright, nerd.” Yoongi sighs after a swig. “I’m not trying to re-virgin myself and remain abstinent for the rest of my life, alright? You can do that by yourself.” “Don’t hate on my game, bitch,” Taehyung spits as Jimin and Jungkook laugh. A smile comes to your face and it isn’t one you have to muster for once. “Wait till the day you come to me and ask me advice on what kind of spells a halfling bard should have at level six.” “Over my dead body.” “Okay, can we not argue for once? We have a guest.” Hoseok intercepts with his hands out, literally standing between them. “Let’s try to not scare her off?” You go back to looking, but you can’t seem to decide what game to play. “There’s a lot.” “It’s not ours,” Yoongi pipes up again, wearing a friendly smile that is more like a smirk. “This is Hoseok and I’s place. Taehyung just always finds a way to put his shit here too.” “Hey! That’s cause no one else has a big table like this at their dorm, plus my place is too messy to store my precious games there. They’re expensive, you know.” “All I know is that somehow I always come home to furniture and clothes on my bed that I swear I didn’t purchase….” “Alright, alright.” Hoseok intervenes for the second time, having enough of this nonsense. “Is the game done being set up or what? Y/N come sit, you can choose the game later.” You gather around the table with Jungkook beside you. He leans in while the others are figuring out who gets to start and what direction to go in. “Sorry about that.” “No, it’s okay,” you say and mean it too. “Your friends are a lot of fun.” Yet the moment the game begins, there’s a shift in the atmosphere. It goes quieter, less fooling around as it intensely dials down. There are half-lidded stares across the table, snarky remarks exchanged. They’re a competitive group and you feel a lot of pressure to perform well. Jimin seems to go for the easy blocks. Hoseok tries to make it more difficult for the next person. Yoongi is the designated asshole, going for the second top layer while Taehyung argues that it isn’t even allowed. On the other hand, Jungkook somehow flicks the Jenga block with his middle finger and thumb. He’s cocky about his technique, leaning back as his arm drapes over the back of your chair. He runs his tongue on the inside of his cheek with his brow lifted. You remember why you fucking hated him now. He’s so unbearable sometimes. “What?” He looks at you when he finds you staring. You frown at him. And for a second Jungkook gets a glimpse of the bitch he remembers — the one he misses. “Why do you have to be so extra about it? Who are you trying to impress?” “Right?!” Taehyung stands up and the entire stack of blocks nearly topples over. “I keep trying to tell him that! It’s so goddamn annoying! You won’t even believe it!” “Watch it,” Hoseok shouts, “You’re going to make it tip over.” That’s when you become fired up. You’ve never felt this kind of motivation surging between your veins before. But it’s not a thirst to win — it’s a ravenous hunger to beat Jeon Jungkook. And you do. After playing to Hoseok’s tactic and being an asshole, you risk it all to remove an important block and it collapses on Jungkook right as he tries to remove another. Then there are screams — hoots, hollers, like your country won the damn world cup. You stand up and everyone cheers. Hoseok chest bumps you. Taehyung lifts you up and spins you in a circle. Jimin starts to record the moment on his phone and even Yoongi pats you on the back. “God, why are you guys making such a big deal,” Jungkook moans, still seated at the table, embarrassed from all the teasing. “Maybe because you’ve never lost anything in your life!” Taehyung laughs in his face, rubbing his loss where it hurts. “Say something for the camera.” Jimin sticks his phone right between Jungkook’s eyes, and dodges with giggles when Jungkook tries to slap it away. “Hey, send me that.” Yoongi points. “I’m going to post it on facebook for my grandma to see.” “Has Jungkook really not lost any game we’ve played before?” Hoseok questions, the realization finally hitting him and the gravity of the situation sinking down onto his shoulders. “I don’t think so,” Jimin says after sincerely contemplating for a long moment. “Oh shit. You’re our lucky charm!” Hoseok slings his arm over your shoulder, giving you finger guns and winking. It’s ridiculous but you’re beginning to believe it too — especially when the game you pick is Uno and it ends up with a similar outcome. Somehow, someway, Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok and Yoongi finish their cards and the only people who are left are you and Jungkook. The tensions are high and you see the sweat accumulating at his hairline. It’s apparent that he’s never even been second last in a game before. You’re so close to victory, you can taste it. You’re down to a single card while he has three more. Jungkook slowly places down a wild card. “What colour do you want, Y/N?” “Hmmmm.” You rest your chin in your palm, arm propped up on the table. You glance at your card before looking straight at him, locking your gaze together. “Would you even choose the colour I pick?” “I just want to hear what you want.” “Fine. I want yellow. Please?” You bat your lashes. “Pretty please, JK?” The ass smirks. “Red.” “I knew you’d say that,” you sigh. Your fingers reach down to the pile to grab another card, but then your other hand slaps down — slamming a red four onto the pile. Your arms shoot in the air. Again, it triggers cheers. “I win!” Jungkook throws back his head and groans. He tosses his one red and one blue card left onto the table. What’s worse is the way you gather with all his friends — the five of you huddled together with arms around one another, like you’re preparing for a football game. But instead, you’re all hopping and cheering while belting out the national anthem. You’ve stolen his own friends from right under his nose. But despite how the loss is rubbed in his face, Jungkook’s happy that it seems like for a moment, you’ve returned to yourself again. Eventually, the games go so much into the night that you have to bid your goodbyes. You didn’t know Jungkook’s group of friends were so easy to get along and get comfortable with. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the time passed so quickly and you’re sad to leave. Hoseok and Taehyung hug you until Yoongi has to help you pry them off. “I’ll miss you so much,” Taehyung fake cries. “You and the way you absolutely demolish Jungkook.” “Oh please.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I’ll come back...if you’ll have me again.” “Are you kidding? Of course!” “You have to come back,” Jimin insists with a sheepish smile like it should be obvious. “You’re good at Monopoly, right?” You shrug. “I’ve been told I’m decent.” “You better be.” Yoongi grins. “I’ll expect you to win against Kook.” “I’ll try my best.” “Let me walk you back,” Jungkook says as you grab your coat. You look at him and he elaborates, “It’s a long way back to the dorm and I’m tired too. Gonna call it an early night.” “Oh, okay.” The two of you get ready to leave, and at the doorway, you turn around one last time. “Thanks for having me.” “No problem.” Hoseok smiles. “Come back soon.” You think this is the longest time you’ve been without crying for the past month. It went by too quickly — you wish you could do it all over again. But you consider how lucky Jungkook is. He has great friends and surrounds himself with great people. You’re jealous. The night is silent except for the sound of your shoes against the cement of the sidewalk. You’re illuminated by the lamp posts above you and you watch your shadows alongside Jungkook’s. The air is cold enough that you can see your breath as you exhale. Jungkook’s own hands are dug into his pockets, but the chill makes you feel alive. “Sorry about them. I know they can get a bit much.” “It’s okay. They’re really nice actually.” “Yeah, they are.” “I had a lot of fun.” You steal a glance at him. Jungkook’s doe eyes widen, the corners of his mouth quirking. “Really? I’m glad.” “It was a lot of fun destroying you.” “Wow.” He laughs. “Okay.” It makes you giggle too. You know what he’s been doing. From him listening to everything you have to say and doing more than necessary during the midterms. From that time he called you over in the dining hall to sit with him to tonight, bringing you over to play games with his friends…. “Thanks, Jungkook.” “Hm?” “Thanks,” you repeat, looking at him, and he meets your eye. “For helping me. I don’t think I’ve said it yet. But I really appreciate it.” “Yeah, it’s not a big deal, really.” “It’s a big deal to me.” Your gaze softens. At the moment you had no one, he was there. You didn’t know you would find such an unlikely friendship during such a hard time, but you don’t mind at all. Jeon Jungkook is your friend.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook baking AU #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook reader insert

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years ago

Text

Freedom

Prompts: Crossover, Distant, Safe and Sound | A03 link here | Connect with me on Twitter. Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

Some confused drabble on Gundam Seed crossover with SS, referencing the scene where Lacus Clyne saved Kira Yamato from his fight with Athrun Zala. Technical notes at the end of the post!

The clanging of metals, the smell of burning wires, the endless beeping of the monitor, and the sickening slash of Justice’s sword through his cockpit. He remembered being exposed to the open air, hearing the waves of a nearby ocean, and seeing Naruto’s face in a Zaft uniform – his face constricted in extreme anger and hatred. He thought this was what he deserved for killing Hyuuga Neji, but he was caught in a crossfire and war was a matter of survival.

Then there was the explosion.

No matter which way one saw it, he should have been dead. Naruto’s Justice detonated after the blonde ejected out of safety. His stomach was bleeding out from a debris when they clashed into one of the PLANT’s areas. He should have been dead, but instead, he woke up to the gentle singing of a familiar voice.

Sakura Haruno, the famed icon and face of PLANT and the only child of the leader of Haruno Faction which was the primary peacekeeping force and bridge between the Zaft Forces and Earth Alliance. Long pink, wavy hair framed the sides of his face and tickled the bandages on his skin while striking green eyes try to follow the movement of his pupils. Some months ago, he rescued her while she drifted in space inside an escape pod, her escort having been mistakenly struck by Earth Alliance as an offensive party. Some months ago, he amicably returned her safely to her fiancé, Naruto, in a covert operation. Some months ago, he met her and got to know her kindness. And now, he was bound to receive it again.

“Sasuke? Can you hear me?” Her hands gently brushed the fringes away from his face. How long has he been out? Somewhere, he heard the waves go up against the same shore. “You can sleep, if you want. Sleep for as long as you want. I’ll be here.”

-------------------------------

What was this place? It seemed devoid of war – pristine shores, blue sea, the quiet rustling of palm leaves, the warm sunshine. So far off from the neutral colony he grew up in – of the sudden attack and open fire from the skies, so far off from the open space where galaxy belts have been littered with gundam debris and frozen bodies.

She found him on the edge of the ocean, the waves lapping his wrinkled bare toes. He has been here for hours. She made her way to his side, followed by a small pink circular shape hopping across the sand.

“Haro! Haro! Haro!” The robot cried out after its owner; Sakura spun around and caught Naruto’s creation between her hands, nuzzling it as if it was her pet.

Sasuke hesitated for a while – she was a Coordinator after all, conceived with the most superior genes, and he was too, he was but he hated their kind all the same. The same kind who saw themselves far above the Naturals to the extent that they would wage war and kill.

“How tiring, isn’t it?” Sakura suddenly asked out of the blue, her green eyes arresting him in all their sincerity. “The senseless fighting when there is good in everyone.”

“That’s not true,” he rebutted…which was stupid because he hadn’t thanked her yet for saving him.

“Naruto is a good person even when you were kids, isn’t that right?” The circular robot was wriggling in her hands and she let it go, only for it to almost fall to the water and to its electrifying death if not for Sasuke’s quick hands.

“You also have some good in you,” she said with a smile. She took the fussy robot from his hands and went back to their family mansion.

-------------------------------

Sasuke found himself drifting in and out of his own consciousness; he would always fall into a daydream, the collage of the civilian ship ejecting from their mother ship and getting struck by a missile keep replaying in front of him. Screams would often escape him, even during daylight, but the touch of her hands steadied him, and her green eyes would reel him back to safe ground.

He would allow himself to lean further into her skin, liking the warmth a little too much, but torn all the same. She was his childhood friend’s fiancé, and he stole too many precious people away from him already.

It was effective, the way she led him in walks along the shore, her hand in his, and haro following closely behind, filling in the gaps of silences with his automated voice. When the robot finally stopped chirping to recharge, she would let go of his hand and hum a random song. He might have heard it before, in a far away moment and now unfamiliar moment of peace, when he was still a student and led a normal life.

“I killed Neji,” he blurted out, unaware of the consequences, but possibly to rile her up, to make her angry at him, to make it easier to go away.

Sakura brought her loose strands to the side of her shoulder, braiding the length of it while averting her gaze from him. “When I was fifteen, the Zaft Forces struck the civilian plane my mom was in. She accompanied my father to a diplomatic meeting with the Orb Union while I was here in PLANT. But I caught a fever and I asked for her despite being surrounded by nurses. I really missed her that time, you see. So she went on board the earliest civilian plane in Panama. Unfortunately, it was also the day the Earth Forces skirmished with Zaft and a stray missile hit their engine. That put a metaphorical dent as well in the diplomatic discussions.” She returned her attention to him, her pink hair unfinished and already coming undone. “We all suffered deaths, one way or the other, and each loss only breeds hatred if the cycle isn’t broken.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“Kindness,” Sakura extended her hand to him, and he subconsciously reached out to accept it.

-------------------------------

“Sakura-chan!”

Sasuke avoided the throng of kids that suddenly surrounded Sakura. He found himself standing beside Sai, the reverend who pulled him from the wreckage some weeks ago.

“They’re Naturals, if you’re wondering,” Sai said. “Rescued and fostered here under a neutrality agreement.”

“Savior’s complex?” Sasuke asked, still defensive about the matter.

“Just common moral decency.” The reverend had this mysterious smile etched forever on his face, and while Sasuke learned to read people, he could never read him accurately.

When the orphanage visit calmed down, and they were left alone with biscuits and tea on the gazebo overlooking the ocean, Sakura received the video message transmitted through Haro. She instinctively angled her body so whoever was on the other side won’t see him.

“Ms. Haruno,” a voice started. “We caught wind of some news.”

Sakura nodded, a cue to continue.

“It’s Operation Spitbreak. The real target is the Alaska HQ.”

Sasuke hitched a breath – if he recalled correctly, his mother ship Archangel intended to refuel there and stock on supplies. All the big guns were in Panama, strategizing for the penultimate and inevitable battle. So why Alaska?

Ah, they were the remaining big ship with the firepower that could match them.

Sakura noticed the change in his countenance, and she immediately ended the call after a quick word of thanks. Arms engulfed him in a gentle hug. “I guess it’s time.”

His arms wrapped around her waist tentatively. “I want to stay a little bit longer in this place where everything is safe and sound.”

“Not for long.” She tightened her hold on him. “Not for long, Sasuke.”

He did the same, trying to savor her fleeting presence in his embrace.

-------------------------------

That night, she and Sai led him to a facility under the Haruno family mansion. The steel doors opened after the usual biometrics – iris scan, hand print, and voice recognition. The sight astounded him when the lights started to come on. The gundam was bigger than his previous, Strike, and visually had more missiles and armaments.

Sai handed him a paper bag containing his new mobile suit. “It’s X10A Freedom Gundam, one of the two newest developments of Zaft. You’ll find that it’s much more lighter compared to previous models with faster mobility stats, and more devastating firepower. But you’ll be all right, you have the seed of the coordinator after all. What a dream it would be to see it used for coexistence.” He didn’t wait for Sasuke’s reply and quietly moved away to give the two privacy.

“Isn’t this too much?” Sasuke asked her. She hasn’t even asked him whether his views of the world have changed.

“I believe you’ll do the right thing.” Sakura leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Come back to me safely?”

Sasuke held her gaze, sincere in the uttering of his next words. “I will.”

TECHNICAL NOTES

GUNDAM – General Purpose Utility Non-Discontinuity Augmentation Maneuvering Weapon System

Coordinators – genetically enhanced human beings; improved traits e.g. faster learning, stronger bodies, more honed talents

Naturals – naturally born human being which did not undergo genetic modifications

Earth Forces/Earth Alliance – predominantly Natural

ZAFT – Zodiac Alliance of Freedom Treaty; PLANT’s national army, members comprised fully of coordinators

PLANT – space colonies

Orb Union – nation composed of neutral territories located east of New Guinea

Music used for this writing: Mizu no Akashi | Fields of Hope

#ssm21 #ssm21d8 #ssm21d10 #ssm21d11 #sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #crossover with gundam seed #kira yamato #lacus clyne #gundam seed #im so sorry im late huhu

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storyofmychoices · 4 years ago

Text

Original Murder Mystery Story

So I’ve been very uninspired as of late and I keep thinking about this novel I started almost six years ago now. I think I might take some time to work on it. I don’t know. But I thought I’d post the first chapter here incase anyone is interested in reading it. I’m not tagging anyone so this post will probably get lost in tumblr abyss and I’m okay with that. But if it doesn’t and you enjoy it, please, please let me know (like, comment, message me, reblog?!) I’ve never shared original work before so I’m quite nervous. (also, I guess, if it’s not good, please tell me (nicely of course) constructive criticism is good too.)

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to participate in an all-new reality television series. We have found that given your particular professional and personal experiences, you are an ideal fit for the cast. Official auditions will not be held for the premiere season, as the creators wish to film the entirety of the first round without the ever-watching eye of the public. In this day and age, we cannot be too careful.

Should you choose to accept our humble invitation, simply call the number below and enter your unique pin number when requested. If you choose to decline the offer, we ask that you return this letter in the enclosed self-addressed stamped envelope.

We look forward to hearing from you soon.

Our most sincere congratulations,

Truest Noon Productions

Phone: 1-800-687-3378

Pin: 58834633668

Mr. Danforth chuckled. He was far too old and out of shape to have been chosen. There must have been a mistake. No, certainly he would not be qualified for any of those reality television shows. “It’s the young folks they want,” he thought to himself. “They all want their fifteen minutes of fame. No, no. I am far too old to be getting involved in anything like that. Me on the television?” He couldn’t fathom it.

Tossing the letter onto the pile of junk mail on his desk, he put his feet up in his recliner and rested from his long day at the security office.

☆ ☆ ☆

Ding, dong. Ding, dong. Diiiiing, Dooooong. Knock, knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock.

Ms. Drake pressed her nose against her dining room window, watching the mysterious deliveryman across the street. Her hair tightly wound in curlers, it was a wonder she could move at all without her scalp pulling off. She leaned back and took a long drag of her almost finished cigarette. She crushed the butt on a dish to her left without looking, turning her focus again to Mrs. Mulberry’s house across the street. The deliveryman continued to press the doorbell fervently.

“I wonder what that could be about,” Ms. Drake said to herself. “Who delivers mail at ten to six in the morning?”

“What was taking Mrs. Mulberry so long to answer the door?” Ms. Drake thought, changing window positions. Certainly, she would be readying for work by this time? How could she leave that poor man standing there like an idiot? Not on her watch.

Ms. Drake tightened her silk floral housecoat around herself and moved toward the door. Her slippers were ready for her morning walk to the mailbox for the paper. She typically waited until Mr. Barnes was leaving for work so they could exchange their daily salutations, but today she would deviate from her routine. After all, she couldn’t leave that poor, helpless deliveryman standing in the damp morning air. That would not be neighborly at all.

Waddling out of her house, Ms. Drake raised a hand to attract the man’s attention. “Yoo hoo. Oh, yoo hoooo.”

He turned toward the sound of Ms. Drake’s howling call. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I see you’re looking for Mrs. Mulberry. Perhaps she’s left for work already,” Ms. Drake suggested, knowing fully well that Mrs. Mulberry did not leave for work until 7:00 a.m.

“Yes, ma’am. I have been instructed to hand-deliver this letter to her,” the man held out a large blue envelope with silver calligraphy; Ms. Drake’s gaze was immediately taken by it. “I don’t suppose you know when she might return? It is of the utmost importance that she gets this letter quickly.”

“Oh, my dear,” Ms. Drake said, fluttering her eyes at the man easily thirty years her junior. “I know Mrs. Mulberry quite well; we have been neighbors for the better part of two decades. I could deliver the letter to her.”

“That’s very kind ma’am, but my directions are to place the letter in Mrs. Mulberry’s hands directly. I’m not even to leave it at her door for her. She must receive it straight away.”

“Well then, it’s a pity that you’ll not succeed in your task. I only wanted to help you on your way!” Ms. Drake turned up her pug nose at him, an attribute certainly the result of pressing it against her window far too many times over the years. “I bid you a good day then.”

Ms. Drake sulked back to her house, failing to retrieve her newspaper. What was in that envelope and why was it so important? She had to know.

“Wait,” the man called.

Ms. Drake’s curlers almost burst off her head; she could hardly contain herself. “Yes, my dear?” She slowly turned around giving the man a determined look.

“It’s urgently important Mrs. Mulberry receives this letter today; can you assure me you will get it to her?” The man asked skeptically.

“Of course, yes. Mrs. Mullberry’s letter is in safe hands with me.” She held out her thick hands in his direction, her fingers wagging invitingly.

Apprehensively, he turned the envelope over to her. “You’re a lifesaver. I really wouldn’t have had time to return this evening. I must be getting on with my other deliveries.”

“Of course, of course. What are neighbors for if not to help out those around them?”

“That’s very kind of you ma’am. Well, I better be off. Thank you, Mrs....”

“Ms. Drake,” she replied. “Ms. Cordelia Drake.”

“Well then, thank you, Ms. Drake. It has been a pleasure.” He smiled and was off.

Ms. Drake anxiously looked back at Mrs. Mulberry’s house. “Good,” she thought. “She doesn’t know yet.” Ms. Drake waddled her way back into the house, tucking the envelope under her robe.

☆ ☆ ☆

Ms. Banks swiftly pressed the numbers on her phone with her long, manicured nails. “Shoot, a voice recording.” She said quietly to herself in her soft southern accent. Ms. Isabella Banks had no trouble seeing why she would be chosen for a new television series. The blonde bombshell had won Homecoming and Prom Queen at her high school, as well as placed as runner up for Ms. Georgia. Of course, they’d want her.

Isabella practiced her award-winning smile. Yes, it would be good to be in the spotlight again. She must get through to the number. She dialed more slowly this time, speaking each number aloud as she tapped the keypad. The recording again–didn’t anyone want to talk with her directly, she wondered.

☆ ☆ ☆

Liam Flynn, a rock musician, found himself in possession of a letter welcoming him to join a reality TV pilot. “To accept is defeat,” he grumbled, tossing the letter in his overflowing trashcan. “Only washed-up artists do reality TV. I’m not that desperate.”

His greasy dark bangs fell in front of his eyes as he opened his fridge. He carelessly pushed them aside and grabbed a beer. It was the closest thing to food that he had in his apartment. “Well, maybe, I’ll just hear them out. I could plan a comeback and use this as a launching point. Yes, that’s it!” Liam retrieved the paper, dialed the number, punched in his pin number, and listened to the recorded instructions. His hopes dashed a little as he too had wished to speak with a live person.

☆ ☆ ☆

“Congratulations Mr. Martin,” read Adam. “What is it with all these scam contests? Why can’t one of these for once be legit? That would change everything.” Adam had been a star football player in high school and got a scholarship to play for the University of Michigan, but a shoulder injury took him out freshmen year. He needed some good news.

“I should give them a piece of my mind. Sending these letters, getting people’s hopes up, just to scam them. Who do they think they are?”

He furiously pounded his phone as he dialed the number. He would tell them. The second a voice spoke, he started ranting until he realized it was just a recording. “What a waste,” he thought. Well, he was this far, why not? He punched in his pin number and listened. He would receive a call in a day with further instructions. “Oh, I’m sure,” he began talking to the automated voice. “Yes, Mr. Martin, thank you for calling and verifying your award. Yes, all we need now is your bank account information, social security number, and credit cards,” he mocked.

“No, thank you.” He slammed his phone on the counter.

☆ ☆ ☆

Doctor Caitlyn Grey sat behind the large mahogany desk in her private office in Jacksonville, Florida. Her long legs crossed under her desk as she kicked her heels on and off. What a terribly boring day, she thought. Her calendar book was filled, yet Dr. Grey found her patients’ problems to be trivial. “The things people see a psychiatrist for these days.” She laughed to herself. Hadn’t she chosen this path to help people with real disorders? Why then is her day filled with people like Joan Hall who spends every minute of her bi-weekly hour-long sessions talking about her eleven cats and making cat noises? So, maybe there was an underlying cause for this behavior. When Joan had first come in, hadn’t she tried to ask questions and engage Joan? It was Joan who would not talk about herself and chose to focus only on her cats. There were fifteen of them then. “I guess that’s progress,” Dr. Grey reminisced.

“Your mail is here, Dr. Grey,” said Miranda, the good doctor’s secretary. She placed the mail on Dr. Grey’s desk.

“Thank you, and Miranda, call Antonio’s and make me a dinner reservation for tomorrow night.”

“Of course, Dr. Grey, How many?”

“Just one, but make sure you tell them to reserve my special table.”

Miranda gave a curt nod and left Dr. Grey alone with her thoughts and only the sound of her pumps popping on and off to fill the room. Dr. Grey shuffled through the mail tossing each unopened envelope back on the desk until she came across a unique blue one with silver lettering.

No return address, she noted. As she opened it, a sly smile broke across her face. A reality show really wanted a psychiatrist in its cast? Well, it would be to her advantage. She would, of course, see through their thinly veiled plots and uncover the truth. “Oh, yes,” she thought. “This could be enjoyable.”

Dr. Grey called the number and followed the instructions. She hung up the receiver and paged Miranda on the intercom. “Miranda?”

“Yes, Dr. Grey?”

“Be a dear and clear my schedule for next Tuesday. I’ve just received a call about an urgent meeting I must attend.”

“Of course, Dr. Grey. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes. I believe everything will be just splendid.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“Truest Noon Productions. How lame,” Emma Riley decided. And yet, something about the name intrigued her. She had never heard of them before. She sat pondering the content of the letter. The twenty-one-year-old college student attended New York University with an undeclared major. She had entered the school when she was seventeen and had jumped from program to program. Why would anyone want her on television? She was a loner, who cared less about reality television than the over-hyped pop artists with whom radio stations are determined to melt listeners’ brains. And yet, this one intrigued her.

Emma pulled up a search engine on her computer and entered “Truest Noon Productions.” A dozen websites popped up in the results, but none an exact match. She couldn’t find any digital record of the company at all. She searched the phone number in hopes of pulling up a business listing. Nothing. She tried the address on the return envelope. Nothing. According to the map app on her phone, the address didn’t even exist. How could it not exist?

“I guess they really are keeping this show under wraps,” she contemplated. Emma stared at the letter and read it over and over again. There was just something about it, something peculiar. What was it?

She held the paper up to the light, but only found a logo imprinted in the threads of the paper. Unable to discover what was puzzling her, about the letter, she pulled out her phone and dialed the number. She pressed ‘0’ hoping to be transferred to a live person. It was no use; there was only the recording.

☆ ☆ ☆

Ms. Drake sat in the kitchen, her curious hands clutching the envelope. It was too thick and dark to see through. She had tried holding it up to the sun and a lamp. Neither came close to illuminating the contents. The envelope was sealed tightly, so there was no chance of accidentally opening it. Steam, she thought. She quickly boiled a large pot of water holding the envelope carefully over it. It was taking too long.

“He did say it was urgent,” she remarked. “Maybe I should open it, just in case it’s time-sensitive. Yes, yes, I think that will do.”

She took her letter opener and carefully broke the seal. “A reality television series? Mrs. Mulberry? No, it couldn’t be. They must have the wrong person,” Ms. Drake shook her head in protest. Then, she got an idea. The letter wasn’t actually addressed to Mrs. Mulberry at all. The envelope certainly was, but the letter was nameless. “I shouldn’t,” she muttered while grabbing the phone and dialing the number. “Well, who could it really hurt?” She admitted to herself. She couldn’t imagine Mrs. Mulberry accepting, and why should the opportunity go to waste?

(if you are interested in more and want to be tagged, please let me know)

((also if you made it this far OMGOSH HI AND THANK YOU 🥺😭))

#original work #original story #🙈#writing #novel #mystery #writer problems #writer #story #work in progress #delete later

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pastelwitchling · 4 years ago

Text

The day had started with a knock at the door.

Alex had woken up in the middle of the night and had stayed awake, preferring to focus his mind on coding and military work than try to let it rest for another second. He’d been doing so since he’d come back to Roswell, and even more so since Michael and Maria had started dating. It never mattered that they broke up, something in Alex had shattered at the thought of Maria’s hands on Michael’s body, kissing down the trails that Alex had kissed himself.

The real problem now, however, was the fact that Alex was struggling to do almost anything during the day, the exhaustion taking over more and more of his sanity. But he couldn’t go back to sleep, he couldn’t hide behind any more trenches, hear any more explosions, run from his father, run from the man he loved and the woman who had been meant to love him and yet betrayed him. Alex would’ve rather let the exhaustion kill him than succumb to these nightmares.

But that also meant that time stopped having any meaning, so when Alex heard the knock at his front door, he thought it was still barely dawn. A glance at his phone told him it was almost noon. Days off without any work schedule will do that to a man.

He pushed himself off the counter and went to answer, surprised to see Max Evans standing on the other side, smiling mischievously as if he and Alex were best friends sharing a dangerous secret.

“Morning, Manes!” Max said, uncharacteristically cheerful.

“Uh – good morning, Max,” Alex said with furrowed brows, stepping aside as Max let himself in. “Did – did something happen?”

“Hm?” Max looked over his shoulder at Alex, arms crossed behind his back. “No. I just felt like coming to see you.” He raised an eyebrow at him. “That okay?”

Alex blinked, surprised. A blush rose up his neck but he ignored it and began quickly clearing away his files. “Y—Yeah, that’s fine. Does Michael know you’re here?”

Max chuckled. “Come on, Alex, you know Michael. No one can even mention your name around him. You know, because he” – here he did animated quotes with his fingers – “loves you.”

Alex’s brows furrowed. “Max?”

“Or, you know,” Max shrugged. “So he says. Doesn’t really act like it though, does he?” He chuckled. “What a dick. You want me to make you some breakfast? I’m basically Chef Ramsay with a few eggs and spices.”

“Uh – Max,” Alex asked. “Are you okay?”

Max stilled for a moment in front of the stove, but when he turned to Alex, his smile was smaller, more hesitant, the kind of smile Alex knew Max to usually have. Though there was something about the look in his eyes…

“I miss Liz,” he said blatantly. “You know, with her gone to California, I just thought you would understand what it feels like to miss someone and not be able to tell them.”

Alex felt an odd chill at the base of his spine at the darkness in Max’s eyes. Something still felt off, though Alex couldn’t put his finger on what exactly. “I…”

“I can’t tell Michael,” Max shook his head. “You know what he’s like, he doesn’t take anything seriously, he doesn’t think anything’s worth caring about –”

“He cares about you and Isobel,” he defended.

“I know,” Max nodded gravely. “I know, but he doesn’t love anyone like you and I do. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to feel like you’re burning from the inside because of how badly you want that person.” He sighed. “Alex. Michael doesn’t have room in his heart to really love just one person. He fights for who he loves… but not to keep anyone. He just doesn’t care enough.”

Alex blinked, startled at the cruelty of Max’s words. He wanted to deny them, to tell Max just how loving Michael could be, to tell him of all the times Michael had fought for him… and he came up with nothing. All Alex could pull from his memory were moments Michael had taunted him, had turned him away, had refused him, had let him turn away without a question, without holding on, without a single request to stay. Then there was the moment Michael chose someone else because it was easier.

Alex’s shoulders fell only for a moment, his gaze dropped for a single instant, but it was enough for Max to notice, and for a split second, Alex thought he saw Max smirk, but when he blinked, the man’s expression was one of sympathy and kindness.

Still…

“So,” Max shrugged a shoulder, his smile so gentle and so full of hesitation that Alex could not help but sympathize. “Can I make you some breakfast?”

“I…” Alex glanced at the door, half-expecting Michael to suddenly come in and explain what Max was really doing here, and why his brother was offering to do something nice for Alex instead of him. “Sure.”

Max smiled, and Alex felt the small ball of tension in his chest loosen just slightly. “Okay! Okay, food for two.” He pushed Alex’s shoulders, guiding him onto a stool at the counter. “You just sit down and relax, I’ll take care of everything.”

Alex sat down with a sigh and watched with a smile tugging at his lips as Max took a carton of eggs and a bundle of vegetables from Alex’s fridge as if he lived there. Alex had no idea how hungry he was until Max set a colorful omelet in front of him with an expectant smile, waiting for his reaction. Alex dug in and his eyes fluttered. A moan escaped his lips and he quickly covered his mouth with his hand, hoping it would take the sound back, but it was too late. Max had heard him and his smile had widened.

“Good?”

Alex shook his head. “Amazing.” He pointed a fork at Max. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Max blinked, as if surprised to be offered. “Sure. Yeah. Breakfast, you and me.”

So Alex and Max sat and laughed and talked. All about little nothings but none of it mattered because for the first time, Alex wasn’t thinking about Michael or Project Shepherd, but about Jane Austen and movies and Hamilton. He was smiling and it didn’t feel forced. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

Then his phone rang.

Alex glanced down at the name flashing on the screen and any semblance of a smile on his lips disappeared. Max followed his gaze and his brows furrowed. They sat in silence until the phone stopped ringing.

“Why didn’t you pick up?” Max asked.

Alex searched Max’s face carefully, looking for any sign of judgment, any disappointment. There was none. He sighed, choosing to smile instead of cry about it like he wanted. Like he’d been wanting for the past few years.

“Because I’m having breakfast with you,” he said simply and stood, taking his and Max’s empty plates. Max was staring at him with an unreadable expression. “Look,” Alex said, putting the plates in the sink, “for the first time in a long time I’m having an actual good morning. Can’t I have it just a little longer? And then, I promise I’ll call him and help him with whatever he needs.”

Max smirked, something that reminded Alex a little too much of Michael. He shrugged. “I’m not here as Michael’s brother, Alex.” He scoffed then, as if he’d made a private joke. “Believe me. You want to have a good morning, let’s have a good morning.”

Alex began to smile, but then they heard a tapping on the roof and rubble fell from the ceiling.

“What the hell,” Alex muttered.

Max tilted his head. “Must be an animal up there or something.”

Alex rubbed his eyes. “If it’s picking at the wood, I need to stop it.”

Max stood. “Now?”

“I don’t want to let it get worse,” Alex said. “I’m sorry. Hey, make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.”

Alex turned, not even considering that he was leaving Max alone with his phone that had started, once again, to ring.

“Come on, Alex,” Michael muttered. “Pick up. Pick up.”

“He’s still not answering?” Isobel asked, sitting across from him in a Crashdown booth. “Maybe he’s still asleep.”

“Alex is always up before the sun is,” Michael said. “He doesn’t really sleep.”

She frowned. “Aw.”

Michael was directed to voicemail again. He got off the automated message and dialed again.

“Would you give it up?” she said. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I just need to hear his voice,” Michael said.

“Then go see him.”

“He doesn’t want to see me.”

Michael was just about to hang up and try texting instead when Alex picked up on the other end.

“Private?”

“No,” Max answered. “Not exactly.”

Michael frowned. “Max?” He caught Isobel’s gaze. She looked just as surprised as he was. “What’re you doing with Alex’s phone?”

“Oh, we’re just spending the morning together,” Max said cheerfully. “It’s been a lot of fun. I’d ask you to come, but… well, Alex really hates you right now.”

Michael’s brows furrowed, a painful sting in his chest. “What?”

“He just gets it, you know?” Max said matter-of-factly. Michael was getting more and more confused.

“Max, what’re you talking about? What’s really going on?”

“Michael, I’m telling you,” Max said with a chuckle. Was he drunk? “Alex and I just understand each other. I know what he’s going through. Being abandoned by the one you love sucks. Not that you’d know, am I right?”

Michael’s fingers curled to fists. “Max,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m being there for Alex,” Max said sweetly. “Does that bother you, Michael? Does it upset you that someone could actually care about Alex? Or do you want him to wait on the sidelines until you decide he’s worth your time?”

Michael’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed. Isobel kept nudging his arm, asking him what was wrong, but Michael couldn’t hear her anymore. Because just then, Max Evans walked through the front door of the Crashdown. Isobel followed his gaze and gasped, her eyes wide.

Michael stood. Max saw him and came over, concern evident in his expression.

“Mr. Jones,” Michael hissed before Max could ask what was wrong. “If you touch a hair on his head –”

“Then what?” Mr. Jones laughed. “Tell me, what will you do, Michael?”

“Listen to me, you sick bastard –”

“It’s too bad, you know,” Mr. Jones said. “He’s pretty handsome. Really nice, too. But, you see, the problem is… he’s too clever. Pesky, I know, but how am I supposed to corner you guys if he’s always there to save your asses? No. You understand I have to do something about it, right? Nothing personal.”

Michael was already out of the Crashdown, Isobel and Max at his heels. “I’ll find you,” he said. “You hurt him in any way, and I swear, it will be the last thing you ever do!”

“Oh, gotta go, Michael!” Mr. Jones said cheerfully. “Alex is working on the roof. I should probably go make sure he doesn’t, you know, slip and fall to a painful death. Later!”

Michael tried to argue, to threaten, to plead, but the line had already turned dead.

“Alex, hold up!” Max called as Alex brought out the long ladder and set it against the side of the house.

“Max, I told you I’ve got it,” Alex said. “You should go back inside, have some coffee.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a Superman if I let you do this by yourself, would I?”

Alex laughed, and Max smiled. “Superman?”

“Don’t look at me!” Max said. “I’m not the one that came up with it! But,” he sighed, “I figured that if everyone was going to make me out to be so perfect, then I should probably do more than screw up all the time.”

“You’re talking about Liz,” he said softly.

“I let her down,” Max nodded. “Least I can do is help make sure her best friend stays safe.”

Alex looked to the ladder and sighed. “All right, hold onto it then.” He got ready to climb as Max hung onto the ladder. He paused, “And don’t worry. This time, Liz was in the wrong. She’s just got too much pride to admit it. But she’s smart, she’ll realize that she made a mistake, and she’ll come back.”

Max scoffed. “You, Alex Manes, are way too nice for this town.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

It was slow, Alex’s climb up the ladder, but eventually he made it to the roof. He tried not to show how out of breath he already was, looking around for the animal tapping on the wood. Instead, he found that a part of the roof was caved in, barely held together by the support beams below.

Alex frowned. “What the hell?”

“What’s going on?” Max called from below.

Alex shook his head. “It looks like something struck the roof and broke the wood apart.”

Max hummed. “Or someone.”

“Who would be able to do this? I would’ve noticed if someone had been on my roof, they would’ve had to not use their… hands…” Alex looked down again and was met with two sights.

The first was that the ladder had been taken down and Alex was now stuck on the roof. The second was that Max was watching him, amused, his arms crossed.

Alex stepped back slowly so that he could hold onto his chimney but keep an eye on Max – or the imposter, he should say – at once.

“You’re not Max.”

“No,” Mr. Jones said with mock sympathy. “But hey, getting you up there was easier than I thought it’d be. I thought this would have to be a lot messier, but falling off the roof works, too.” He cackled. “You’re usually too smart to trick. You must be tired!”

“Get away from me,” Alex warned.

“Oh I won’t touch you, Alex,” Mr. Jones smiled. “That’s sort of the point. Murder always comes with way too many questions. Accidents, on the other hand…”

“No one will believe that I let myself fall off the roof,” Alex said.

“They will actually, want to know why?” Mr. Jones tilted his head. “Because you’re broken, Alex. You’re a shattered toy who can barely stay on your feet, and everyone knows it. You don’t sleep, you don’t eat…. Max Evans may be Superman… but you’re definitely not.” He shrugged. “Anywho. We don’t really have a lot of time, so –”

Mr. Jones put out a hand and Alex felt himself suddenly jerk forward. He managed to stay on the roof only by grabbing the chimney at the last second.

“It’s a shame,” Mr. Jones sighed. “You really could’ve been someone, you know, if you weren’t so busy looking after everyone else. Let this be a lesson for the future; only look out for yourself. Well, you won’t have a future, but you get my point, right?”

He tried to yank Alex off again, and once again, Alex held on by the tip of his fingers, his nails scraping the bricks and breaking off. Alex’s fingers bled and his hands scarred, his head felt heavy and the world was spinning. He was too tired to keep holding on, too disoriented to think of a plan. All he could do was hang on as Mr. Jones tried to throw him off the roof again, and again, and again.

“You’re being really difficult right now, Alex!” Mr. Jones snapped, the both of them breathing heavily after several minutes. “Would you just… die… ALREADY?!”

Michael, Alex thought desperately, terrified that just saying the cowboy’s name would take too much of the energy he was using to stay alive. He wanted to see Michael, he wanted to tell him how much he loved him, how much he would miss him. Where are you? Alex shut his eyes tight, thinking of Michael, his grip on the chimney weakening.

One more pull, he knew, was all it would take. Then –

CRASH!

Alex opened his eyes and gasped. Mr. Jones had been thrown into the set of chairs and tables Alex had in his backyard. He was unconscious.

“Alex!” Michael called. “Alex, where are you?!”

“Here,” Alex breathed, then, louder, “Up here!”

Michael, Isobel, and the real Max came into view, looking as if they’d run a marathon.

“Alex,” Michael called, eyes wild. “Are you okay?!”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, I’m – I’m fine.”

“Michael,” Max said, lifting the ladder. “Help me with this.”

The both of them set the ladder against the wall for Alex to climb down. Max held onto the ladder while Michael held his arms out for Alex. The airman barely touched the ground before he was engulfed in a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re okay,” Michael breathed against his hair. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

“Alex,” Isobel stared cautiously at Mr. Jones who Max was injecting with what looked like a serum. “What happened?”

Alex shook his head. Michael would not release him for a second. “I thought he was Max. I’m sorry, I – I should’ve been able to tell.”

“You’re exhausted, look at you,” Michael said, taking Alex’s face in his hands. He seemed to forget himself as he kissed Alex’s forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, his nose. Alex stopped him before he mindlessly kissed his lips.

“I’m – I’m okay,” Alex said, though he kept a tight hold on Michael’s jacket. “Really.”

Michael seemed to realize that Alex also wanted to stay close, and he brought an arm around his back, rubbing soothingly. Alex thought he could almost collapse against him and fall asleep now.

“What did he want with me though?” Alex asked.

“He knows how important you are to us,” Michael said.

“All the help you’ve given us,” Max shook his head as he came over. “You’re kind of our protector, Alex. He doesn’t really like that.”

“No kidding,” Alex muttered. Looking at Max now, he could see the difference between them. Max’s eyes were darker, but his concern more genuine, his kindness almost palpable. Alex blushed when he thought of the man he’d had breakfast with. He found himself disappointed that he’d lost a friend he didn’t know he needed.

“I’m here now,” Michael said against his hair, and Alex’s heart hammered painfully in his chest. “He won’t touch you again.”

Alex turned his red face away from Isobel and Max’s eyes. He wished Michael wouldn’t talk to him like that in front of other people.

“I just need some sleep,” Alex shook his head against Michael’s chest. “Please, just… get him off my property,” he nudged with his chin at Mr. Jones. “I don’t want to see him here again.”

Max nodded sympathetically, touched his shoulder, and asked for Isobel’s help dragging Mr. Jones to his car. Meanwhile, Alex was left alone in Michael’s arms.

“Mind if I stay with you?” Michael said, pushing Alex’s bangs back from his eyes. “I won’t be able to function if I know you’re here unprotected.”

“I don’t need protection.”

“Please, Alex.”

Alex searched his face, his hands coming around Michael’s waist and reaching up to touch his back. He couldn’t believe how much he missed Michael’s body against his.

“Can’t you just stay with me for the sake of staying with me?”

Michael’s expression faltered. “You’d let me?”

Alex pressed his forehead against Michael’s shoulder, trying not to think of Mr. Jones’s words. He fights for who he loves… but not to keep anyone. He just doesn’t care enough.

Mr. Jones had been wrong. Alex knew that better than anyone. He held on tighter to Michael, as tightly as he needed to make sure the cowboy didn’t leave him again.

“Just stay with me, Michael. Stay.”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex one shot #malex fanfic #malex fic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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monchikyun · 4 years ago

Text

II. nightmares

warning: much angst

There are loud noises coming from all around, deafening not only him but also the people who are stupid enough to stick around. They make him paralyzed, make him scared out of his mind and unable to think.

It’s happening all over again. The screams, the insults, the profanities. The “I have raised a failure”s and “we should have aborted you”s. And Gavin believes it too. Every single word being spat out of the grizzly maw resonates deep within his soul, making him wonder why he should wake up every morning if he’s nothing but a waste of space. He doesn’t even want to fight it, because he’s small and tired, and tried so many times before with nothing but more scars to show for it. So he just lets the scene unravel in front of him just like any other time. And the eyes keep watching him, judging him for all he has and hasn’t done. Every member of his family has gathered around to take a part in the shaming ritual that comes about almost every other night. Even his mother is there, piercing him with her blank stare, unaffected by the horrors that take place around her.

Maybe he’s just weak. Maybe he deserves it. Maybe he should just end it all.

He concentrates really hard, wills himself to get away from this nightmare, unsure whether this is just another scenario his fucked up mind has gifted him with or whether this time it’s real. He’s usually hazy about this, ready to perceive the things he sees as a reality and rarely question them further. But among the crowd of callous lights, there is a pair of eyes so unlike any other, so soft and without a speck of malice in them, and he doesn’t know what to do with their sudden appearance. Because he recognizes their owner. The person who has no place in this vile corner of his mind. A place too dangerous for such a delicate being. It isn’t right.

He’d like to think that he’s there to help, that he came to soothe Gavin’s bruised heart. Because he desperately wants him to. Maybe if he just pried his heavy eyelids open…

“You’ve got a new text message,” the automated voice politely informs him. Suddenly his heedless attitude of not caring enough to change the default alert noise starts really getting on his tangled nerves. How many times will he be forced to listen to the prissy lady’s mechanical announcements before he throws his phone out of the window he couldn’t wage, but judging by his nonexistent mental stability, he would say a week – give or take.

He fumbles for his phone, looking for something tangible to take him back into the reality of the present moment but he can’t see anything since there are droplets of sweat around his eyes, blurring his vision. Or maybe those are tears. He can’t really be sure.

His brain is trying to force itself through the skull and out in the open, or that’s how it feels like to him. His fragile heart is stuck in his throat, still beating hard, just like his father used to. Hands shaking, limbs aching. He’s probably running a mild fever, too. It’s nothing he’s isn’t used to. Having night terrors, even at his age, no matter how pathetic it makes him look, it’s still an inherent part of who he is. That’s why he never allowed anyone to get too close, never let anyone see this bonus feature of his.

Gavin never figured he would have issues with keeping this show of weakness to himself. Never thought that there could be a solution to it. Because no amount of therapy and alcohol ever managed to make him free of the ghosts from his past. He knows that there is no magical remedy to this sickness of his, but still, he can’t help but feel like he needs something more. Like there is something missing in his futile quest for survival. Someone who would make him forget who he is for just a second. Someone who would be willing to lie to him about how it’s going to be fine, how he’s not alone in this mess.

It hurts more than the repeating dream would ever be able to. It hurts because he knows it’s a pile of bullshit.

Because he doesn’t want anyone except the one person he can’t stop thinking about. Because Connor would know just the right thing to say to make him feel better, because every time he’s with him, all of his problems get draped in a thick veil. But most of all, it’s because he loves him. He’s never fallen so hard, and frankly, it terrifies him to death. The feeling sits deep at the bottom of his heart, waiting for some divine sign to come up and show its head. It festers there, plaguing his entire body with an ache he has no outlet for. Feeding on the rest of the good things he has left in his miserable life.

If only the person he yearns for wasn’t an immaculately designed android, a one of his kind creation, a precious human being. If only it wasn’t Connor. But then again, he wouldn’t have this problem then, would he.

It’s just that he couldn’t bear such a beautiful being tainted by a wreck like him.

For he doesn't care about Connor's flaws and imperfections. The image of him he has created inside his heart isn’t malleable by the mistakes he’s made or the irritating traits he’s been programmed with. Because no matter how low Connor sinks, there will always be below. And that’s where Gavin’s soul dwells.

That’s why he keeps his feelings for himself. If Connor never finds out, he’ll be spared the inevitable pain that comes after. Maybe the android will find someone who would love him right somewhere on his path. And if he’s lucky, the ache will eventually dissolve into his bloodstream just like it did in the past.

The heart-rending things he wishes for.

After some more psychological self-harm, he finally finds his phone lying screen down on the ground. He picks it up with a groan, his muscles protesting against all and every movement.

There is a new crack that wasn’t there yesterday. A crooked line all across the screen, splitting the display into two halves.

He pays it no mind. Gavin himself is full of scars so what is one more to add to his ever-growing collection. The second thing he notices right away is that the message he’s received is from none other than Connor himself. He tries to convince himself not to open it, has all the persuading arguments ready, but his fingers are quicker than his mind and so he’s left staring at an explosion of red and white hues, an image mirroring the scenery peeking at him through the small part of the window that isn’t covered by blinds. A beautiful picture marred by an unsightly wound.

‘Good morning, detective.’

The universe must truly hate him.

He holds the phone close to his chest, the only way to keep himself from completely falling apart. It’s like he’s grasping onto the very essence of who Connor is. An echo of his soul. The most he’s ever going to take from him.

He swears he won’t cry. And he doesn’t, for a while, until he does.

@a-convin-new-year sorry for any mitskakes

#aconvinnewyear #convin #sorry about the angst but that's all I know xD #that and soft happy endings #something like emotional hurt/comfort #yes the stuff I live for :D #also did someone say daddy issues #sorry gavin but if I have to suffer so do you :D

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yuvon-writes-letters · 3 years ago

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Hey guys :)

Maybe I'm going chronological for one time, so I can sort my thoughts easier.

Yeah, Goldie's much mire active than I would've thought, too. But they did all those things to keep me alive and kind of save, since we still don't know who they are exactly working against. (I mean, we don't know who Goldie exactly is either, but you get my point)

Honestly, I am pretty sure the TSB timeline is continuing, at least if my theory that Goldie just set me back in an alternate timeline is true. In this case I feel sorry for TSB, though..Extremely sorry. He still was 'my' Jake back then, even though he acted weird in the end (maybe was manipulated by entities). I mean, if what he wrote was true he went with authorities. And in the end..this could've been his downfall.

And yeah, maybe I'm not exactly safe, but I just have to go back. If I go, and if I lose my job, I have some things to sort out. And Jake luckily agreed with me that clearing up my desk isn't the worst thing I can do before leaving. We're still thinking about a location, which I could luckily deside myself. Max agreed on that. Even though he still has some doubts. (I mean, of course...His cousin opened the door with bruises all over her face.) He did promise to not ask any questions until I feel ready, though. That gives myself and Jake some time to figure that out.

And also, Jake is right! We have three Jakes and three smart people. YUVON. And of course Goldie, like you said Yu :) And some information about the previous timeline. (And that was it with being chronological)

So yeah, like I said, Max and I'll go. And I also think we can be pretty certain now that the message came from Goldie not the MWAF (which is relieving). I saw the messages and they didn't make Jake the bad guy. I honestly just don't think I can quote them yet. (They're too good, but I probably start daydreaming if I do) But they talk about Jake being an important part of my life and my heart and Max protecting me when he cannot. My dear cousin jumped to conclusions when he saw my bruised face. About Max' phone...I'll probably throw it in a river or something if he brings it with him. I told him not to, also because of Jake (he's not only worried about the MWAF apparently...He didn't exactly say it out loud, but I think it's pretty obvious) but he loves this device.

And I emphasize with you about the being kidnapped thing, you'll manage it, I know it :) And if I need to jump dimensions and box some sense into your Crow-Crew xD

No but for real, you can do that. I know it :)

Jake, find a good point in time to talk to her. But do it :)

Otherwise, I still think the 'underlying desire' theory is a possibility! But, like always in the moment, we could be wrong.

As for my stasis, I really do not wish to talk to more people who think I've been kidnapped. And I am a bit scared that could somehow lead to either them or me being in more danger again. But for now we have to wait.

I for now will pack some important things and paper & pens xD I don't want to leave y'all behind :P

Liska🐾🔥

[A screenshot is glued to the back of the letter and the quick sentence "Jake wants to talk to Jake" is written above]

Hello Jake, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am not quite sure in which way Liska will handle giving you my message, but she promised me to not read it for now.

I don't know whether she told you before or not, but as far as I am concerned she realised I am not only worried about the MWAF chasing her.

With me breaking out of this stasis I am sure that my followers aren't that far behind. And I know you can't do anything from where you are, but cross checking way to protect her doesn't seem to bad to me. Especially since we are similar but still fairly different from each other. At least it seems like that from what I have read.

For my part, I recently improved and updated Nym-OS which allows me access to Liskas whereabouts. If Yuvon should read this, she knows and agrees to it.

Still I am yet stuck on one little detail: I am trying to help Nym-OS in counterattacking. So, even though I am sure you already knoe this yourself, Nym-OS gets the ability to access location of the people attacking Liskas phone. I am almost done with that, so we are able to see a bit easier if and where people are that could be a danger.

Do you have any other ideas for ways I could help? Or even improve what I am doing momentarily. I wouldn't normally ask this since I know and trust my skills, but I think that this is fairly different from a 'normal situation'.

~ Jake

Lis,

Um. I don't know if you've seen the newest person to send in a letter, but we now have an issue.

Jessy, if you're reading this, I was sort of trying to avoid talking about this right away but I'm sort of trapped in a weird place, and Jake's here too because I'm a dumbass. I did not, so you know, let him read your letter or my reply. I figured you wouldn't want that. Sorry for dancing around the issue earlier :/ But at least you can get a good sample of the complete insanity we go through on the regular now!

Yeah... you're getting thrown into the deep end right now, aren't you. Sorry. There's no way to ease into this. You should probably either stop reading these entirely or start reading the letters from the beginning, so this will all at least make some sense. The first letter should start with the words "To whoever reads this," just so you know you get the right one.

Back to you, Lis. Yeah, I feel pretty bad for TSB Jake too. I honestly can't imagine being in his position right now.

Alright. So, you can choose the place. Great! There's way less chance of you being caught that way...

Tragedies just seem to be happening to all us Duskwood detectives, recently, don't they? Rai is chronically overworked and barely has time to sleep, I'm stuck in this hellhole and I've been forgotten by most everyone, you were shot, and poor Matt died and... well.

I never knew him, but I feel really bad for him :(

You could give Max half the truth. Tell him you have a stalker, and he's starting to get physical. Jake has been trying to help you get away from the asshole. It's not even a lie, just... not the full truth. Because. You know. The whole truth is completely fucking insane.

Writing to Jessy just put into perspective how insane everything is, I think. Gimme a sec.

Oh, fuck. My Jessy just texted me. Great timing.

Jeez that whole thing with me leaving myself out was just a joke XD If I knew you and Jake would take it so seriously, I'd never have said anything. I'll steer clear from now on.

Yeah, okay, definitely Goldie. That makes way more sense. I don't think you have to be quite so drastic as destroying the phone. Just get him to leave it at home for the trip.

Ahaha, thanks. I don't think that's necessary, though. Actually, seeing future!Jessy's perspective has caused a bit of a paradigm shift. I think I might need to reconsider what all to tell and not to tell the Crow Crew. I just sort of default to keeping things secret, now, but you've seen how well that worked for me with you and Rai, and with Jake.

Again, you probably should wait for them to contact you first, but you WILL need to talk to them when that happens. What you say to them and what you don't is up to you.

Pack a couple different pens XD We're all a bit long-winded.

That's all from me :)

(The handwriting changes to Jake's.) Hallo, Lis.

Yuvon refuses to tell me what precisely she means about Jessica. Was she somehow contacted by an alternate version of Jessica? If so, how?

I am glad it was Goldie who contacted Max. Yuvon's suggestion for an excuse seems a good one, as there are far less things to remember that way. You simply need to oversimplify everything.

I do not, unfortunately, entirely believe that Yuvon was joking when she made that comment, based on previous comments and her ongoing guilt. I can't understand sometimes why she feels the need to lie so much. It is difficult for me to read people, much less her.

I will speak to her eventually. Early tomorrow, perhaps, if nothing else rears its head. Yuvon looks tired, and I am also admittedly not at my peak. I sincerely hope she does not wake up as early as she does every single day. It may get somewhat taxing, what with the lack of coffee here.

I think that is all from me to you, Lis. If you would kindly find a way to send the next section to my counterpart without looking at it, it would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you :)

—Jake and Yuvon

Jake,

It is a pleasure to meet you as well, despite the unusual circumstances.

That our pursuers may be freed from the stasis is a logical conclusion. Seeing as the last known location I had on them in my universe was approximately five hundred miles from Duskwood, they will likely be some of the first to free themselves from the stasis. I do not believe I need to warn you that time is of the essence.

It seems as if I am a small distance ahead of you in the development of countermeasures, perhaps because I have had more linear time to develop them. If you are where I think you are at in the development, you likely have or will soon hit a bug you cannot pin down that makes the pinpointing mechanism simply refuse to work at all. Presuming your and my version of NYM-0S are similar enough, the issue should lie in the public bool set in line 132 of the third part of the targeting script, the script that decides what constitutes a target; you have it defaulted to "false" where it should default to "true".

As for additional countermeasures: I was attempting to work on a rudimentary automated system of pattern detection when I was brought here. Essentially, its function would be such that it would be able to triangulate using the locator features already installed to find a rough estimate of where their headquarters might be. However, I have not found any way thus far to eliminate outliers, and as such the feature is currently next to useless. I am no longer able to work on the code, but perhaps you will have more luck than I did.

That is all I can think of for the moment on that subject. However, I have an odd theory on what may be part of the reason we vary so. If you have a moment to spare, please answer me this:

When I was very young, back when Mother was still around, she took me to a doctor for odd behaviors. This included not looking people in the eyes, but there was a list. I was given a diagnosis; if you had the same experience, you should likely know which one.

Did you have this experience? If so, please prove it by stating what the diagnosis was.

Do not worry if you do not know what I am talking about; I would rather you did not guess. Simply state that you don't know. It will confirm my theory.

Good luck with your pursuers.

—Jake

(The letter tucks itself in the paper clip with the others.)

#duskwood letter game #yuvon writes letters #duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #lis #this isn't precisely a puzzle #it's a genuine question on jake's end #you aren't expected to answer unless your jake is the same

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uwua3 · 5 years ago

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bunnie!!! ur mind!!! the songs fit each member so well omg,,, i kept singing each song lmao,,, also may i present to u: spring day for tsumugi and tasuku (esp for before + start of winter troupe main story) 👀

now this... this is what i wanted someone to REQUEST!!! i had to take a break from writing an angst song fic to write ANOTHER angst song fic because i genuinely love this prompt so much!!! thank you so much for reading my mind, pines, omg!!! it’s good to see you again~ also, i like your blue theme!

summary: tsumugi came back to him like the first snow of every winter

warnings: break ups, hatred, heartbreak

author’s note: ok tala already basically wrote out the plot for me but here we go ~ Angst ~ for the boys and it’ll be a song fic, so expect it to follow the lyrics! i wrote this with the canon idea in mind that tasuku and tsumugi are ex–boyfriends turned lovers again so don’t be surprised from the #Gay~ happy pride!

sometimes, you’re with the right person at the wrong time. if they come back, it’s meant to be and it’ll be okay ♡ remember, communication is key!

word count: 6,509

music: spring day (jpn) – bts

spring day.

❄️📚⚽️ tsukioka tsumugi x takoto tasuku

I MISS YOU, SAYING THIS MAKES ME MISS YOU EVEN MORE,

I MISS YOU, EVEN THOUGH I’M LOOKING AT YOUR PHOTO

TIME’S SO CRUEL, I HATE US

SEEING EACH OTHER FOR ONCE IS NOW SO HARD BETWEEN US

Tsumugi was gone, like he never existed.

Every trace of him that was ever in Tasuku’s life was gone, there was nothing left. The apartment was left empty, bare, lifeless; it felt nothing like home, not anymore. When Tasuku searched the apartment, there was truly nothing that resembled any evidence Tsumugi was even alive. It was as if, he didn’t want Tasuku to remember him. To forget, to ignore the person he had shared his entire life with.

Tasuku paused at the one sign Tsumugi was real: the single framed picture near the front door. It was placed on the counter, the same stand where the couple would drop their keys at so they knew where everything was. Tasuku wanted to hear the sound of the metal clattering against the ceramic bowl Tsumugi crafted in pottery class, to hear Tsumugi affectionately call out, “I’m home!”, and for his brown peacoat jacket to be hung on the hook behind the door. Tasuku wanted Tsumugi to come back.

When Tasuku picked up the picture, his hand was shaking. Tasuku remembered this exact frame: the day he realized he was in love with his best friend. Tsumugi’s blue eyes were staring straight at the Tasuku with an indescribable look, an expression created and meant for Tasuku only. Characters closer than rehearsal called for, like they were the only two people in the world. It was moments before Tasuku had leaned in and kissed his co–star on stage on opening night, going against the script and changing the rest of his life forever.

Tsumugi looked alive. Real, like he could’ve just had him forever right then and there. A tear dropped onto the glass, running down the frame before Tasuku covered his mouth with his free hand, falling down to his knees as he held the photo to his chest. He couldn’t help but cry, cry for all the years he had spent loving someone who just left. Being in love with a man who woke up and took everything with him, disappearing into thin air. All Tasuku had left of Tsumugi were the memories, and this single picture.

Tasuku exhaled, his breath coming out short and ragged as he stared at the picture again despite knowing every detail. He could feel everything: the intense heat of the stagelights upon them, the shocked stares of the cast and murmurs backstage, the overwhelming applause and standing ovation from the crowd after the scene. The way Tsumugi couldn’t let go of his hand, trembling under the sudden attention but never faltering.

Tasuku remembered how he stood in front of Tsumugi anytime someone questioned it, feeling his gentle touch at the base of his back for comfort. The endless lingering stares in practice, the unanswered questions about how this happened, the kiss on stage that was too real. How that night, Tsumugi pulled them into the apartment for more like he couldn’t wait anymore after all these years just to say, “I love you, Ta–chan”.

Tasuku’s tears streamed down his face silently, for once feeling the anguish and heartbreak his roles felt. The abandoned apartment was only Tasuku’s, like Tsumugi didn’t spend the last three years living with him. It was as if, Tsumugi never loved him.

Tasuku loved Tsumugi, so, so much.

IT’S ALL WINTER HERE, EVEN IN AUGUST

MY HEART IS RUNNING ON THE TIME

ALONE ON THE SNOWPIERCER

WANNA GET TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE EARTH, HOLDING YOUR HAND

Tasuku was gone, and it was all his fault.

Tsumugi gripped the ticket in his hand, staring down the luggage he hastily packed. It was nearly bursting at the seams as he fiddled with the buckles, making sure nothing could hold him back from leaving his home. Nothing could keep Tsumugi from staying, as he silenced his phone and pocketed it away, missing the tens of calls and hundreds of text messages from his one and only. Tsumugi knew if he even checked for a second, he’d come running back to the man he loved most only to fail him again.

Tsumugi leaned back in his seat in the waiting area, surrounded by few, none of whom recognized him. How could they, when he had given up on succeeding as an actor like a coward? Tsumugi pulled up the collar of his jacket, slouching into his coat to hide from the rest of the world. He didn’t deserve to show his face, not after everything he did to Tasuku.

Tasuku would’ve woken up by now to go on his morning run. Tsumugi was supposed to beg him not to go, wanting the warmth to stay in bed just a little longer. Tasuku was supposed to firmly say no, give a kiss on the cheek as compensation, but come back much sooner than expected with a pretty flower he picked for Tsumugi. Tsumugi would get up and put in a vase, and the two would share breakfast together like always. It was the same for the past three years, Tsumugi felt his stomach rumble, he wasn’t a fan of breaking routine.

Tsumugi stared at his ticket, luckily recognizing the location he picked. He had to go, to leave, to abandon everything he had here with Tasuku that he impulsively arrived at the station with nothing but a suitcase and hopes for amnesia. However, it could’ve helped if Tsumugi even knew where this town was in Japan exactly, where his new start would be. He just knew it was far enough, and Tasuku would never find him there.

Tsumugi couldn’t help but think of how Tasuku must have been doing. Was he okay? Did he just think Tsumugi was out doing random errands? They were low on eggs, that could’ve bought him some time. Yet, some part of him, some selfish, undeserving fraction of his heart, wanted Tasuku to be running to the train station and taking him home. Back into his arms and safe from every insecurity Tsumugi ever had, Tsumugi wanted to come home.

As Tsumugi stood up, clutching his luggage with him and turning towards the exit to apologize to his boyfriend, the automated voice overheard announced his train was leaving in five minutes. Tsumugi stopped, the crowd pushing against his direction as they all headed towards the train. Tsumugi slowly turned too, forcing himself towards the entrance as he looked back once. Tasuku wasn’t there, maybe he didn’t want him to come back.

Tsumugi entered the train and found his seat, refusing to look out of his window. If he did, he would’ve saw Tasuku sprinting down the train station corridors and missing the train that took off.

If only, Tsumugi closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window as he sat alone, he was enough for Tasuku.

But, he wasn’t. Not now.

WANNA PUT AN END TO THIS WINTER

HOW MUCH LONGING SHOULD WE SEE SNOWING DOWN, TO HAVE THE DAYS OF SPRING, FRIEND?

When Tasuku departed the train station, out of breath from his fastest mile time yet, it began to snow. God must’ve hated him, wanted him to suffer, because Tasuku dropped down onto a bench for cover and stared at the snowflakes. He thought about how Tsumugi would’ve reacted, knowing how much his lover adored the winter season.

It was when Tsumugi’s timid, shy voice would amplify when he discussed anything he loved (did Tsumugi ever do that when the topic approached Tasuku?). Tsumugi would excitedly rave about the Christmas lights decorating the mall plaza that illuminated every shadow on his face in a rainbow of colors, the peppermint candy cane in his hot chocolate with those tiny marshmallows Tasuku always found too sweet but pretended to like anyways, even the minature train set up for the little kids to ride on and the fake but enthusiastic Santa sitting on a throne (Tsumugi liked reminding everyone Tasuku believed in Santa until third grade, much to his embarrassment).

Most importantly, Tsumugi loved the snow. When the first snow came, Tsumugi dropped everything he was doing to run outside and take it all in. More than once, Tasuku had to follow his boyfriend and attempt to convince Tsumugi to come inside or else he’d get sick. But, when Tasuku saw the white snowflakes surrounded Tsumugi’s midnight blue hair like a halo, the youthful energy building in his wide, happy eyes, and the way Tsumugi’s cheeks were flushed just waiting to be adored, Tasuku would stay outside for his angel even if it meant nursing him back to health.

Tasuku reached his hand out, feeling the soft embrace of the snow upon his fingertips. Was this a sign Tsumugi was still with him? Or, was this the universe’s fucked–up way of telling him to move on? His hand started shaking again, Tasuku dropped it to his side, wondering if it was because the temperature dropped significantly or he was still experiencing the side–effects of an anxiety attack. Frustrated, Tasuku wiped the tears off his face as he took out his phone and tried again. It went straight to voicemail, and Tasuku blinked away the remaining tears as he looked up at the grey clouds.

“Hello~ This is Tsukioka Tsumugi, I’m so sorry for not responding! If you have a message, please share at this beep! Beep~”

Tasuku hung onto every word, pretending like Tsumugi was next to him admiring the snow with awe. But, he wasn’t, not now or not ever for the next few years. Tasuku shivered, steeling his face as he sadly stared at the snow, wishing it wasn’t winter.

“Look outside. It’s the first snow.” Tasuku simply stated before hanging up, standing up and leaving the station. Tasuku didn’t look back, there was nothing for him left anymore, not even Tsumugi.

The snow seemed to follow him home, Tasuku wondered if the snow would bring Tsumugi back to him. Back home, back to him.

LIKE THE TINY DUST FLOATING IN THE AIR

WILL I GET TO YOU FASTER, IF I WAS THE SNOW IN THE AIR?

Tsumugi woke up just a hour later, awaken by the train chugging along the icy tracks as the passengers murmured something about the cold. Blinking slowly, Tsumugi adjusted his eyes to the darkened sky as he watched the urban city transform into a rural, country landscape. Yet, no matter where he went, there was snow.

Sitting up, Tsumugi pressed his face against the glass as he giddily admired the first snow of the winter season. He turned to the empty seat next to him, a big smile on his tired face.

“Ta–chan, look—” Tsumugi started, before his voice faded off to silence. An awkward, sheepish laugh left his lips when Tsumugi noticed the train attendant was shooting odd glances at him, though he expected some reaction since Tsumugi was an adult talking to nothing. Tsumugi shuffled back to look through the window, but it wasn’t the same. When was the last time he had experienced the first snow alone? Tasuku was always with him, but not anymore.

The snow swirled like it was a graceful waltz, and Tsumugi fondly remembered him and Tasuku’s first dance. It was perhaps a year into living together as roommates, and it was much later than they had anticipated. The radio was on, classical music a low hum in the background as Tasuku and Tsumugi studied their new scripts. It was another college play and the two were meant to learn ballroom dancing for their roles.

Tsumugi remembered the way Tasuku’s large frame let Tsumugi rest his head comfortably on his chest, the way their hands perfectly fit together, how they swayed in their empty kitchen like they were married. Tsumugi faintly traced his lips, remembering how Tasuku was about to lean in when he looked down, but Tsumugi had laughed and pushed him away, talking about how Tasuku always got too serious and connected to his characters. He regretted it, he should’ve kissed Tasuku back then.

Tsumugi finally broke down, trying to keep in his sobs as he tried to focus on the snow. He curled into a fetal position on the seat, closing his jacket around his mouth as he slammed his eyes shut. He knew his sniffles couldn’t be heard over the train operating, so he cried underneath the first snow.

Tsumugi didn’t even kiss Tasuku before he left forever.

SNOWFLAKES FALL DOWN AND GET FARTHER AWAY LITTLE BY LITTLE

I MISS YOU, I MISS YOU

HOW LONG DO I HAVE TO WAIT AND HOW MANY SLEEPLESS NIGHTS DO I HAVE TO SPEND TO SEE YOU, TO MEET YOU

Tsumugi stepped into the snow. After thanking the train conductor and checking out, the quiet town was covered in snow by the time he arrrived. It was still early afternoon, the tall skyscrapers and bustling citylife were gone, it was quiet now. This would be his community for the rest of his life, just hours away from his home. He was about to become a new person, but, how could he when the snow followed wherever he was?

Tsumugi stood at the entrance, not blocking anyone’s way since no one was there to begin with. It was just him underneath the roof of the station, waiting by the route map for a bus. It should be here in the next thirty minutes, so Tsumugi leaned against the exterior with a sigh, his breath soldifying mid–air. It was cold, frozen almost and Tsumugi’s hands felt like ice from being outside. It was winter, after all.

Fidgeting, Tsumugi shifted back and forth as he tried to find something to look at other than the snow. But, the vast land stretched for miles, buried in white like a snow globe. There was nothing here, and Tsumugi was afraid there was nothing for him as well.

A buzz. It caught Tsumugi’s attention as he impulsively checked his phone despite his rule not to. The silence must’ve turned off after a certain amount of time, as Tsumugi scrolled through the notifications bar. Just some colleagues congratulating him on his move, and family members requesting postcards. That was it, Tsumugi was about to close out of the messages before he noticed a number he memorized near the voicemail section.

Tsumugi pressed speaker, putting the phone next to his ear as he heard the stomp of work boots against the snow. And then, a quiet shudder, like a breath he held in for too long. Tasuku spoke but it sounded far away, like he really wasn’t there anymore.

“Look outside. It’s the first snow.” The line ended and Tsumugi blinked, trying to keep his tears in but he was so exhausted. Tsumugi dropped down to sit against the wall, sobbing loudly with no one to hear him for miles. Tsumugi held the phone to his chest, replaying the voicemail over and over again just to hear the love of his life’s voice. The same as always, never–changing and serious like his life depended on it.

Tsumugi cried and cried under the first snow until his bus arrived, the driver staring at him with something of concern. Tsumugi pushed himself back up at the sound of the bus stopping and gripped his bag, heading up the stairs and trying to pay the fare respectfully. A single word wasn’t exchanged, but the driver simply shook his head and gestured for him to go sit anywhere he wanted.

Tsumugi was too tired to insist on paying, just numbly nodded and rested his head against the window.

He wondered if Tasuku was looking at the same sky as him right now.

PASSING BY THE EDGE OF COLD WINTER

UNTIL THE DAYS OF SPRING, UNTIL THE DAYS OF FLOWER BLOSSOMS

PLEASE STAY, PLEASE STAY THERE A LITTLE LONGER

Tasuku called Tsumugi every day until the number was changed. He had left voicemails updating Tsumugi of his day, his days that were all the same. Every time Tasuku tried to apologize, his pride couldn’t make him say sorry without sounding like he was being forced, so he didn’t. Tasuku didn’t insist Tsumugi to come home, only to stay safe and take his time.

Tasuku told Tsumugi about their favorite theatre holding another play, one which he would have gotten front row tickets for. About how strangely quiet it was, not having to keep a watering of plants schedule anymore, having to wake up and go to sleep alone, not knowing where Tsumugi was. Tasuku spoke more than he ever did back then, knowing if this was his only way to be in touch with Tsumugi, he was going to take it and run like hell.

It was mid–winter early morning, and Tasuku was running, phone against his ear as he instinctually nearly picked a flower to bring home. He stopped, slightly panting as he waited for Tsumugi’s typical voicemail, but it didn’t beep. Instead, it was an automated voice, informing him this number was currently inactive.

Tasuku realized, that number was one of the only things he had left of Tsumugi.

Tasuku hung up, in disbelief as he pocketed his phone. Did he even listen to his voicemails? Where was he? Why couldn’t he just answer? Tasuku was about to phone Tsumugi again just to make sure, but one look at his contact picture was enough to make him stop and put it away. He knew too much about Tsumugi, but he had never felt this confused about someone in his entire life. Was this, for the best? Why did he change his number? Was this a sign?

Perhaps, it was finally time to move on, as the snow fell around Tasuku.

IS IT YOU WHO CHANGED, OR IS IT ME?

I HATE THIS MOMENT, THIS TIME FLOWING BY

WE ARE CHANGED, YOU KNOW

JUST LIKE EVERYONE YOU KNOW

Tsumugi tried to moved on, forgetting all about his past as he buried himself in his work and need to just ignore his past. He regularly updated his family on his predicament, claiming it was his mid–life crisis despite being in his early twenties. None of them asked about Tasuku, it was like they knew what had happened between them. Tsumugi built himself a life on a lie, conversing well with co–workers but coming back to an empty apartment at the end of the day.

At night, that’s when Tsumugi thought about Tasuku the most. Laying in bed through the sleepless nights without any want to close his eyes. How could he when all Tsumugi could see was Tasuku, Tasuku who he left because he was scared. Tsumugi stared up at the ceiling, the moonlight coming in through his open window as the curtains swayed slightly in the wind. The room was blue, and so was Tsumugi.

Leaving wasn’t planned, but it wasn’t a quick decision, either. Tsumugi remembered it all, falling in love with his best friend which he wasn’t worthy of. It was the night before everything changed, the last argument they had together. It was late, so late Tsumugi couldn’t keep his eyes open without crying when Tasuku raised his voice. He knew he didn’t mean to, he knew that now.

But back then, Tsumugi was so scared and trembling and terrified of how big Tasuku was. How intense he was with everything he said, the unrelenting passion burning and fueling Tasuku to do everything he did. Tasuku was fire, uncontrollable, raging flames that over time, melted Tsumugi to be nothing but a weak form of who he used to be.

“Tsumugi, why do you always give up like this? You can’t quit, you can’t keep doing this!” Tasuku demanded an answer, slamming his fist down on the kitchen table as he stood up, making Tsumugi flinch in his usual seat. When Tsumugi had told Tasuku they needed to talk, he didn’t expect this. Not the burning anger in Tasuku’s eyes, like this was the ultimate betrayal: to quit acting.

“I... I’m so sorry, Ta–chan.” Tsumugi tried to smile, but his form was shaking. He was shivering despite waking up in the middle of the night in Tasuku’s arms. Tasuku scoffed, like this whole situation was unbelievable, like he didn’t even know who Tsumugi was.

“We—you promised we’d be acting on the same stage together, to be in the same troupe together, do you remember that?” Tasuku spoke, all the frustrations he hid inside him coming out and singing every corner of Tsumugi’s stability. Tsumugi nodded carefully, trying to hide his shaky hands underneath the table as he gripped the base of the chair. He couldn’t start crying, not right now, not in front of Tasuku.

“I know, but I can’t. Not anymore, not when I can’t be the actor you want me to be.” Tsumugi tried to reason, but Tasuku just became even angrier. Like, this was the worst possible thing he could have ever said to him. Tsumugi wanted to reach out and flatten the creases on Tasuku’s forehead, gently cup his face with his trembling hands just to show he still loved him. But when Tsumugi tried to move closer, Tasuku held his hand up, like he couldn’t bear being anywhere near Tsumugi.

“Why do you keep doing this? Why... when we’re happy together?” Tasuku asked, but even he sounded unsure. Was Tsumugi happy with this relationship? Was this why he was quitting? Tsumugi didn’t say anything, just stared at his lover in silence with the pain of a thousand lifetimes. As if, this was his breaking point. Like, acting was slowly killing him to the point he had to run away. Or was it their relationship that pushed Tsumugi away? Did it go too fast? Was it not enough?

“What does this mean for us?” Tsumugi finally choked out, clearing his throat at his voice crack towards the end. The clock ticked, onward and onward even though it felt like time stopped. Tasuku just shook his head and went back into the bathroom. Tsumugi knew, this was the end.

Before Tasuku went, he stopped at the entrance and looked at Tsumugi, with something of tiredness and love all at once. Like, there was still a chance. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow morning, okay?” Tasuku offered, not questioning a thing when Tsumugi nodded with his fingers crossed behind his back.

Tsumugi stayed in the kitchen, keeping in his sobs as he let the tears finally fall down his face. He didn’t know ending his career would feel like the end of his first and only relationship.

Tsumugi went into their shared bedroom after he composed himself, but had to hang onto the door frame when he saw Tasuku was sleeping again, just with dried tears on his pillow. Tsumugi couldn’t do this to Tasuku, not when he couldn’t be the best actor for his boyfriend.

So, Tsumugi just took the suitcase he packed beforehand in case worst came to worst, he didn’t expect to use it. Tsumugi quietly was about to leave the bedroom, but looked back, wanting nothing more than to go back to bed and pretend like this break up never happened. He knew how much Tasuku must’ve been hurting, to have all these years acting together thrown away. Tsumugi couldn’t be selfish this time, not anymore, and left without another word.

Tsumugi always remembered it, how Tasuku cried himself to sleep because Tsumugi quit. That was all he could do, give up when it became too hot. That’s all he always did, nothing changed.

Tsumugi listened to the voicemails one last time, crying into his pillow as he heard the man he loved’s voice echo in his bedroom. He knew, he had to let go, to force Tasuku to move on. How could Tasuku love him after all this time, when he wasn’t the person he thought Tsumugi was? Which life was a lie, this one or the one where he acted on stage with Tasuku?

When Tsumugi changed his number, he didn’t look back. He had to move on, too, even if he was still in love with his best friend. Tsumugi would never see Tasuku again, knowing he was somewhere living his dream of acting was enough, that was more than enough. Tsumugi closed his eyes as the snow embraced him, falling delicately upon his eyelashes as a single tear dropped to the ground.

Tsumugi promised one day, he would see Tasuku on stage again.

YES I HATE YOU, YOU LEFT ME

BUT I NEVER STOPPED THINKING ABOUT YOU, NOT EVEN A DAY

HONESTLY I MISS YOU, BUT I’LL ERASE YOU

‘CAUSE IT HURTS LESS THAN TO BLAME YOU

Tasuku couldn’t move on. Not when he didn’t know where his boyfriend disappeared to, not when no one refused to tell him anything and lied their way out of the situation. It was as if everybody knew but Tasuku, as if he wasn’t that important to know to begin with. He couldn’t accept that Tsumugi was gone, that he was somewhere else out of his reach.

Recently, Tasuku started sleeping sooner just to dream of his face again. But it had been so long, that even small details he cherished were beginning to become blurry, faded even. It was better than nothing, pretending the love of his life was still here with him. Like he never left, like he had no reason to leave.

Why did he leave? Tasuku came home from practice and slammed the door that night, shaking the room as he entered. Without warning, glass shattered next to his feet as a picture frame fell. Tasuku picked it up with his bare hands, ignoring the sudden cut he got on his fingers as he gripped the frame tightly, staring at the picture with a sudden anger. Rage, undeniable, full–blown frustration that boiled ever since Tsumugi left. Something Tasuku had been avoiding to confront, something he didn’t want to do to avoid satisfying the demons.

But, Tasuku was so angry. Why did Tsumugi quit acting without telling him before the decision? Didn’t he trust him, why didn’t he trust him? Tasuku swore, kicking the pieces of glass to fly across the floor. What did he do wrong? Why wasn’t he worthy of Tsumugi’s love? Tasuku was shaking with rage, staring at Tsumugi’s photographed face and wondering if everything the angel convinced him of was a ploy, a fabricated web of lies that trapped him like a fool. Did Tsumugi even love him? Why did he lie about tomorrow morning? Why did he leave?

Why did he quit on them?

Tasuku shouted, releasing all the pent–up grief inside him as he threw the frame at the wall with a sickening thud, watching as it smashed even more. Why did he quit? Why, why, why? If only they talked the next morning, maybe Tasuku could’ve persuaded him to keep going, to stay with him, to not give up. Tasuku carefully went over to the photo, pulling out of the frame as he held it with both hands, sadly staring at Tsumugi. This was all he had left of him.

Tasuku tried to rip it in half, but his hands didn’t move. There was nothing he could have done, he couldn’t bring himself to break his heart even more. Tasuku let out a strangled sob, letting the picture flutter to the floor as he roughly pushed his own tears away, hating how tired he was from crying so much.

This was all he had left of Tsumugi, but maybe he didn’t want it anymore. Tasuku caught sight of the nightly snow. Maybe, he had to move on or else there would be nothing left for him.

Wherever Tsumugi was, it wasn’t with Tasuku, and that was the greatest betrayal of all.

I TRY TO EXHALE YOU IN PAIN, LIKE SMOKE, LIKE WHITE SMOKE

I SAY THAT I’LL ERASE YOU, BUT I CAN’T REALLY LET YOU GO YET

Tsumugi sat back row, farthest away from the stage years later. It was closing night for God Troupe, unforeseeably Tasuku’s last show for the troupe as Tsumugi watched with tears. Tasuku had grown so much, got even stronger and had the same stoic, serious persona as always. But his passion was even more electric, more intense, and more fiery all at once. It burned every time Tasuku immersed his entire soul in his character and it was like he wasn’t even himself anymore. Tsumugi almost didn’t recognize him, but his heart called out like it was still in love.

Tsumugi needed closure, just one last time he’d see his best friend. Although years had passed, Tsumugi still loved him and thought of Tasuku every time. He knew Tasuku didn’t feel the same, at least, not anymore. But, he promised himself that he would see Tasuku on stage again, Tsumugi couldn’t keep breaking his honor anymore, he had to keep this word. Tsumugi thought about his life, and how it was split between life before and after Tasuku, but no matter which stage he was at, Tasuku was always there.

Tasuku was always there, but not Tsumugi. Tsumugi left on his own accord, and to this day, he regretted it. As the show ended and Tasuku took a graceful bow towards the audience, Tsumugi gripped the bouquet of flowers in his hands as he shook, hiding behind the audience giving a standing ovation. There was no way in his right mind he could walk up and expect Tasuku to accept him back into his life, because that was unfair. To come back after all these years, not anymore, he had his wish fulfilled, now it was time to leave again.

Before Tsumugi could leave into the train station and disappear into the night, a flyer flew across the sky as it landed directly in front of Tsumugi’s feet. As he was about to board the train, Tsumugi picked it up and read the title, auditions for a threatre troupe named Mankai. He had seen their Autumn Troupe play, and it even made him want to step onto stage again. The doors were about to close, about to take Tsumugi away from Veludo Way and Tasuku forever. He didn’t know what possessed him to do so, but Tsumugi quickly departed and hurried out of the station. Auditions were tomorrow, something told him he had to be there.

Tsumugi stared at the white roses, feeling the thorns pierce his palm as he exhaled into the frigid air. It was about to be winter again, after all these years, he’d have his first snow under the same sky as Tasuku again.

Tsumugi couldn’t leave again, not now. Tsumugi wanted to be worthy of giving white roses to Tasuku.

YOU KNOW IT ALL, YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND

THE MORNING WILL COME AGAIN, NO DARKNESS, NO SEASON IS ETERNAL

Practice was tense with everything left unsaid between the two leads. Tasuku and Tsumugi saw each other after a street act, and the rest was unexplained history. The moment Tsumugi saw his ex–boyfriend, he winced when Tasuku glared at him with all the hatred in the world. He knew he deserved it, but it didn’t hurt any less.

Nothing could have indicated Tasuku still loved him: every time Tsumugi walked into a room, he’d leave muttering about the burden he had to carry, when Tsumugi was talking, he looked like he wasn’t listening, sometimes when Tsumugi acted, Tasuku wasn’t even connected to his character and would just refuse to cooperate. It was hurting the play, Tsumugi didn’t know what to do as the leader of Winter Troupe but also as a lovesick liar in love with his best friend.

Tasuku was rightfully angry. He had been angry ever since he broke that picture frame, it was the official end of their relationship. Tasuku never thought he’d see Tsumugi’s face again on Veludo Way, not after missing each and every single one of his God Troupe shows. Here he was, claiming his place in Tasuku’s broken heart like he had never left. But, he did. Tsumugi did leave and abandon him to the city, giving no answers and only raising more questions after all these years. How could he come back after all he did? Tasuku was angry, but he didn’t know if he was spiteful towards what happened between them or scared that Tsumugi might run away again.

Every time Tsumugi acted, it was like they were back in college all over again. Tsumugi never changed despite his multiple years of being on break, his acting style was subdued and simple, subtle but honest, it carried more feeling than Tasuku could ever describe. They were opposites, Tasuku was not everflowing like water, he wasn’t adaptable and constant like a river bend, but crackling with energy and passion like a flame. Maybe, that’s why Tsumugi left, so he wouldn’t extinguish both of them.

When Tsumugi looked into his eyes at the practice room, Tasuku’s breath hitched in his throat as he didn’t pay attention to the script, staring back with nothing but coldness. Frigid like the winter Tsumugi loved so much, maybe if he was just as freezing and indifferent, Tsumugi would still love him.

“You’re my best friend—” Tsumugi started but Tasuku turned on his heel and left without warning, slamming the door behind him as he ran. Ran to wherever was far away from his best friend. He wanted it to be true so bad, but not when he could be abandoned again without mercy.

Tasuku didn’t want to leave, but he had to or else he’d want to stay forever with Tsumugi. If Tsumugi left this time, he didn’t know how he’d move on this time.

MAYBE IT’S CHERRY BLOSSOMS AND THIS WINTER WILL BE OVER

I MISS YOU, I MISS YOU

WAIT A LITTLE BIT, JUST A FEW MORE NIGHTS

I’LL BE THERE TO SEE YOU, I’LL GO THERE TO MEET YOU

I’LL COME FOR YOU

Tsumugi was gone, again.

When Tasuku woke up from a nightmare of their last fight again to an empty dorm, his heart nearly stopped as he scrambled out of bed, flipping Tsumugi’s duvet over to find nothing but wrinked sheets. He couldn’t have left, how dare he? Leave when he had Winter Troupe under his name, after years of not seeing each other, how could he—Tasuku looked towards the window and stopped, staring outside as the moonlight illuminated the cold night sky in Veludo Way.

It was the first snow of winter.

Tasuku knew what he had to do, old habits die hard, after all. Tasuku didn’t bother putting a coat on, just rushing outside leaving the door open as he ran to the courtyard, snow crunching underneath his feet as he paused at the edge. Tsumugi was standing still in his pajamas, that blue sweatshirt he kept with “Snowdrop” on it covering his shaking hands as his head was tilted back, staring at the snow with wonder and amazement. It was the happiest Tsumugi looked, and Tasuku’s heart simmered down a little bit as he carefully approached closer, like he was afraid of scaring him away forever.

Tsumugi snapped out of his trance when Tasuku covered his shoulders with a blanket, whipping his face towards the taller male with a surprised look, not realizing how close they were. Tasuku couldn’t move his hands from Tsumugi’s shoulders, he couldn’t look away from Tsumugi’s teary eyes as Tsumugi let out a forced laugh, the air around him freezing as it disappeared like smoke.

“Go inside, you’ll get sick before the play.” Tasuku ordered, but made no effort to pull him in. Tsumugi blinked, nodding as he focused on Tasuku’s eyes, he had so many questions he only imagined asking. Tsumugi couldn’t read a thing about Tasuku, it was like he was a stranger he would never see again. But under this snow, under the same sky, they were together again, and it was more than whatever Tsumugi deserved.

“Dance with me.” Tsumugi breathed out, guiding Tasuku’s hands to his waist as he took his hand, not knowing why he needed this so bad. Tasuku was about to object before Tsumugi placed his head on his shoulder, holding in the tears as he begged, “Please, just one last time”. Tasuku stiffly nodded, gripping his hand like he didn’t want to ever let go. It was silent, but the two swayed like they were back in their apartment kitchen, a year into university with nothing to worry about except being on stage together.

“Why’d you go outside?” Tasuku asked, gently spinning Tsumugi like he was made of glass. When he spun back into his arms, Tsumugi sadly smiled, like this was the warmest he’d ever feel again.

“I needed to know if you’d come for me.” Tsumugi whispered, afraid of breaking the moment as he gazed up at the man he was in love with. He had his answer, Tasuku would still follow him even if it meant freezing from the snow at midnight. Tsumugi knew it was selfish, but...

He wanted to be selfish, just one more time. When Tsumugi stood on his toes to inch forward, nervously trembling from what he was risking right now, Tasuku didn’t react. He didn’t move, just took Tsumugi in like he wasn’t going to get this ever again. Like, this was the final goodbye they were supposed to promise each other that next morning.

It was long overdue. Tasuku saw how Tsumugi was about to run away again, lean back and leave. Not again, not if he couldn’t help it. Tasuku closed the distance, as if making up for all the time they lost as they kissed under the first snow, knowing there was so much to be said but not having the heart to bring back the past. It was too much, too much that Tsumugi couldn’t help but pull him back when Tasuku was about to move. He was so selfish, he just wanted Tasuku in this moment even if it meant never communicating with him again, he was in love with a man he had hurt over and over again.

“Promise me,” Tasuku mumbled before their lips met again, staring into Tsumugi’s eyes with no familiarity whatsoever. It was like they were two completely different people who had no connection to each other, two strangers that would’ve walked by each other without a second glance. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning.”

This time, Tsumugi nodded without crossing his fingers, his hands wrapped around Tasuku’s neck as he pulled him back down, knowing they had tomorrow to talk. To heal, to mend, to fix whatever was damaged. If Tasuku would let him back, if he let Tsumugi prove he was different now, better now, worthy of any relationship Tasuku wanted.

They were different people now, but it was the first snow of a winter they finally had together after a long, long time.

#tsukioka tsumugi #tsumugi tsukioka #takoto tasuku #tasuku takoto #tsumugi x tasuku #tasutsumu #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! one shots #act! addict! actors! one shots #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! tsumugi #a3 tsumugi #a3! tasuku #a3 tasuku

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 5 years ago

Text

secret son

A/N: this was requested by anonymous, I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think. I might make a part two with Richie and Eddie’s son getting to know each other a bit better if anyone wants to read that? How’s everyone doing during this time?

Summary: Could you write a fic post it chapter 2 where months after the fight with Pennywise eddie shows up at richie's house with the ten year old son he didn't mention he had?

warning: some homophobia (like really really brief though)

Richie is nursing his third whiskey when a harsh knock on his door catches his attention. The scotch, a real one from Scotland with an earthy and smoky flavor that Richie only drinks when he’s feeling particularly sorry for himself, sways dangerously over the edge before stilling with only a drop off spillage when Richie hurries to steady the glass.

The reason his emotion threaten to bury him tonight more than usual, is the texts he has received from Bill. It wasn’t a bad text, but he asked if Richie had any idea why Eddie hadn’t answered his phone for a few days, and now Richie can’t stop his thoughts from spiraling. After reliving the same trauma twice, panic is the automated response when someone forgets to check in with them.

He’s being ridiculous, Richie tells himself, especially since he himself hasn’t texted Eddie in, well not since he left Derry. He packed his bags faster than Eddie had started walking again, choosing to run when he confessed the extent of his love for Eddie, and it was met with pure utter silence. His phone had started buzzing as soon as he crossed state lines, Eddie’s adult face pinched in annoyance gracing his cellphone screen, the photo he had taken during dinner the very first night after he won the game of arm wrestle, seemingly laughing at his expense. He didn’t pick up.

Of course he kept up with Eddie’s progress through the other losers, but he refrained from reaching out to Eddie on his own. Ever the coward, his traitorous mind provided with a hiss, the dark part of his mind growing a little everyday he wasn’t in contact with his best friend. Cause that was the place that Eddie still inhibited in his heart. He might have turned away from Richie’s feelings, but Richie still considered Eddie his closest friend, even if the opposite was true vise versa.

It’s his own fault anyway, if only he had some self-control, so he could stop the words from overflowing and his darkest secrets from tainting the perfect facade he had built around himself. When Bill texted that Eddie didn’t answer any calls or texts, Richie swallowed his pride and his embarrassment, sending a quick and short message Eddie’s way.

The white hotshame burned brighter than it had since Eddie turned Richie down when the former went radio silent. Richie supposes that he had that one coming, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. Another insistent knock caused the pounding in Richie’s brain that to intensify, by whoever is knocking gets what they want, Richie downing the rest of the scotch in on go, slamming the glass against the counter and getting up. He has no clue who it could be.

The last person to drop by his apartment was his manager, after Richie had neglected his duties as a comedian once more, to rouse him from an alcohol induced slumber and get him ready from him show. Today is Richie’s off day though, so he knows that it can’t be him. The only person that Richie can think off is his neighbor asking to borrow something, but that doesn’t appear to be likely. Whoever he was expecting to see, the man he left in a Derry hospital bed before said man was fit enough to leave was not it.

‘Eddie?’ Surprise crosses Richie’s face as soon as he makes eye contact with him, blinking dumbly behind his giant glasses who are sitting askew on his face. He looks good, a lot better than he did when Richie last saw him, white as a sheet and trembling from head to toe.

It hurts physically to see him up close again, while Richie wants nothing more than to reach forward and touch him, to hug him even in just a friendly way, but Richie figures that that is off limits. He can’t shake the look in Eddie’s eyes when he told him he loved him as more than friends, the look of pure and other fear, of him. Not Pennywise, but Richie, like not even being attacked by a killer clown was a terrifying as someone having a gay crush on you. He tries to focus on the now rather than reliving the moment that has haunted his dreams more than Pennywise.

‘What are you doing here Eds?’

Eddie’s face is doing that thing again where he can’t complete hide the fact that he is worried, but he’s trying his best to stay calm for someone else. It’s a sight that was thrown Richie’s way one too many times, often when he did something stupid and Eddie had to fix him up, but now Richie is unsure what could be the reason he’s sporting the look, until he lays on the little boy standing next to him.

With furrowed eyebrows, he stares at the kid who is clasping Eddie’s hand in his tightly. He can’t be more than six years old, his legs yattering with what Richie assumes is impatience, and he’s shamelessly staring at Richie. Kids don’t know any better he supposes.

The eyes strike recognition in a deep part Richie can’t name for himself, and suddenly, without any second guessing, he knows that the child is Eddie’s. A dead give away are the eyes, but also his general presence reminds him of a younger Eddie.

Something in his face must give him away, for when his gaze turn back to Eddie, all he does is nod. There are a thousand question Richie wants to ask him, for example why he never brought him up when they first reunited, or what they’re doing at his doorstep, but he notices how exhausted they look, and so he gestures with his head, giving them permission to enter the house.

‘Thanks Rich.’ At the sound of Eddie’s voice his body jolts, more aware than ever that a part of him went missing and he has no idea how to get it back or what to do about it.

Richie rushes back towards his kitchen, pushing past both Eddie and his kid, to hide the bottle of booze still out in the open. He’s not very subtle about it, and he can see on the judgment on Eddie’s face before it is carefully concealed.

‘So, what are you doing here Eds.’ Richie struggles to appear indifferent, but he is confused and dying to know why Eddie and his son where here, so he imagines that he’s not pulling it off very well.

Eddie glances at his son, still holding his hand and resisting the urge to pick him up. When he doesn’t respond straight away, Richie turns towards the boy, who is looking hesitantly up at him. His personality clearly mirrors Eddie’s, his wariness having transfer onto the next generation.

‘What’s your name bud?’ Ever since he was little, Richie has this gift when it comes to children, being able to communicate with them, and understand them when adults write their quirks off as annoyances.

He used to have a bond with Georgie back when he was still alive, and despite the usual horror stories off siblings, he got along great with his sister once she was born. He’s hoping that whatever charm helped him do that, will help him form a band here.

‘My name’s Matthew, but everyone calls me Matt.’ He seemed to be shy, toying with the hem of his shirt.

‘Are you my dad’s best friend?’ Richie blushed a bright red, since he not really knew what the answer was supposed to be. He assumes he still is, but he’s unclear about what Eddie might have told matt.

Thankfully, Eddie answers for him. ‘Yeah he is Matt.’ For a moment it’s quiet again, and the room fills with an awkward tension, neither Eddie nor Richie knowing where to go from here.

‘Is there somewhere Matt can explore?’ Eddie inquires eventually, the extra meaning behind his words crystal clear to him.

We need to talk, but not with my son in the room.

The apartment is not nearly big and all composing enough for a child to be able to go exploring, there’s only really 5 rooms in total, a kitchen, living room, the main bedroom and a guest bedroom and bathroom, none of which are necessarily child proof.

He does have a PlayStation attached to the tv in the guest bedroom however, even though he rarely uses it, and so he figures that’s the best place to direct Matt too.

‘You wanna go play a game buddy?’

Matt peers up at his dad, who nods reassuringly, giving him a gently push Richie’s way.

He waits for Matts affirmative nod before leading the way. It’s a miracle the thing works, as it’s been for three years completely unattended, but as soon as it starts Matthew jumps up and down excitedly when he sees the Mario kart logo pop up.

Richie leaves him with the door open just an inch, so that Eddie can still see him from the living room. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

‘No thank you I’m good.’

The awkwardness lays heavy on Richie. Things have never been uncomfortable with Eddie before, and he knows that it’s his fault that it is now. He wants to make a joke, or steer the conversation into safe waters with light topics to talk about, but he’s also aware that there has to be a reason why Eddie would show up to talk to him this late, without a phone call or any sort of notice. Because Richie’s brain is still muffled by the alcohol and he can’t think of a joke to make, he decides to ask the obvious first.

‘You didn’t text me back, Eds.’ It’s a stupid thing to stay, Richie knows considering he didn’t call Eddie back for months, but the question is out in the open and there’s no taking it back anymore.

‘My phone died on the way here.’

‘You fucking drove here? If you wanted to see me that bad you could have boarded a plane.’ Richie cringes when he hears himself speak. That was a quip he was used to making, but one that no doubt caused internal disgust in the other man.

‘I left Myra, and I need a place to crash.’ Eddie opts to say, despite it not being an answer to the question. For a moment Richie fears he might pass out, stumbling backwards but managing to keep upright thanks to the chair behind him. Out of all the possible explanations he was prepared for, this was not it.

‘Wh- why did you do that?’ Richie’s voice is shaking, his attempt to steady only being futile. He’s thrown for a loop so bad, that he forgets to conceal his shocked reaction. It’s out in the open, how Richie longs for him, but the least he could do was have the decency to cover it up.

‘Because,’ Eddie peeks past Richie to see Matt, who is fully focused and engaged in the game, before gaining enough courage to say what comes next.

‘Because I’m gay.’ He manages to spit out, his hands shaking by his side while he stares intently at Richie.

Richie has never been hit before. He’s been punched before and even kicked, yet never hit, but he imagines it feels somewhat like the words Eddie just breathed to life.

It’s strange since kid Richie would have done anything in the world to hear those words coming from Eddie, to the point where at night in his bed he would imagine scenarios in which he would utter them, but the situation at hand is very different than the one he fantasized about.

The fact of the matter is, that Eddie is not homophobic like Richie suspected him to be after his reaction, he just reacted disgusted because it was Richie, and that hurt even worse. He knows his not a catch. He woke up one day in college and saw himself for what he really was, a below average looking guy whose only talent was making jokes that would annoy others, with a ridiculous loud voice. And as he got older he only got worse, but he hadn’t expected that Eddie would use that against him.

He thought that Eddie might have let him down easier, but he guesses he just has that effect on people. His first instinct is to snap back in his hurt, to reply somewhat cruelly so that his feeling don’t show, but then he comes to the conclusion that he was just in Eddie shoes a few months ago, and he can recall exactly how scared and how disheartened he had been when he received negative comments, and he can’t do that to Eddie. Maybe to someone else, but not to Eddie.

Instead he replies with; ‘Oh well congrats for coming out. Welcome to the team Spagheds.’

Apparently, it’s not the reaction Eddie expected, for his face falls and his eyebrows furrow, confusion written all over his face.

‘Rich. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, it’s just that -.’ Richie interrupts him before he can say something else.

‘Hey, it’s fine. I get it. I wouldn’t tell the guy that made me uncomfortable either.’

Eddie blinks rapidly, opening his mouth but Richie intercepts, trying desperately to keep his feeling at bay.

‘Do you want to crash here for tonight? We can order pizza and watch a movie. Or whatever Matthew likes to eat is fine by me. I’ll get some extra sheets because I know you’d be disgusted if you found out what kind of action I’ve been getting. Not like I’m still hung up about a rejection, can you imagine?’ He laughs uneasily, scrambling to get together an extra sleeping kit, ignoring Eddie as best he can.

‘Rich’, he calls his attention, and despite being embarrassed, Richie would follow Eddie into anything, so he stops dead in his tracks and turns towards him.

‘I have a son.’

‘Yeah, I kind of figured that out Eds. I have eyes, he looks a lot like you.’

Eddie rolls his eyes in annoyance, huffing to convey how stupid Richie acts sometimes.

‘When you told me you liked me,’ Richie shrinks down, his shoulder turning in on themselves to make himself as small as possible, ‘I was worried you might feel different about me, because I am a dad.’

‘I could never, Eds. I just don’t understand why you didn’t mention him before.’

A sigh leaves Eddie’s lips, a sad smile gracing his lips. ‘I was worried IT might find out and use it against me. Besides, I didn’t even remember you guys all that well in the beginning. I was just scared.’

Richie gets it a little bit. When he was younger he was terrified IT might take his sister, and he would have done anything to prevent that. So he understands why Eddie wouldn’t say anything back in Derry, but why not after? Why didn’t he say anything when they left. Then again, it’s not like they talked a lot post clown fight two.

A thought suddenly downs on Richie then. ‘Wait, did Myra just like you take Matt with you?’

Eddie’s face turns bright red, a guilty look crossing over his features. Richie eyes turn wide as saucers.

‘Eddie, do not tell me you kidnapped your son’, Richie whispers screams, panic taking over as he thinks things through. It’s Myra, and from what he heard about her, she’s pretty much the same as Sonia, which means that she has no problem calling the police.

‘You could get arrested.’

‘Only if she calls the cops,’ Eddie hisses back, his body locked in anger, like he’s a bomb that is very dangerously close to exploding, quitting down when he sees Matt’s head peeking through the crack in the door. He waits until Matt is turned back towards his game to continue.

‘Look, I told her that I was gay, and she told me to get everything that’s mine out of her house immediately, anything that I had ‘infected with your homosexuality’. So I took me son with me. I wasn’t going to leave him there.’

All at once, the fight leaves him, and he crouches down on the couch, his head in his hands while he begins to sob. It produces back a memory, from a time where he had to go over to Richie’s house to tell him he was leaving Derry and not coming back, and Richie hurries to ban the thought out of his head before he joins in.

‘Two days ago, Matt fell of his bike in our backyard, and when he did he started practically screaming. I’m sure it hurt a little, but he was crying hysterically, and he begged me not to tell his mom, because she would freak out.’ Eddie’s eyes filled with tears focus on Richie’s, who is slowly making his way over to sit next to him. ‘Then he asked me if he would get really sick now because of the dirt on the ground that must have gotten into his wound.’

Eddie laughs humorlessly. ‘I though that by staying with Myra I would do him a favor. I was just trying to protect him. I can’t believe I was convinced staying with Myra would be good for him. She’s exactly like my mother Rich, and I didn’t protect him.’

Despite better judgment, Richie puts his arm around Eddie, shuffling closer so that their knees are touching, and Eddie gracefully accepts, leaning further into Richie so he’s practically a pillow, a sob wrenching from his throat.

‘You did protect him Eds, you moved with him right? He’s gonna know that his dad did that for him, because you loved him.’ Placing his chin on the top of Eddie’s head, Richie breathes in deeply, forcing himself to stop from being overly affectionate, even when he’s clearly failing.

‘When Myra told me she was pregnant, I freaked out. I love my son, I would do anything for him and I wouldn’t give him up for anything in this whole wide world, but when I saw the pregnancy tests, all I could think was ‘oh god please no’. I’m a terrible father.’

Richie shakes his head determinately. ‘Eds, look at me. That’s normal, we went through some tough shit when we were kids, even if we didn’t remember it. You love him, and you look after him, and trust me, none of those are attributes to being a bad parent like you claim you are.

Eddie sniffles, placing one of his hands against Richie’s cheek, who embarrassingly enough nuzzles against it like a wounded dog would to a loving touch.

‘I’m sorry Richie. I really am. I love you. I think I somehow always have, even when I forgot, but I was so fucking scared when you told me, that I turned you away. As soon as I did I regretted it though, but I didn’t want to scare you off, and I didn’t want to put Matt through that change. Can we start over? I just really want to try this again.’

Richie is almost scared to believe the words coming from Eddie, but hope blossoms in his chest anyway. The piece that had cracked when he was turned away seem to magically fix itself, making his heart feel whole again.

‘You want me to confess my love for you again? Jees demanding much? You know your mom was the exact same way, always needing reassurance that our night together felt as good to me as it did to her.’

‘I changed my mind. And to think I was about to thank you for being serious for the entire conversation.’

Despite the meaning of the words, Richie can’t help but laugh when he sees the face Eddie is pulling, cheeringly outwardly when Eddie breaks and laughs alongside him.

Matt comes out of the room to check out what the commotion is about, a childlike glee all over his face when he sees his dad happier then he had ever been. ‘Can we order Pizza please?’ He begs Eddie with the same puppy dog eyes Eddie used to own when they were young themselves.

Richie grins at the boy, and while Eddie is pretending to contain plate it Richie nods excitedly, causing him to giggle with glee.

‘Alright’, Eddie eventually pretends to give in, watching as Matt jumps up and down in pure joy. He looks like the kind of child that has an endless supply of energy, and Richie can’t wait to find out more about him. This is the son of the man he loves, and if Matthew is even half the person Eddie is, than Richie loves him already.

‘Hey Matt, we’re going to stay with Richie for a while longer okay? If you don’t have anything against that?’

Matt just shrugs, eager to get back to the game and get some eat some food. ‘Sure.’

‘oh, we can’t tell mom though, she’ll freak knowing I ate pizza.’

‘Shit’, Eddie curses as soon as Myra’s name comes back up. Matt glares at him, placing a finger on his lips as an indication to be silent, and Richie can’t help but titter.

‘We’ll figure it out Eds, we always do.’

And if Richie spend the next few weeks looking for a new house for them to move into, well then that is just them figuring it out.

#reddie #reddie imagine #eddie lives #eddie has a son #and he shows up at Richie's apartment with him #the loser club imagines #My writing #it chapter 2 #eddie kaspbrack #richie tozier imagine #Richie x Eddie #eddie as a dad

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