#used toothbrushes that have been there for over a fucking year and smell each time i clean the bathroom

[aromantic-karamatsu]

Why do I gotta be the one to live with a fucking hoarder

[vaderwcn]

Cheating -- Obikin Promptober Day 18

Thank you to @paracosm-draw for creating the prompt list!

This is the sad kind of cheating, btw, not the fun and sexy kind.

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

the other woman (will never have his love to keep) - 3,509 words

Rating: M

Content: Cheating / Hurt No Comfort / Breaking Up / Suicide (this happens at the very end) / MCD

read on ao3 here

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

Obi-Wan knows he should’ve seen this coming. Knows that he’s the stupidest, most trusting, most naïve Jedi in the whole damn Order. That, of course, Anakin could never be happy with just him. He had always wanted more, and love was at the very top of the list.

Currently, heartbreak feels a lot like being shipwrecked, he thinks. The hope of the water sending you to shore, to safety, to comfort, only to ram against the jagged rocks. During a thunderstorm. On a pontoon boat. Everywhere he looked, he thought he saw little daggers, each carefully pushing through his chest cavity with precision. It was almost as if Anakin had done it on purpose. It was as if he knew it would destroy Obi-Wan, yet they’d keep having to see each other in the Temple, on joint missions, sparing, and at meals.

What crime did he commit to make Anakin betray him in such a way? Had it been because of their slightly arduous relationship during his apprenticeship? He could turn over every stone, every leaf of the past thirteen years, and still find nothing. Most likely, it was something small and insignificant that Anakin took personally.

He sucks on his teeth as the door to his quarters closes. More signs of Anakin. Spare robes that Obi-Wan couldn’t get rid of nor Anakin would come back for, the caf that he liked that Obi-Wan couldn’t get rid of, his fucking toothbrush in the cup in the fresher. He went over to the robes, the tunic, the obi folded neatly on the couch and stooped to smell. It smelled of the generic laundry soap they all use but also something uniquely Anakin. A spicy, musky scent to it. He had become acquainted with it over the past couple of years.

It reminds him of every first.

The first kiss, which was when they were both undercover and Anakin, frankly, sucked at it and was about to blow both of their covers when Obi-Wan (already in love with his former Padawan) kissed him. The softness of Anakin’s lips, how even when the target left, he tried prodding his tongue into Obi-Wan’s mouth.

Then, their actual first kiss. They had just gotten out of Geonosis after the second time. Bloody and dirty and exhausted. Anakin admitting that he was scared that they were going to lose Obi-Wan. Which, of course, just made him laugh, much to Anakin’s dismay. That it would take much more than that to kill him. Anakin apologizing for caring about him and going to stomp away, when Obi-Wan grabbed his wrist and pulled him to him. “Ridiculous boy,” he murmured before kissing him again.

The first time they fucked. How Anakin had almost timidly admitted that he had never slept with a man before, and so Obi-Wan went slow, savoring every noise, look, and sensation. How it felt as they fit together. The way he had kissed his spine and the back of his neck and told him that Anakin was made for him. Obi-Wan sweet-talked him the entire time, praising him and telling him what a good job he was doing. Then they showered together and Obi-Wan was more than happy to take care of Anakin once more, shampooing and conditioning his hair and cleaning his body.

Which was then followed with the first time Anakin stayed in his bed. How he had to pull Anakin on top of him and how he rested his head on his chest and listened to Obi-Wan’s heartbeat. The sunlight was still coming through, just enough to illuminate his beautiful boy. He kissed the top of his head and murmured an “I love you” so quietly that even he doubted that he ever said it.

And, of course, the real first “I love you.” It had been said by himself. Obi-Wan doubts that Anakin could ever work up the courage to make the first move. They had been lying in bed, Obi-Wan on his datapad with one hand, the other running through Anakin’s hair while he sleepily tried to remain awake. It had just…come out. A sense of contentment so strong that all he could think about was taking Anakin away from the war, the Temple, from everyone. He had never said those words to anyone before, but they felt perfect when he said them to Anakin. The way Anakin had jolted his head, looking up at him with those wide blue eyes, staring at him for a moment before surging to kiss him and saying it back to him over and over and over again.

Obi-Wan had thrown attachment to the wind at that point. Figured it was worth it to break that one rule to have Anakin. Besides, it wouldn’t compromise his position in the GAR. And it didn’t. He knew he could lose him, but that was war. And he knew that he’d find Anakin again in the Force someday.

The only rule they had as they went forward was that he had to stop seeing Senator Amidala. Obi-Wan wouldn’t share Anakin in that regard. They had something only the two of them could understand, something that went far beyond just lovers. They had completed each other.

And Anakin had agreed. Promised he’d break it off immediately, then gave Obi-Wan his word that it was over. That he was all Obi-Wan’s. That he only wanted to be Obi-Wan’s.

When they were on separate missions, they were able to send a quick message through a secured line to at least check-in. If they were close enough, they’d holo-call. Even with Anakin’s figure breaking up due to the distance and his voice becoming distorted, he had at least gotten to see his boy.

But more than that, they had a bond that dipped into the Force itself—weaved its way through the entire galaxy. Something cosmic that tied them together. He could sense when Anakin was in trouble, no matter how faint the feeling was. Could feel his victories and happiness even while they were apart. They could look at each other, and an entire conversation could happen.

Anakin was part of his soul, the very fabric of his being. The fabric that was currently getting shredded every day since the fight. The fabric that was just scraps now. Their bond and looks and conversations remained, but Anakin wasn’t listening anymore.

It was early one morning; they were still intertwined. Dawn was breaking. Obi-Wan had gotten up to make tea and meditate when Anakin’s comm kept flashing. He had tried to ignore it, but he could see the flash of light even with his eyes closed. He had thought that it must’ve been important. Could be the Council calling him for a meeting about a new mission, so he had checked.

p.amidala: I miss you. Visit soon?

It was like a blaster shot to the stomach. Surely…it was just friendly, he thought. Maybe they had remained friends, and Anakin could undoubtedly have those. Of course, he’d rather he not be friends with her. In an instant, Obi-Wan found himself scrolling through backlogs and backlogs of chats. As innocent as just saying ‘hi’ to messages so explicit that he wondered when his Padawan had gotten so bold. They went forever, it seemed. Each one was like a little dagger until he felt himself bleeding out. Everything poured out on his floor.

He had to wake Anakin immediately and question him about it immediately. There must be, has to be, some answer. Some perfectly good reason. Something that wasn’t the obvious answer.

Anakin had tried to talk his way out of it but finally sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair and asked why Obi-Wan cared so much.

All his breath left him in one exhale. “I love you, Anakin,” he said. “I thought…” He had to look away. Anakin. His beautiful, perfect Anakin was starting to look like someone who was never his as if all of this had been pretending and acting. One extended undercover mission where Obi-Wan was the idiot who fell in love. “Break up with her,” he said a bit forcefully. He could still have him. He would take him back in a heartbeat. They could start anew again. It didn’t have to matter.

“Why?”

Had he not asked him to before? Obi-Wan thought he’d understand that they were exclusive and not to bring other people into their relationship. That this was just for them. Away from the Order and the war. He had…he had talked about whisking him away after the war—a vacation. “We were made for each other, Anakin,” he swallowed thickly, going to his knees by the bed as Anakin sat up. “Please, break up with her, and…nothing has to change between us.” Obi-Wan could have a short memory. He’d forget how his Padawan went behind his back and destroyed him. The fabric could be sewn back together.

“I think you’re making a huge deal out of this. I love both of you. I don’t understand why I have to pick.”

Of course, he knew Anakin could be headstrong, but he figured he’d realize his errors here that the rational part of his brain would tell him that what they have is far different from what he had with Padme.

When it was clear that they couldn’t come to some agreement, that Anakin did not care about the pain he was causing, Obi-Wan quickly went from begging to berating. How, of course, he’d never be good enough for Anakin. That he could barely follow the Code of the Jedi Order; how could he even follow one for a relationship? That he was childish. Immature. That Padme’s an idiot if she can’t see that.

Anakin threw it right back to him. How Obi-Wan always wanted impossible things from him, even as a child. That he was also breaking the Code by falling in love with him. How he was an idiot for building Obi-Wan up into the perfect Jedi when all he’d be was a pathetic man. Soon, the Council will see how wrong they were to grant him a spot and expel him.

And like that, he was gone.

Obi-Wan shakes his head, returning to the present rather than a fight that wasn’t all that long ago. He picks up the tunic and holds it tight against him, taking a deep breath. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend he’s hugging Anakin; if he pretends enough, he can hear him joke about sniffing his clothes.

Their bond works just as well as it always did. He can still tell when Anakin is safe and happy, when he’s depressed about something, when he’s on a mission, when he’s with Padme. Obi-Wan wasn't sure how he hadn’t picked up on it before. It was such a powerful emotion that he must’ve been delusional to ignore it. Obi-Wan tries to put in their bond and says that he’ll take him back, even now. That he still loves him, will always love him.

They don’t eat together, don’t train together, haven’t been put on missions together since the fight. His bed feels so cold without Anakin, the human furnace. And somehow, his bed feels too big for just one person. The most important person in his life is just…gone. The person he had dedicated his life to for over a decade. The person he raised. They became men together through the war. Anakin had thrown all of that away.

He is sure that Cody is annoyed because Obi-Wan finds himself being more and more reckless and taking more and more risks despite what his second-in-command thinks. Hears Cody grumble about how he didn’t realize he was working with Skywalker now. That makes it stop, and he’s back being controlled and measured.

One time, their eyes catch at the dining hall, and Obi-Wan gives him a small smile, a small lift of the hand as a wave, praying that maybe today Anakin will come back. Anakin breaks contact first and goes to sit by himself.

Obi-Wan tries to check in on Anakin by asking anyone else. He just says that Anakin is mad at him and wants to make sure that he’s okay. Each person has almost the same response: a shrug and that they have noticed little of a difference in him. Right. Anakin still had someone to go to. It wasn’t like he was the heartbroken, destroyed one. It was Obi-Wan who was easy to toss to the side and forget about.

They end up running into each other, and Obi-Wan smiles. “Anakin,” he says, voice almost breaking. Oh, how he wants to reach out and run a hand through his curls. However, something looks different about him. A new hardness to his face, more and more like a man rather than the boy he had loved.

Anakin’s facial expression looks bored, lips pursed together slightly. He even yawns. “Master Kenobi,” he replies before brushing past him.

“I hope you’re well,” he calls after him.

There is no reply

Time passes too slowly, but soon, it's two months with nothing. Every bone, every joint, and every muscle tells him to stay in bed, to forget about eating and the war, and to go back to sleep. It works a couple of times a week. When he doesn’t listen to his body, he goes through his day sad and goes to bed sad. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming. It’s a loss worse than death. Though it certainly makes Obi-Wan wish he was dead. What was his life without Anakin?

Before Anakin, Obi-Wan had thought about leaving the Order. He didn’t feel like he belonged, like he wasn’t good enough, and it was Anakin who changed all that—changed him. The only reason he was able to turn into the Jedi he is now is because he had Anakin. Anakin, who challenged and pushed him just as much as Obi-Wan, did the same to him.

Everything was pointless now. He didn’t care about the war; he didn’t care about the Council; he didn’t care about his duty. Which is why, after two and a half months, he asks for a break from official duties. Just for a couple of weeks. While hesitant to let their best general take leave, they eventually grant it to him.

And that’s precisely what Obi-Wan does. Sleep and sometimes eat. The best part is that no one ever comes to bother him because everyone is busy with the war.

After three months, he decides he needs to humble himself truly. Beg for forgiveness from Anakin. Tell him he can stay with Padme if he just comes back to him and that he’ll share Anakin happily. He’d be overjoyed just to have a small slice of him if it meant not waking up alone, Anakin resting on his chest, kissing him every once in a while.

Thankfully, Anakin answers.

“Can I come in?” Obi-Wan asks, trying not to get too eager. He’s sure that Anakin will take him back if it means having Padme and himself. If Obi-Wan begs for forgiveness like he knows, he’d want him to. He can almost picture the smile on his Padawan’s face, how he’ll laugh and accept him.

Anakin tilts his head and then steps out of the doorway wordlessly.

Obi-Wan follows him inside and waits for a greeting, question, or anything from Anakin, but it never comes. “I…I just want to say I am so sorry, Anakin, for how I behaved that morning,” he says, bowing his head. “I should not have let my anger get the best of me, shouldn’t have given over to that side.” Again, he waits for Anakin to say something but doesn’t, so he continues. “I miss you terribly. I miss your laugh, I miss sharing my bed with you, I miss having those quiet mornings together. I am more than happy to share you with Padme. You can love both of us, be with both of us. I shouldn’t have tried to force you to break up with her.” Another pause with no reply, so he gets down on his knees, head still bowed. “I’m here to beg for your forgiveness. I will do anything it takes to have even a small slice of you, Anakin.”

There’s a long silence, and Obi-Wan doesn’t even think about raising his head. He’ll stay like this as long as Anakin wants him to.

“You’re an idiot, Obi-Wan,” he spits out. “Pathetic. Begging for my forgiveness to just have a small piece of me three months afterward?” Anakin scoffs and Obi-Wan imagines he rolls his eyes as well. “A little too fucking late, don’t you think?”

He’ll let Anakin express his frustration and anger. “I know, Anakin. I was pathetic. I was scared to say something. But I need you.” Then, Anakin lifts his head with his thumb and pointer finger and smiles. This is it. Forgiveness. “Thank you. Thank you.” But when he finally makes eye contact, his mouth instantly dries up, and his smile falls off his face.

There’s a fire behind Anakin’s eyes. Like Obi-Wan just woke a sleeping Krayt dragon. “You tossed me out first. You started the fight. You called me childish and immature before insulting Padme’s intelligence.”

“I know, I know. But it was wrong, Anakin. I was wrong about it all,” he pleads. Surely, he can see the look in his eyes and tell that he’s being truthful. “I love you. I always have. I always will.”

Anakin takes a deep breath and then stands. “Padme’s pregnant. She doesn’t want me seeing other people.”

Obi-wan is positive that he misheard him. He skips past Padme being pregnant and right to the fact that Anakin’s listening to her about not seeing other people. He has made his choice. Padme had gotten to him before he did all those years ago. It was Padme that he had always been in love with. He was just…a stop along the way. “I…” He stands up. “I’m sorry.” And Obi-Wan quickly leaves his room. Anakin doesn’t come after him.

For the first time since breaking up, Obi-Wan allows himself to cry. Hot tears streaking his face, snot running out of his nose, his breathing coming in just short bursts and never enough. This is what he gets for becoming attached. This is why the Order warns against it. He deserves this for wanting to leave everything, the Order, Coruscant for Anakin. He wants to rip his heart out and give it to Anakin, anyway as if it was ever anyone else’s, including his own.

He should’ve known the other shoe would drop. He was never picked. Never anyone’s first choice. Why would Anakin, beautiful, incredible, perfect Anakin, ever pick him when he could have Padme? Beautiful, kind, and gentle. Padme, who probably always wanted to be a mother. Anakin, who always wanted a family of his own.

Of course, Obi-Wan had thought and hoped that he’d be enough. Anakin was right. He was pathetic. But all he could think about was his smile every time he praised him, every time he found out they got to go on a mission together, every time Obi-Wan would hold him close after fucking him into the mattress.

His life was over.

Nothing would ever feel right again. He couldn’t keep being a Jedi, seeing Anakin around. He couldn’t go on missions with him.

But what would he do otherwise? This is what he’d trained for his entire life. The Temple was his home. The Jedi were his family. But he couldn’t stay. No wonder no one wanted him as a youngling, a Padawan. He was destined for failure.

Obi-Wan looks over to where his lightsaber is resting on the top of his dresser. It’d be over before you know it, he tells himself. His hand twitches, but he doesn’t move. No one needs you anymore anyway, his brain tells him. Not Anakin. Not the other Jedi. Not the Council. He licks his lips and crosses the room, his heart beating so loud he thinks the entire Temple could hear it.

This weapon is your life.

That’s what he told Anakin in what feels like a lifetime ago. Before the war. Before they got together. But if it protected his life, then clearly, the opposite could be true as well.

He grabs it, and his hands shake as he turns it over. Points the emitter at himself. His finger hovered over the button. He’d only be missed for a moment. Everyone would quickly move on. It was the Jedi way.

He could find peace in the Force. Clarity.

It’ll only burn for a moment.

The saber had been designed for a quick death so as not to cause prolonged suffering.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and puts one last burst of love into the bond with Anakin.

His finger presses the button, and there’s a white-hot heat for a moment. His body falls to the floor.

And then.

Nothing.

[werdlewrites]

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

share support through likes, comments, and reblogs! Or through my kofi!

summary: “We had a deal!” “I don’t make deals with fifteen-year-olds-” “I’m sixteen!” With a roll of his eyes, he departs from her - backing towards the still-opened doorway with his palms raised. “Sorry, your majesty. I don’t make deals with sixteen-year-olds.” She scoffs in reply, fists now tight around her hefty history book she wants to smash into the nearest flimsy board, for relief and maybe a little fun. “Un-fucking-believable.” warnings: nothin' but sass. physical violence? wc: 2,550

It’s Monday morning, or so she thinks. The shit-hole cabin holds a singular clock hoisted up on a dirtied wall, the plastic coated in fine dust to hide away the unmoving hands. They remain frozen in time at 6:25 AM when the sun should just be kissing the sky as it rises from a long slumber. Instead, it shines painfully bright through every opened window. Illuminating the unorganized mess she’s been living in for more than a day now. She asks Hopper if he could have chosen a more welcoming prison cell, and he tells her it belonged to his grandfather. The atmosphere shifts, and she’s suddenly commenting on the dilapidated decor, or lack thereof with a shimmering smile on her face. She’s kissing ass, and he’s laughing in agreement at just how run down it is. “I never bothered t’take care of it after he died. I just let it go. S’my fault.” The mirror to hold her reflection is stained by time. Rust creeping in like a virus around the edges, and blooming within the small cracks scattered across the surface. It’s not enough to hide unwashed hair and tired eyes, framing it all almost perfectly as she scrubs away dried spit from her teeth. It feels all too much like camping. Brushing her teeth with the aid of a water bottle, and pissing behind bushes without the proper use of a toilet. She’s never taken a vacation out into the wilderness but has a painful suspicion that this is what it was like. The closest she’d ever come to it would be when Steve elected to pitch a tent out in his large yard with the help of his mother, though still having access to anything they needed inside his home. If this was camping, it was miserable. Or maybe it was the bitterness of a night spent tossing and turning in the cold, November air.

Hopper had left sometime in the morning, waking her up long enough just to say he would be back soon before she surrendered to the ache in her bones. He was still gone, and it seemed the sun had risen high enough to signal it was now noon, or just after. Autumn is slow moving, muscles frigid and skin bruised from the abuse she had suffered, tumbling down the steps of her own home. It’s a hazy memory. But each touch to the discoloration brings her back to the moment she collides with the railing. With new light and a new day, she elects to finally sort through the mess Hopper had delivered in her laundry basket. She had only grazed the top once she spotted her toothbrush sticking out from the pile. She had only asked for the basics; bathroom supplies, a few clothes - at minimum a pair of underwear. She asks for her book bag and a goddamn actual pillow. But as she plucks and pulls, soil spills out from the fabric, and she takes a moment to process. It’s hard to even picture how it got there - difficult to stomach the idea of her sanctuary falling victim to the war of the unknown. The dirt falls to her temporary bed, easily swept away in a frantic motion to collect on the old floorboards. Autumn pulls various clothes from the basket, finally free to strip herself of a well-slept-in pajama set that she could no longer tolerate the smell of. She’s finally in warm clothes, sighing at the soft and clean fabric against her skin. She feels as if all is normal - if only for just a moment before her attention falls back on the pile. Her book bag is weighted, heavier than she remembers and it sits over a crumpled pillow. But as she moves it, a peculiar sound rattles within - not entirely expected. Inside, she finds school books - unfinished homework tucked away in folders, waiting to get a failing grade for incompletion. What rolls over their covers, however, are multiple rolled-up pairs of socks. Messy and balled up unnaturally - carrying secrets she only discovered once they were peeled apart.

Crystals and stones had been swiped from their places, and despite unknowing of their importance, they were rescued and brought to the girl in hopes tranquility would follow. Was Hopper only guessing? She can picture the man mumbling to himself as he piles the frail objects into his palm. Even the few jewelry pieces she wore for protection. Had this been her room she would have laid it all out perfectly, letting their energy fuel the small space. But this wasn’t home, and in this moment all she sees are fancy stones that go ignored in favor of school supplies. If she’s a prisoner in this place, she might as well find something to occupy her time. The room she stays in holds no natural light, forcing her out into the open where Hopper had slept for the night. He calls the too-short, rotten sofa his place of rest. Squished up in the dark where his flashlight shines down on an opened book, reading to himself and so focused he doesn’t notice the teen moving across the kitchen for a few crackers as a late-night snack. Now, the space is empty and she lays out her belongings on the creaking coffee table. As she sits, something beneath her crackles, and for a second she’s convinced the old sofa has finally surrendered, ready to collapse under the added weight. To her surprise, it doesn’t buckle, though the shift in thin blankets reveals a thin, opened book - something she was certain Hopper had been studying as she walked on by. She could ignore it. Rip it from its place, tossing it aside to avoid further damage. But black ink holds her focus - every neat curve and scratched-out sentence rings a bell of warning in her mind. It’s all too similar to someone she knows. Someone who signed permission slips, Birthday, and Holiday cards. And at the sound of Hopper’s engine, she realizes it’s been tucked beneath the sheets for a reason.

His entrance is hard to ignore. Heavy footsteps shake the boards and bags collide with the frame as he barges through, immediately locking eyes with the girl who stands far from the sofa - pretending to be busy with…nothing. She holds her book open, staring at the pages yet not truly absorbing the words they hold until he captures her attention. Bags are hoisted up onto still dusty countertops, contents piling high and nearly spilling over before he has the chance to pull them all out. “What is all of this?” One by one, it’s all revealed. Glass and floor cleaner - new rags that hadn’t been torn to shreds by moths. He even held a small canister of bleach, paired with gloves and a new bucket for the scum. “I have a broom in my car. And, most importantly,” he plucks two walkies from the bottom, offering one out to the girl. “A direct line of communication.” The teen gives an uncertain look, even skeptical as she looks it all over. “You ever hear about landlines? It’s all the rage,” The man lets out a sigh of annoyance, propped up by a strong hand over the counter, making her feel just a little smaller in the moment. “Landlines can be traced right t’you. Which, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed...you’re in hiding, right now.” Air fills her cheeks before blowing a raspberry, deflated by his tone. “Can’t take a joke, yeesh.” He continues to pull, leaving the space cluttered and a mess before tossing the bags to the side. Hopper seems ignorant to the possibilities of a secret uncovered, acting with purpose rather than tip-toeing around and examining the place where the mystery had been left. In their shared silence though, she looks. His scrawlings ran through her mind on a loop, senseless and full of wonder. “D’you see him?” “See who?” he questions without missing a beat - without even meeting her far-off stare as she’s swept away by the hurt in her chest. A wave warmed by summer's sun, boiling and burning up her insides. “My dad. D’you see him yet? Hear anything?” The question brings about a shift in the atmosphere, heavy, and filled with painful truths heard but unspoken. Autumn can see it all in his eyes, and the way his body stiffens.

She moves on, eager to ignore the suffocating feeling in her chest. “Thanks for the stuff. You didn’t have to gift wrap the stones, though,” she states with a small grin, finally closing up the book to rest just under her arm. “What stones?” “T-the gemstones in my socks? All rolled up?” It’s his turn to stare - empty eyes as his mind attempts to relive these last thirty-two hours. It’s scrambled up, a mess as he was forced into action and to take on this new role of guardian. You can see the memory light up deadened eyes as he hands the boy a list of her belongings, surrendering the chore entirely as he goes on his own path. “Steve got your stuff,” he mutters before ripping plastic away from new containers, adding to the garbage on the floor. It would have irked her if it weren’t for the sudden rush of shock to freeze each cell in her body. Autumn wonders if she had heard correctly - unable to process the idea of Steve rummaging through her dresser drawers for intimate materials. At least Hopper agreed to just scoop them all into a bag with his eyes closed. “That’s a joke, right?” When he doesn’t respond, she says a single prayer that the Earth would break open and consume her body and soul. A quick death with no afterlife for fear of repeating this same embarrassment. “We had a deal!” “I don’t make deals with fifteen-year-olds-” “I’m sixteen!” With a roll of his eyes, he departs from her - backing towards the still-opened doorway with his palms raised. “Sorry, your majesty. I don’t make deals with sixteen-year-olds.” She scoffs in reply, fists now tight around her hefty history book she wants to smash into the nearest flimsy board, for relief and maybe a little fun. “Un-fucking-believable.”

His heavy steps guide him out the door and into the wilderness. Fallen twigs and dried leaves crunch beneath his weight, allowing her to track just how far he wandered away from the cabin. The car door slams, and for a moment she wonders if he’s leaving again - until he returns with a beige box in hand, grease staining the sides. “You hungry?” There’s an immediate rumble that echoes in the small space, her body growing bored and tired of canned food and spray cheese on crackers. At their rate of bickering, she almost expects to find a mere two pieces remaining. But a nearly complete pizza proves her wrong. “Wow, the witness protection program is really stepping up its game.” The officer's stare is heavy beneath bushy brows, unamused and struggling to catch up on lost sleep for the sake of others - or even out of pure curiosity. A need to know keeping his brain wired at every minute of the day. He’s spent his morning talking business - driving all across town shopping and making plans in hopes of keeping the teen comfortable, though she doesn’t know it yet. Still, she apologizes and thanks him for the food. He could have left her for dead. He could have never cared enough to show back up at her home, waiting in the dark streets just to make sure she was okay before bursting through the front door. When his own walkie from work cuts through the silence, he’s almost grateful as he rips it from his waistband.

“What?” “Jim?” Another man's voice crackles on the other end, a heavy sigh following shortly after paired with the ramblings of another officer in the distance. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve been calling you - hell we even went to your place. No car, no nothin’.” Lips pursed and seek shelter beneath a thick mustache, the device pressed to them as he debates in a panic over what to say. He even spares a glance towards the girl, who offers no help as she tears into warm bread. “I-uh... I’ve been busy,” is his feeble excuse, sending the line into dead silence and pulling a look of disbelief from Autumn. A look that says, “That’s your best excuse?” and his shoulders immediately slouch. “Well, whatever you’re doin’, we’ve got somethin’ over at the station that requires your...expertise.” This is his reality check. Hiding out in the woods with a girl he rescued, and is now being summoned back to another world left behind in the chaos. Something forgotten as he struggled to grasp the concept of monsters and supernatural children. There’s a heavy sigh, unheard by Powell before asking about the situation. The officer watches as Autumn organizes the supplies he brought, crust hung from her teeth and pretending not to listen for confidential information. It’s a girl plucked straight out of school during lunchtime. Fists are bloody and adrenaline is long gone as she sits in waiting for her judgment. It’s someone they both know all too well; Heather Hunter. The sound of her name sparks something from the girl, looking to her protector with worried eyes, while he seems more irritated to be pulled back in with more important matters at hand. “I’m on my way,” he mutters before clipping the walkie back in place.

“Heather’s there?” Hopper spares her a glance, a dry chuckle passing his lips before moving further from her. “At least every other week. I told you, she’s bad news.” She remains unsatisfied with his response, turning back to the warm food. With a mouthful, she states, “Doesn’t seem so bad t’me.” She doesn’t notice the hard roll of his eyes, or how he snatches the hidden book from beneath the blanket before tucking it into his waistband, folded. “Don’t let anyone in while I’m gone. Keep everything locked and those windows covered.” “How long will you be gone for?” He doesn’t answer, which pulls her focus back in his direction to find him already trampling down the front steps. “Hopper!” She drops her second slice in the opened box, racing after him until she stands at the flimsy banister. “What the hell am I supposed t’do?” “I don’t know!” he calls back, clearly aggravated and uncertain of how to handle a teenager under the same roof as him. “Clean somethin’! Read a book, whatever! Just keep your ass inside!” The teen merely stares in awe and disbelief, mouth hung agape with hands resting over hips. He waits with one foot in the car, waving her off until she gives in to his demand, slamming the front door behind her. Autumn waits for the roar of his engine, and the sound of tires rolling over Earth before turning the focus back towards the sofa - now empty with the blanket tossed aside. She curses him, grumbling to herself as she parts the cushions in hopes it had just slipped through. Yet only dust collects at her fingertips.

[dahbeez]

1. "You're such a dork."

2. "Get over here, you doof."

3. "Cheeky."

4. "You're so needy."

5. "Kiss me again."

6. "You're so adorable!"

7. "Look at you... goodness, you're so cute!"

8. "I'm just so happy!"

9. "I can't stop smiling."

10. "I like that you make me laugh so much that my cheeks hurt."

11. "You are being extra sweet today."

12. "Oh, look at you!"

13. "Your eyes are so pretty."

14. "I'm really happy that you're here with me."

15. "Thank you for staying with me."

16. "I don't think I've ever loved someone this much before."

17. "I feel like I'm in the clouds when I'm with you."

18. "You're like my hero/heroine."

19. "I'm gonna tickle you if you don't come over here."

20. "My, oh my. You are such a beautiful creature."

@drink-it-write-it​

21. "Go with me?" "As long as you hold my hand."

22. "Is there a reason you're blushing like that?"

23. "Have you seen my hoodie?" "Nooooo..." "You're wearing it, aren't you?"

24. "OH you're jealous!"

25. "Can we stay like this forever?"

26. "Please just kiss me already."

27. "I think you might be my soulmate."

28. "Sleep over? Please?"

29. "Are we on a date right now?"

30. "I think I'm in love with you."

31. "Are you flirting with me?" "You finally noticed?"

32. "Am I your lockscreen?" "You weren't supposed to see that."

33. "I wish we could live together already."

34. "They're so cute when they're asleep."

35. "I just wanted to let you know that I think you're beautiful."

36. "Quit touching me, your feet are cold!"

37. "Sharing is caring, now give me the hoodie!"

38. "Give me attention."

39. "You met me yesterday." "Yes, and I would die for you. Next question."

40. "She's hiding behind the sofa."

41. "Did you just hiss at me?"

@wishiwasanavenger-archive​

42. "Have you kissed anyone before?"

43. "Can I kiss you?"

44. "You're not hurting me, you're not heavy. I've got you, love.” 

45. "I look at them and I just... it's like when the Grinch's heart grows three sizes."

46. "I don't... I've never... been in a relationship before and I'm going to make mistakes... I just need you to tell me. I need you to talk to me."

47. "You didn't tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I going to do?"

48. "You give me a reason to be better, to do better."

49. "God, you are so fucking cute."

50. "I love you, but I need you to go away because you're really bloody distracting and I have to pass this test tomorrow."

51. "Oh no... they're cute."

52. "I can't talk to cute people, okay? I don't know how to flirt!"

53. "God, I love your face."

54. "Don't look at me, I'm a mess!" "I love it when you're a mess!"

55. "Please do your homework for me...? Just one time." ... "I said one time, y'know... you didn't have to start studying. Not that I'm not proud or anything."

56. "I'm already home."

57. "Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner."

58. "Stop moving! I'm going to have to start counting all over again!"

59. "I just thought that since you weren't feeling too good, this would help."

60. "I'm not kissing you in the rain! We'll catch our death!"

61. "Would it help if I stayed?"

62. "I apologise sincerely if my beautiful/handsome face has kept you up all night."

63. "God, you're pretty."

64. "Calm down, it's just a chocolate bar!"

65. "Please, tell me you brought a toothbrush?"

66. "You take the bed, you need it more than me."

67. "You're so warm!"

68. "You're freezing, Jesus!"

69. "You always look beautiful."

70. "Your hands are so small!"

71. "Sometimes I just want to cuddle, okay? Is that so bad?"

72. "Now I know where half my wardrobe went."

73. "Here, let me just–" 

74. "You're really special to me."

75. "That tickles!"

76. "We only have one room left for the night..."

77. "Naps are life, okay?"

78. "I don't think I could love you anymore than I already do."

79. "I had the weirdest dream..."

80. "I got you a trophy, it's only plastic, but it's for being the best human I know."

81. "Someone keeps leaving love notes in my locker and I don't know if I should find it endearing or creepy..."

82. "I love your voice."

83. "Put me down! I can walk!"

84. "Can... can you come over?"

85. "You're the best."

86. "Can you please stop biting your lip, it's distracting."

87. "I thought you liked love songs!"

88. "I know you're not a fan of Valentine's day... I just thought that maybe I could change your mind..."

89. "You're my favourite know-it-all."

90. "That was the least romantic proposal in the entire history of proposals."

91. "I never knew you were a romantic at heart."

92. "I made it. For you. I know it's not the best, but..."

93. "Let me carry that."

94. "How do you know my favourite drink?" "I'm observant."

95. "We've known each other's for years and I don't think we've ever had a proper conversation."

96. "You're the clumsiest person I know, how did you survive past childhood?"

97. "It's always time for a milkshake."

98. "You know, humming the James Bond theme tune defeats the point of sneaking."

99. "I think your cat wants to kill me."

100. "Where have all my jumpers gone?"

101. "I don't get paid enough for this shit."

102. "Oh my God, I love you."

103. "I told you to bring a jacket."

@writings-of-a-hufflepuff​

104. "Is that my shirt?" "You mean our shirt?"

105. "It's you, it always has been."

106. "You're everything I could've wanted and more."

107. "Kiss me."

108. "Home stopped being a place when you entered my life."

109. "You should probably go home." "But I'm already home."

110. "You're an idiot." "But you love me."

111. "I'd do anything for you."

112. "You took all the pillows so I'm using you as one."

113. "Stop moving and let me braid your hair."

114. "I'm so proud of you."

115. "You are my family."

116. "I'm right here."

117. "Can you just please hold me?"

118. "I'm pretty sure they're my soulmate."

119. "This reminded me of you."

120. "Your hair is really soft."

121. "Are you blushing?"

122. "Can I stay here tonight?"

123. "Because I love you."

124. "Make a wish!"

125. "I love seeing you smile."

126. "You're just a softie."

127. "You are crushing me right now."

128. "Darling I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen."

129. "Take my hand. Just trust me."

130. "You're the only thing that matters."

131. "Did you know that you talk in your sleep?"

132. "Hey, look at me. Focus on me, alright?"

133. "Why can't I get you out of my head?"

134. "Don't let go."

135. "Stay."

@blisfvll​

136. "You smell really nice."

137. "If you steal the blanket, I'm going to put my cold feet on you."

138. "You're comfy."

139. "But I want to hear you sing."

140. "Don't get up – I'll do it."

141. "Care to give me a back scratch?"

142. "Your bed head is really cute."

143. "How about a kiss?"

144. "Uh oh, I know that look. What do you want?"

145. "Are you really flirting with me right now?"

146. "I like the way your hand fits in mine."

147. "You have something in your hair, umm... do you want me to get it out?"

148. "It's nice that your voice is the first thing I heard today."

149. "This movie is really scary, but you're into it so I'm trying not to cover my face the whole time but– WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?"

150. "Wait, don't pull away... not yet."

151. "Half the time I get too embarrassed to say anything."

152. "No, it's fine. I can wait until you're done talking to them."

153. "No, like... it's just, I can't believe you're actually wearing my clothes."

154. "I've been trying to get ready for like an hour and an half because I know you're going to look so good and I need to try and match up."

155. "I wanted to say 'I love you' for the first time without stuttering, but that failed."

156. "We could order pizza and just stay like this all day."

157. "It's not a double date. We're just third and fourth wheeling."

158. "I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror..."

@marauder-exe​

159. "It's not funny!"

160. "That wasn't suppose to happen."

161. "Hurry back."

162. "I can't take you seriously."

163. "Problem solved."

164. "That was embarrassing."

165. "It's freezing in here."

@love-me-a-good-prompt​

166. "I love you, baby."

167. "Hey, cutie."

168. "I promise to love you for the rest of my life."

169. "You're my world."

170. "I don't care if you're sick, catching a cold from kissing you is worth it."

171. "You are so perfect."

172. "Marry me?"

173. "You're the best part of me."

174. "Stay here with me. For the rest of our lives."

175. "I'm speechless, you're so beautiful!"

176. "Come here, I need to hug you."

177. "When everything's wrong, it's you that makes it right."

178. "You're the one."

@raggedy-dxctor​

179. "Well, it's the thought that counts." "Wait, no, don't take my kisses away from me!"

180. "Oh, you've started stealing my socks now?"

181. "You owe me a kiss."

182. "How did you get in here?"

183. "That's not even fair."

184. "You promised me a cookie!"

185. "Ew, that is so sappy, I might vomit."

186. "You're not very intimidating."

187. "That was, by far, the stupidest thing you've ever done."

188. "Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer."

189. "Why the hell is there glitter everywhere?"

@whcczes​

190. "I'll feel much better if you let me walk you home."

191. "Apparently, all our friends have a bet going that we end up together."

192. "You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe."

@moanlightlust​

193. "It's two in the morning and you want to cuddle?"

194. "You shine so bright it's intimidating. I love it."

195. "I'm here."

196. "What's your name again? Sorry, I just got that super weird feeling that we only see in movies, you know? Like, the whole world stopped turning and all I could see was you."

197. "I was born to be yours."

198. "Isn't it a bit too cliché?"

199. "So, you're just kissing strangers for no apparent reasons?"

200. "You'll always be my favourite person."

201. "You're making it weird, stop making it weird."

202. "There's nothing I love more than running back into your arms."

203. "I'm yours. Forever."

204. "You always know how to cheer me up."

205. "I... I lost the ring."

206. "Will you be mine?"

207. "Darling, you look perfect tonight."

208. "You saved my life."

209. "Don't give me that look. No... NO! I said no puppy dog eyes! You know I can't resist them! Argh, fine!"

210. "I missed you and your bad puns and even your horrible cooking and the way you fit perfectly against my body when we cuddle. I just really missed you."

211. "We're a team, remember?"

212. "There's no place I'd rather be than by your side."

213. "Your smile brightens the whole room."

214. "I kinda adopted a puppy behind your back... don't be mad! Look at those cute fluffy paws!"

215. "You're burning up. Guess I need to activate my nurse mode."

216. "I love you. As in more than friends, more than best friends and more than super extra best friends."

217. "I love you just the way you are."

218. "We need to kick his ass, no questions asked. You in?"

219. "Hot chocolate and cuddles? Kisses?"

220. "You make me feel pretty."

221. "You'll always be my best girl."

222. "Never hide yourself from me."

223. "Babe! There's no toilet paper!"

224. "I'll never give up on you."

225. "Do you feel that shirt? That's boyfriend material."

226. "That prank went so wrong."

227. "Care to dance, my love?"

228. "AH! You're stuck with me!"

229. "You're too good to me."

230. "Is it that time of the month?"

231. "Can I braid your hair?"

232. "It's okay to have doubts, as long as you don't let them overwhelm you."

233. "Come here! I can't stand to be so far away from you!"

234. "I got you."

235. "I wanna fall asleep next to you every night and wake up every morning with you by my side."

236. "Stop, I need to finish this!"

237. "I just wanna binge watch The Office, but it's not the same without you."

238. "Because I care about you!"

239. "I just wanted to impress you."

240. "I love you even though your breath stinks right now."

241. "Did you just puke on me?"

242. "We should get drunk and do stupid things."

243. "I always know what you're thinking about, babe. You're like an open book!"

244. "Could you sing to me?"

245. "I, uh, could you... could you play with my hair, please?"

246. "Nooooo, don't leave! I'm cold!"

247. "I think you're suffering from a lack of vitamin me."

248. "A mistletoe? Really?"

249. "Will you join me, love?"

250. "I have feelings for you."

251. "You are the reason."

252. "Take my hand, I wanna show you something..."

253. "You have a lovely name."

254. "You're my everything."

255. "You do know a lot about my blushing schedule."

@voilawind​

[hihello-pinky]

Honestly

After dating for six years, Miya Atsumu is beginning to have reservations about his relationship with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Atsumu x Sakusa, post timeskip Warnings: one mention of sex, nothing else

Listen to Honestly by Monsta X (Narr. by Sistar's Dasom) while reading. Maybe look up the lyrics after.

Originally posted on AO3. Read below if you don’t want to redirect there haha.

The day Atsumu Miya asked Kiyoomi Sakusa out, he was nervous to the point that he almost puked. He never felt that nervous before; never before a volleyball match, never whenever their parents scolded him and Osamu for staying out late. So, when the curly-haired man agreed to go on a date with him, the relief that washed over Atsumu was as big as an ocean. One date prompted another one and another and another… until one night, after watching a movie about best friends loving each other but never finding the right chance through the years, Sakusa asked Atsumu if he would like to come inside his apartment. Atsumu was elated. Who was he to decline? Thus, the dates escalated to sleepovers and sooner than later, the two made their relationship official. The sound of his phone chiming catches Atsumu’s attention, breaking him out of his trip down memory lane. [ keiji said yes! ] It’s from his brother Osamu. Tonight’s the night he planned to propose to his boyfriend, Akaashi Keiji. Atsumu remembers how his twin had been nervous, afraid that his boyfriend will say no. It’s his brother’s proposal that made him think back on his own relationship in the first place. He quickly typed a response. [ congrats, bro – from the best man (in all aspects) ] Osamu and Akaashi, after meeting shortly after they graduated from college, began dating when they were twenty-five, three years after Atsumu and Kiyoomi became a couple. When his brother had brought the proposal up, Atsumu inwardly sighed. He already knew that their family and friends will start asking him questions. You’re the older twin, aren’t you supposed to get engaged first? You and Kiyoomi are dating longer, are you really not ready to tie the knot yet? Atsumu groans at the thought. He reminds himself that his problem is not about Osamu. It’s Kiyoomi. For, despite dating for the last six years, he can’t see a future with Kiyoomi. He looks at his laptop screen, brightness turned into the lowest setting, afraid that someone might see what he’s Googling: How to break up with your boyfriend of six years? Atsumu cannot remember when he had stopped feeling a rush of emotions whenever Kiyoomi looked at him. He cannot remember the last time he truly felt happy spending time with the man. Hell, even when it came to fucking, his orgasms take too long to come. So here he is, in the living room of the apartment he rented with Kiyoomi, in the middle of the night, searching for ways on how to break up with the man sleeping peacefully in their shared bedroom. He had told Hinata about it but the younger man only shrieked in alarm, saying it’s a mistake, that maybe it’s just a rough patch; he shouldn’t make rash decisions. But rough patches are supposed to be two-sided. Atsumu can tell that Kiyoomi is still stupidly in love with him. But he, he wants to leave. After all, what’s the purpose of staying in a relationship when you’re no longer happy?

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

The next morning, the smell of freshly baked toast wakes Atsumu up. He almost sighs; of course, Kiyoomi just had to recreate the first breakfast they had when they moved in together. He takes his sweet time stretching before going to their bathroom and as he sees every day since living with Kiyoomi, his face wash and toothbrush are already waiting to be used. Atsumu smiles at the gesture, trying to search within him the familiar wave of happiness that kept visiting him for months after they began cohabiting. Empty. He can’t feel anything at his boyfriend’s action. He quickly finishes up in the bathroom before going out to meet his boyfriend. “Good morning, sweets,” Kiyoomi greets, bringing a glass of freshly made orange juice to the square table. Atsumu looks at his boyfriend whose arms are open for a hug. When he first met the man, he never thought he’d see this side of him. Kiyoomi Sakusa had been a stoic man and while most days he remains his unbothered self in front of others, Atsumu had crawled his way inside the man’s heart and soul. Kiyoomi Sakusa was a tough shell to crack but Atsumu managed to do it. Maybe now that he’s unraveled everything inside the man who had captured his attention that first time he attended Nationals in his high school year, Atsumu is lost. Still, he moves closer to the man and hugs him back, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “Morning, sweets.” They take their places at the dining table and begin to eat. Kiyoomi rants about a distant relative’s eighteenth birthday that Komori is forcing him to attend. In the past, whenever Kiyoomi tells stories or just rants like how he’s doing right now, Atsumu listens with delight. But now he’s just nodding along. I feel nothing. I feel nothing. I feel nothing when I see you. He doesn’t let the thoughts escape his mouth. Instead, he says, “Osamu finally proposed to Akaashi.” Kiyoomi’s brow perks up in interest. “Bokuto is probably going to throw a fit at practice. Something about how his best friend is all grown up now. Remind me to steer clear from him.” Atsumu almost smiles. He takes a long time to drink from his glass, wondering what his boyfriend must be thinking. Though Kiyoomi has never made anything remotely suggestive about marriage, he knew it must have crossed the curly-haired man’s mind at least once. After all, the man mentioned to him that he dates not for fun. Sakusa Kiyoomi is a man who dates to marry. And what about Atsumu? Sure, he can picture himself as a husband in the future, taking care of kids, just doing whatever the hell husbands and dads like to do. But the thing is, he just can’t find it in his heart to care about it at the moment. There are just too many things to focus on, surely, love can wait, right? “So, when’s the party?” Kiyoomi’s question brings Atsumu back to their table. “What makes you think there’s a party?” The only response of his lover is a “duh” stare and this time, Atsumu actually laughs. “I don’t know yet… maybe next weekend.” “Okay,” Kiyoomi says, “I’ll save the date.” Atsumu doesn’t reply and they finish their breakfast in silence.

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

Atsumu is a loud person himself so being teammates with Bokuto is like having a taste of his own medicine on a daily basis. As soon as he entered the gym, the older man goes towards him, his arms wide open. “’Tsumu! Akaashi is getting married!” “I know very well, Bokuto-san,” he replies. “As far as I remember, it’s my brother who asked to marry him.” Bokuto laughs. “I can’t believe it! What gifts should I get them?” Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “There’s no wedding yet, why are you fretting about a gift?” “Well, there is going to be an engagement party, right? I should impress the couple so I’ll be the best man.” “Sorry to break it to you, Bokuto-san, but I think Atsumu is going to be the best man,” Kiyoomi interjects as he passes by the two of them. “Sakusa!” Bokuto whines as he begins walking towards the center of the gym. “There can be two best men!” “Eh?” Hinata joins them. “Then you’re going to be ‘better’ men, not best. Isn’t best a superlative word?” Bokuto makes a face at the bright-haired man. “So now you know your English, Shoyou?” The remark makes them laugh. Atsumu meets Kiyoomi’s eyes. During other times, he would wink at his lover but the moment their eyes meet, Atsumu’s laughter dies down and he awkwardly looks away, missing the confusion on Kiyoomi’s face. Practice was uneventful. Atsumu’s serves are as good as they can be. Sakusa played as great as ever. Ever since they began dating, the two have established that they would act professionally around each other during practices and games. No PDA, no special treatments. So far, the two have succeeded in making their relationship separate from work. Which is why Atsumu is surprised when Meian asks him to stay behind after practice. “What it is, captain?” The older man is sweating and Atsumu feels a little bitter about how he still managed to look good, the beads of sweat only making him manlier. “Are you and Sakusa having problems?” “Huh?” “I don’t know,” Meian says. “I noticed you barely set for him; I can even go as far to say that you’re avoiding him.” Atsumu lets out a shaky laugh. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” “You’re two of the best players of this team,” Meian says matter-of-factly. “I just don’t want your personal relations to get in the way. Whatever issues you’re having, I hope you can work it out.” Maybe it’s the tiredness, maybe it’s the way Meian spoke so kindly, that Atsumu broke. “I’m having thoughts of breaking up with him.” The moment the words leave his mouth, Atsumu wants to take them back. It’s as if saying the words make them real. His captain masks his reaction under a neutral expression. “And why do you want to break up?” Atsumu shrugs. “I just don’t feel anything when I’m with him anymore. No more excitement, no more thrill. I’m starting to get bored.” At that, Meian laughs. “So, because you’re over the honeymoon phase, you want to end things? A relationship is not always rainbows and fun, Atsumu. There will be dull and still days. Have you brought this up to Sakusa?” His only answer is a guilty look, making his captain sigh. “Look, don’t make rash decisions based on your emotions, or lack of it. Think back to what Sakusa and your relationship mean to you.” Atsumu thanks Meian before joining the rest of the team in the lockers. He changes into his spare clothes while Sakusa waited for him, already packed up. Living close to the gym, the two has made it a habit to take showers at home. On the ride home, Atsumu steals glances at his boyfriend and he gets called out for it. “Please focus on the road while driving,” Kiyoomi says while his eyes are focused on his phone. Atsumu clears his throat. “Are you not going to ask me?” “What?” “Why captain asked me to stay behind after today’s practice.” “Is it any of my business?” It’s an innocent question and Atsumu feels guilty because Kiyoomi is right. Whatever problem Atsumu is having, he brought it upon himself. Kiyoomi is only a victim of his indecisiveness. “No,” he replies. Kiyoomi surprises him with a gentle touch on his arm. Atsumu shoots him a look and the man smiles at him. “If you need to talk about anything, you know I’m here, right?” Atsumu nods without saying anything, letting the guilt envelope his heart.

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

Osamu looks so happy. As he watches his brother bring up a linked hand with Akaashi in front of the party, Atsumu wonders if that’s how he looks like to other people when he’s happy. It’s been a week since the engagement and as much as he wanted to skip the celebration, he couldn’t come up with an excuse not to attend. So here he was, forcing a smile whenever someone jokingly brings up how he’s next in line to get engaged. As the engaged couple gets whisked around the room by friends and relatives, Atsumu clears his throat, ready to tell Kiyoomi that they should be heading home soon. But before he can say anything, his paternal grandparents take the vacant seats at their table. Atsumu inwardly groans, he’s been avoiding them in particular throughout the evening. “Well, it’s my first grandson and his boyfriend,” his grandfather says with a hint of resentment in his voice. When Atsumu came out to the family, the old man had been angry, saying something about how he’s the first grandson and how he should continue the family lineage. He found it unfair, because the old man had been accepting of Osamu when he came out a year before. Damn expectations about first grandsons. If only Osamu was born seven minutes earlier… Atsumu forces a smile. “Hi, Gramps and Grams. Long time, no see.” “You’re not visiting us anymore, Atsumu,” his grandmother says softly. “I miss you two.” Where his grandfather is resentful, his grandmother is accepting. After all, he has known that his grandfather’s favorite is Osamu while his grandmother favors him a little bit more. He watches as Kiyoomi leans across the table to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. “We’ve been busy these past few months but we’ll make sure to visit once we’re off-season.” A smile at him. “Right, sweets?” “Yes,” he agrees, but he cannot help but hear his Gramps mutter something under his breath. As it turns out, all three of them did not miss it, for his Grams glares at her husband. “Will you stop? You’re being unfair to Atsumu. You’re all supportive towards his brother but you’re acting like this towards him and his boyfriend. Can’t you see how much our grandson is madly in love with Kiyoomi? Should I be honest? Atsumu thinks as he hears the last sentence. Grams, honestly… I’m not sure if I’m still in love with Kiyoomi. He decides to keep his mouth shut as he listens to his Gramps repeat his speech about being the first grandson in the family. Below the table, Atsumu feels Kiyoomi’s hand searching for his. He contemplates distancing his but he remembers Meian’s words from last week. He meets Kiyoomi’s hand and intertwines their fingers together. He feels a squeeze, and he’s surprised how the gesture still manages to calm him, even a little bit. His grandfather’s reply surprises him. “Of course, I can see!” The man lowers voice as he looks straight at Atsumu. “He loves him so much and it’s a slap to my face that my first grandson won’t bring me children that are my blood. Of course, I will soon come to terms that he’s in love with a fellow man. But as long as they’re not married yet, I will keep acting disgruntled.” The old man’s wife giggles and even Kiyoomi tries to stifle a laugh. Atsumu looks around the table. Are his grandfather’s cheeks actually reddening up? In embarrassment? The three then turn their eyes on him. He shrugs. “What can I do? I got Gramps’ hardheadedness so who am I to complain?” That evening, on the drive home, Atsumu gets surprised when Kiyoomi raises a question. “So, your Gramps says he’ll only approve us once we get married.” Atsumu gulps. Should I be honest? “Kiyoomi, honestly–” “’Tsumu,” his lover interrupts him. “I noticed it tonight. You’re uncomfortable whenever someone brings up marriage to you.” He cannot fathom from the voice and tone what the other man is feeling. “And what do you feel about me being uncomfortable?” The question hangs in the air and Atsumu almost gets distracted from driving. He’s about to follow up on it when Kiyoomi finally answers. “Honestly? I’m just trying to convince myself that your discomfort roots from the idea of marriage itself, not the idea of marrying me. You never really told me how you feel about marriage but I know I told you, at the beginning of our relationship, that I only date to marry. “You continued to pursue me, and we’re on our sixth year, going on seven, so it’s either you changed your idea about marriage or you changed your heart about me.” When he doesn’t respond, Kiyoomi laughs – Atsumu’s favorite sound – and says, “Foolish of me to think of that, right? Why am I even doubting your love for me?” Luckily enough, they already arrived at their parking. Atsumu turns the engine off and faces his boyfriend. “Kiyoomi, honestly…” he trails off as he looks at the man and a rush of emotions comes to him. It’s as if he hasn’t really looked at him for a long time now. It’s as if it’s the first time he’s seeing him. Wrapped around Kiyoomi’s right wrist is the beaded bracelet that he had gifted him for their first anniversary. He senses the faint smell of his favorite perfume on the man, and as he looks at the phone that the man is holding, Atsumu’s heart almost jumps. It’s a clear case, with a polaroid of them at the back. Realization dawns upon Atsumu: He cannot bear to lose Sakusa Kiyoomi in his life. The thought alone scares him. Why did he even think of separating with him? He clears his throat as he feels the heat building up behind his eyes. “Honestly, Kiyoomi, I’m the foolish one.” A fool for having thoughts of breaking up with you. A fool for taking you for granted during the past few weeks. A fool… “Atsumu?” His name being called by Kiyoomi’s gentle voice breaks Atsumu out of his thoughts. “Yes?” He receives a confused look. “You were saying you’re the foolish one and then you spaced out.” “Sorry. It’s just… never mind…” Kiyoomi inches closer to him and before the man can stretch his arm, Atsumu reaches for his hand. He clasps their fingers together; his thumb immediately begins to rub circles on the back of his lover’s hand. They’re quiet for a while, just sitting together in the car, enveloped by silence. “What are you thinking?” Kiyoomi finally asks. That it’s not yet the end, Atsumu thinks as he looks down at their intertwined hands under the dim lights. I’m sorry for entertaining the thoughts of leaving you. I hope I remember how it is to be in love with you. Atsumu leans across the small space between them and plants a soft kiss on Kiyoomi’s temple. “I’m thinking we should watch one of our go-to good movies.” Kiyoomi hums. “The Proposal or Notting Hill?” A kiss on his other temple. “The Proposal.” “Okay. ‘Tsumu?” “Yeah?” “I love you.”

Atsumu smiles at Kiyoomi before planting a kiss on his forehead. His pulls his lips a few millimeters away before whispering something to Kiyoomi, causing his lover’s arms to wrap around him.

-END-

I just got inspired by Monsta X's song, Honestly, and went ahead and wrote something about it.

If you're too lazy to look up the lyrics: it's basically about a man's thoughts of how he doesn't love his partner anymore, and the partner remaining oblivious at the time. It becomes hopeful towards the end as the man realizes it's foolish of him to think of those thoughts, so he goes on feeling guilty. At the end, when his partner asks him about what's on his mind, he says he's thinking of nothing and proceeds to ask them out to a movie.

I hope you still liked it!

[angelguk]

jock!jaykay is your favourite boy! yes, this a childhood bestie!au. jaykay is gym rat who likes invading ocs personal space and likes bullying his bestie for being small and weak unlike him. or alternatively the one where jeongguk realises his bestie has giant boobs. listen to best friend by rex orange county. roughly 2k words. this is brain spew. boobie ogling.

You love Jeongguk.

It's a natural thing to say; a platonic affection for him that has steadily grown over the past decade of your intertwined lives. But, you never expected to develop this level of affiliation towards him. It happened by mistake. He’d stumbled into you at the playground in the middle of recess during one lonesome afternoon. Soft brown curls a halo on his round head and his doe eyes sparkling as he mumbled a compliment at the sandcastle you were knee-deep in constructing. You’d taken one glance at the boy, noted how your stature towered over him and then immediately enlisted his assistance in completing the mammoth of the sandcastle you were creating. He’d lit up — bright like the burning sun behind his tiny figure —  jumping in with zero hesitation; small hands quick and sure as he stuffed sand into buckets. He never opposed any of your suggestions, considering them with a timid nod of his head and a tiny sheepish smile that revealed the delightful dips in his cheeks. It was beguiling, how quickly you grew attached to the smart but shy boy who’d wormed his way into your heart. Since then the two of you have been attached at the hip. Everyone knew you in relation to each other. Jeongguk wasn’t Jeongguk unless you were around and the same was for you. You’d spent sleepless nights at his house, huddling under the thick blankets of the fort you’d built in his living room, exchanging horror stories with the aid of a flashlight he’d nicked from his dad’s toolbox. Even his extended families adored you; random aunts and uncles sending cryptic messages via WhatsApp once every blue moon. And he knew yours too —  you’re certain that your mother likes Jeongguk more than she likes you. There was even a designated toothbrush for him perched on your bathroom counter, for days Jeongguk was too lazy to go back to his own home. It was wonderful, having that reassurance in your relationship, a steady rock that you clung to amidst the harsh wild seas of life.

And then puberty hit.

Suddenly, Jeongguk was taller than you. His jaw was more defined, shoulders broadening seemingly overnight. Your sleepovers vanished, Jeongguk preferring to hole himself in his room alone. He wasn’t the only one who felt the effects of your ageing. You never thought Jeongguk had noticed it, the way your body had subtly changed throughout your teenage years, the rapid blossoming of your chest because he always treated you the same. The shit-eating grin and snarky comments that appeared at the beginning of freshman year never subduing. That was until one day, he did notice.

“You stink,” you say. And it’s true. He’s just come from lacrosse practice, your bedroom door kicked wide open and his gym bag dumped on your floor. His smelly socks leak from the opened zipper, wafting through the room with dangerous intent. The smile he shoots in your direction grips your heart, digging deep enough to send a thrill through your system. You swallow hard, gaze ripping from his rosebud lips. It settles on your laptop screen with tangible resignation, the sudden spike in your heart rate not completely lost on you.

“Nice to see you too, bestie,” Jeongguk returns, eagerly padding over to your bed. You hold out a leg to his intruding figure, halting him in his steps. From here you can see the sheen of sweat clinging to his golden skin, the muscles in his arm defined beneath the loose fabric of his practise shirt. There’s a strange heat forming in your gut, and you have to take in a small breath before you can let your gaze falter on his. His honey eyes are warm, the glittering in his gaze drawing you close. Even the damp mussed hair on his head has arranged itself into perfectly defined curls. They tumble into his face, crowning him in an innocence that tugs at your heart. There’s an itch in your fingertips. You wonder whether you're allowed to tuck them aside, away from obscuring his pretty eyes.

“Do not come on my bed smelling like the pits of a sewer, Jeon Jeongguk.” You say that instead, settling your mouth into a firm scowl. He whines in relation, swift hands yanking at the hem of his shirt.

“I showered at school! I don’t smell that much — you’re being over dramatic.” Your mattress dips under the weight of his knee but the foot that smacks into his chest prevents him from crawling any further into your space.

“And yet I can still smell you — not my fault you can’t. You reek, Jeon. Go take another shower before you even think of lying on my sheets.” Your laptop wavers precariously on your lap when Jeongguk clasps his large hands around your calves, gently shoving your foot off his chest. You hadn’t discerned how… Big his hands had gotten.

The corresponding flutter you feel in your tummy the moment that realisation strikes feels like imminent death.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go shower.”  Jeongguk sighs like you’re the one causing him an inconvenience, shifting off your bed. Your mouth is already open, a retort tipping off your tongue. But then he’s hauling his sweat-drenched shirt over his head, the moment so swift and fluid you don’t even note how your heart halts in your chest. It starts a second later before abruptly falling into cardiac arrest because your gaze lands on his chiselled chest. You never truly registered how buff Jeongguk was. You knew he worked out, the insane regime he’d concocted the only thing he could talk about for months on end. Coach had him doing some insane sets at the gym and coupled with his weekly lacrosse practises it rapidly added up. You knew he was somewhat of a brawny guy. But Jeongguk preferred to wear his old baggy sweats around you and didn’t put much effort into his wardrobe for school. If it was black and clean it was going on. The look was effortless, simple and understated like Jeongguk was. So nothing could ever have prepared you for this. Hard lines of muscles forming his abdomen, flexing at the slightest movement as he tosses his shirt to the ground, a tiny ruffle of his curls accompanying the action. He’s glorious, warm skin glowing as if the sun is trapped within it. Perhaps you blink, blinded by the vision before you. An Adonis at the foot of your bed, shorts tugged low enough to reveal the band of his underwear. And, to make matters worse, the sharp-angled lines that direct your gaze right to his crotch.

You don’t think about it. You can’t. Another hard swallow hits your throat as you rise, arm outstretched to whack him hard across the head, the desire spurring in your guts short-circuiting your brain.

“Ow! What the hell was that for.” The pout he hits with you sends a wave of heat to your cheeks. You respond by landing a rough punch to his brawny shoulder.

“Why are you getting naked in my room?” Your voice sounds like an entity outside of your body, head still not comprehending the naked teenage boy in front of you.

“You told me to go shower!” Jeongguk retorts.

“Your house is a five-minute walk away! What made you think I meant in my house?” He catches the next punch you throw at him. There’s a thrill that surges fast when his large hands enclose around your wrists, grip taut. You tumble into his arms with a sharp tug, your chest colliding into his firm one.

“We used to share baths as kids. Why can’t I use your shower?” he murmurs. His voice is soft, wrapping around you promptly, like poison settling in your system. You abhor the tremor sweeps through you.

“Cause that was when we were kids! Look at you now! You’re all — all — all —,” your gaze falters downwards, hitting the rise of his pecs. It doesn’t take much for him to spot the heat that floods your face, a smile tugging the corner of his lips upwards.

“I’m all what?” Jeongguk implores. He flexes one of his pecs for good measure, a tiny laugh floating from his mouth when he spots how fast your eyes flicker from his chest.

“You’re a dickhead,” you retort, ripping your hands from his hold. Jeongguk lets you go, but when you glance up, there's a caution in his eyes that makes your skin prickle. “Go use your bathroom, you dingus. Come back when you don't smell like a garbage can.”

“But why,” Jeongguk whines. “Your bathroom is right there — like right there. It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

“Get out of my house before I kick you in the balls, Guk.” For some reason, you poke at his chest, fingertip landing right between the dip of his defined pectoral muscles. His hand snatches yours before you can rip them away, head cocking to the side mischievously. You know you’ve fucked up the second that smile hits his lips, the grip on your hand a warning.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Jeon Jeongguk, you stupid bastard, you’ll end up infertile if I hit you the way I want to right now.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared.” He tenses his biceps on purpose, feigning a shiver at your empty threat. The quiver in your knees is betraying. “Like I couldn’t body slam you into this bed right now.” It’s like the light clicks in his head the moment the words drift from his tongue. You didn’t even get a chance to protest, a scream lodged in your throat as his arms swiftly enclosing around you, plucking you right off the bed as if you were a feather. He keeps you suspended for a moment, paying no heed to the pounding of your fists on his broad back, his shoulder digging right into your stomach before he flings you right back into the mattress.

“JEONGGUK!” If your laptop is broken you’re going to kill him. It’s as simple as that. He doesn’t give you time for recovery though, brain still whirring when his broad chest smacks into you. “Ow! What is wrong with you? Get off! Get off!”

The bastard giggles, smothering you under the weight of his bulky body, the mattress pressing hard into your back. You prod and pinch and punch until he grows tired of it, snatching up your wild fists with a quick hand. They hit the pillow over your head with a muted thud, arms stretched out as he shuffles over you. The movement has the material of his shorts bunching up at his crotch. You swear you don’t look, gaze shifting to the taut muscles of his stomach. But that’s worse, your thighs clamping together as heat blooms between them. You’re forced to settle on his face, a tiny whine escaping your lip as he traps you beneath him. But then you realise Jeongguk is not staring at your face, his honey eyes locked on the sway of your chest every time you squirm beneath him. You hadn’t thought about the shirt you’d yanked over your head when you’d gotten home today, picking it solely for the sun scorching outside. The heat had leaked into the house, warm enough for you to forgo one of your usual loose sweatshirts. But it’s a low cut, the rounds of your chest on display for all to see. Even when you lurch up, attempting to knee him in the groin, your chest bounces and his eyes follow, rose lips parted in thought. He catches your erratic leg with ease though, pinning you to the sheets effortlessly.

There’s a lot going on in your head, too much to sift through at the moment. But there’s no denying the fast flutter in your cunt, heat rippling through your nerves as you sit in a silence that feels suffocating. When bites his lip, you ignite. It feels like too much, too quick. A crack in the ice barrier between the two of you, the dam of unresolved emotions behind it threatening to break past and down you.

“Jeongguk…” You try, wafting through this sudden tension. He hums, a low sound that echoes deep inside of you. “What are you doing?” It’s innocent enough to allow the situation to dissipate, give the both of you a moment to gather yourself, sweep this under the rug and move on like it never happened.

He cocks his head instead, contemplating with a quick sneak of his tongue along his petal lips, still staring at your chest. “Uh, realising something.” He pauses like he doesn’t want to ask but question floats out like he can’t help himself. “When did your boobs get so huge?”

[storiesofsvu]

Hotel Woes

Alex Cabot x fem!reader Warnings: language. Covers the “only one bed” square of storiesofsvuoneyearbingo There will be a follow up/part 2 coming for this one too! It’s just a wee lil drabble

“Oh you can’t possibly be serious.” The complaint came from Alex before you’d even managed to get into the hotel room.

“What?” You asked, running a hand over your very tired face.

“There’s only one bed.” She groaned, dropping her purse into a chair.

“Honestly at this point I do not care, I’m tired enough I could sleep on the fucking floor.” You kicked off your heels, practically ripping your blazer off to recklessly toss in the direction of the laundry rack. “I need to shower airplane grime off me, in the meantime you can decide if you’re too pussy to share a bed or not.”

You and Alex were the two senior A.D.A’s currently sharing sex crimes, you’d moved in from homicide when you were still her junior, working together over the years. While you got along well enough you didn’t exactly spend time together outside of work and aside from the other’s preferred trial methods and the like, you didn’t know much about each other. This week, you’d had to fly out to Seattle for a conference and because the department was footing the bill, you knew you’d be sharing a hotel room, but hadn’t expected this.

And you hadn’t been kidding about being tired enough to sleep on the floor, between the blizzard raging in New York and high winds in Seattle you’d been sitting in the airport waiting on delay after delay after delay. Thanks to it being a work thing, you were expected to look the part, heels and a skirt suit didn’t exactly make anyone’s mood better when crammed in a tin box with not enough space to get comfortable, especially as you circled and waited for proper landing conditions.

When you were done with your lightning fast shower and changed into cozy pyjamas you exited the bathroom to find Alex finishing up her skin care routine, just about to brush her teeth. You trudged over to your bag to grab your own tooth brush as you spoke.

“You makin’ me sleep on the floor, or what?”

“No.” She half slurred before daintily spitting, “it’s late enough as is, we can try to sort this out in the morning.”

“Try not to karate kick me with you giraffe legs.”

“Wow. I can’t make any promises if you hog the covers.” She tossed back, dropping her toothbrush back into her toiletry bag before crossing to the bed. “If I set an alarm for seven is that good?”

“Too fucking early but yeah.” You grumbled, quickly brushing your teeth before flicking off the light, using the glow of Alex’s phone to find your way to the bed, slipping under the covers, hoping you were doing a decent job of giving her enough space.

*

You awoke with a start when someone slammed a door down the hallway from your room. While your body slightly jolted you didn’t open your eyes, wanting to hold onto your drowsiness, knowing you didn’t have very long to sleep that night.

You nuzzled deeper into the mattress, a soft scent of lilac filling your nostrils. That was when you realized the smell was Alex’s shampoo, not the detergent, and that her arm was loosely thrown around you. You tried to discreetly shift away from her and she grumbled softly, the arm tightening and pulling you closer to her. Then you felt her body stiffen as her eyes scrunched a minute before they cracked open and she winced at the sight of you awake.

“Sorry…” she half laughed, pulling her arm back into her own space.

“S’ok.” You mumbled, then laughed, “honestly it was kinda nice, been a long time since I’ve had a good cuddle sesh.”

“You’re not weirded out?”

“Nah. But my shoulder’s killing me, will ya let me roll over?” She chuckled and shoved at your shoulder so you could do as asked, her arm returning to wrap around your middle while she nuzzled in closer to you.

“Whatever you use for your shampoo smells amazing.” She murmured.

“Al?”

“Yeah?”

“We have to be up in like, an hour and a half, can we leave discussing my hair care for then?”

“Sorry.” She chuckled softly, giving your arm a gentle squeeze before she nestled into her pillow.

Honestly, even despite the shortened amount of time to rest, and the mid sleep interruption, it was one of the best sleeps either of you had had in months, and at least this way you wouldn’t have to hassle the poor front desk about changing rooms for the week.

__________ @charabs @detective-giggles @bisexualcrowley @natasha-danvers @ineedafinghug @veteranwerewolf95 @billiedeannovak @stardust-galaxies @laurenhope13 @randomthingssss @farahs-faeling @beccabarba @imlike-so-gaydude @thatesqcrush @altsvu @disneyfan624 @svulife-rl @svushots @gay-ass-bitch @lesbianspacecowboy @redlipstickandplaid @mspetey @wannabe-fic-reader @sarcasticmami @lawandorderimagines @Rwbyfan16 @gaylorrds @delphineecormierr @Venablemayfairgoode @whimsicallymad @oliviaswifey @Cloudymd @screenee @mysticfalls01 @nocreditinthestraightworld @littlegaybabe @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @enduringalexblake @denpine @ssaic-jareau @molllss @wosoimagines @snowsgay19 @solemnnova @wandas-wife

@yourtaletotell @Aprylrxse @cerberus-spectre

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 20

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

His apartment smells stale and dusty. His thrice weekly trips here to feed his fish are always quick and procedural; he hasn’t stopped to take in the state of the place in a while. A thick layer of dust covers most surfaces, his mattress is bare and there is no toilet paper in the bathroom. He sighs, frustrated and annoyed as he roots around in the closet for a set of sheets to make up the bed. He showers, remembering that his shower head is way too low for his tall frame, and misses Scully’s more luxurious setup.

He also, of course, misses Scully. He understands why she’s upset; he should have called, but the degree of her anger confuses him. When the X files reopened, he talked to her about the need to travel, and the potential for cases to disrupt their personal life. She said she understood, and they’ve worked through several hiccups already. So while he knew she’d be disappointed that he missed Thanksgiving and maybe even irritated at his lack of communication, he’d never anticipated being thrown out of her apartment.

He crawls into his bed, cold and lonely. They just both need a good night's sleep and this will blow over tomorrow, he’s sure. When he’s more well-rested, he’ll be able to explain, to help her understand.

In the morning, he feels a bit more clear-headed, but still decidedly off-balance; he needs to make things right with Scully. He packs up his things, feeds the fish, and drives back over to her apartment. He opens the door and finds the place quiet, the lights out. Something seems off, but he doesn’t immediately recognize what it is.

“Priscilla,” he calls, realizing that the cat hadn’t come to greet him at the door like she typically does.

He walks through to the bedroom, the bathroom, but there’s no sign of either of them. Back in the living room, he sees that the litter box is gone and his heart sinks. He goes back to the bedroom and throws open closets and drawers, checks the medicine cabinet. Scully’s overnight bag is gone, as is her toothbrush and the toiletries she uses daily. His heart starts racing, panic setting in at the idea that she’s left him, and taken his cat with her. This is worse than he’d initially thought, a lot worse.

He goes to the hallway and picks up the phone to try her cell, but it’s off. He tries her mother, who hasn’t spoken to her today. He tries Missy, who doesn’t answer. Not knowing what else to do, he calls Valerie.

“Hi, Will, good to hear from you,” she says, and he can hear the gurgle of her infant daughter in the background. Thankfully, he’d thought to call her a couple weeks ago and offer congratulations on her new arrival, so this phone call today won’t seem totally selfish.

“Hey, Val, I hope you and the baby are doing well,” he says, “I’m sorry to drop this on you, but I’m somewhat in need of advice.”

“Yikes, what’d you do?” she asks knowingly, and he hears her speak in hushed tones to her boyfriend as he takes the baby.

“I fucked up, Val. She’s gone,” he chokes out, tears constricting his throat.

Sitting heavily on the couch, he tells her about the X files reopening, about missing Thanksgiving, about Scully’s irrationally explosive reaction. She listens quietly, asking a few clarifying questions.

“I feel totally blindsided, Val. You and I were together when I was assigned to the X files before, and I had cases like this that took me away at odd times, but it wasn’t an issue. I don’t understand why it’s one now. I’m not sure which one of us is out of line here.”

“Wow, okay, where to start,” Valerie begins. “First of all, I think you’re both out of line. You are an epically huge asshole, Will, no question there, but taking your cat and disappearing is a bit much.”

He feels a pang of defensiveness for her saying something unflattering about Scully, but he pushes it down.

“Something else that strikes me,” she continues, “is your questionably accurate recollection of what our relationship was like when you were assigned to the X files.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, sitting up.

“Maybe I did a better job of hiding it than I thought, but I fucking hated that assignment, Will. I was relieved when it was shut down, but you were so upset I didn’t think it would be helpful for me to tell you as much at the time.”

“You hated it? Why? I always felt like you were supportive,” he asks, questioning his entire understanding of their relationship.

“I tried to be, but it sucked always coming second. I understood why it was so important to you in terms of trying to find out what happened to Samantha so I dealt with it, but it was kind of like the X files was the other woman in your life. I knew that if it came down to it and you had to choose, you’d choose her. It was really painful. I honestly think if they hadn’t been shut down, we probably would have broken up a lot sooner.”

He runs his free hand over his face. “Then what do I do? Quit the X files after I worked so hard to get them back? I haven’t felt this satisfied with work in years, I don’t want to have to do that.”

“I don’t think you need to quit, you just need to learn how to prioritize things differently. She needs to know she comes first.”

“That’s not how it works, Val, you know that. When a lead comes across my desk, I have to run it down. I have to go out, investigate. I have to find answers.”

“No, Will,” she says with a sympathetic sigh, “You don’t have to do that. You choose to. And you choose to do it at her expense. That’s exactly why she’s so upset. Even if in your mind it feels like you don’t have a choice, you do. That might mean missing out sometimes, passing on a case or not finding the answers. But you can’t have it both ways. You can put the X files first and be alone, or you can put her first and sometimes miss an opportunity to investigate the files.”

“Is it really that simple?” he asks flatly.

“It really is,” she answers. “The truth is, Will, that you may love those files, but they’ll never love you back. You’ll find yourself a lonely old man if you don’t get your priorities straight.”

He slumps down on the couch with a defeated sigh.

“Thanks, Val. I’m really grateful that I can talk to you about this,” he says earnestly.

“Happy to be of service,” she says lightly. “Let me tell you something else, Will,” she adds, “you better work this shit out before you have kids with her, because it gets twenty times harder.”

He chuffs a laugh, but the thought of having kids with Scully simultaneously makes him feel elated and terrified, because he’s not sure if he’s already messed it up too badly for that to be an option anymore.

———

She’s curled up on her side in the middle of Missy’s bed, Priscilla tucked against her belly and purring loudly.

Missy spends most of her time at John’s these days, so she offered her apartment as a place for Dana to crash, or hide out, or whatever it is that she’s doing. She’s honestly not sure, she just knows that she needs to be away from Mulder. To get space, to give it, to punish him, maybe all of those things. She wants him to hurt like she did, to not know where she is or when she’ll be back. She hopes that he fears she might be gone for good, though she knows she’s not. Taking Priscilla was just logical; having no idea when Mulder might come home she couldn’t very well leave her there to fend for herself. Knowing that it will add salt to the wound does give her some sick satisfaction, though.

The house phone rings and she lets it go, given that it’s not her apartment. The answering machine kicks on and Missy speaks to her as the message plays, telling her to pick up.

“Hello?” she answers, catching it just before Missy hangs up.

“Hey, Mulder is on his way over there,” Missy says breathlessly.

“What? Why?” she asks, not sure if she’s ready to see him.

“He showed up here, he’s been looking all over for you. He asked me if I knew where you were and I said no, but I’m a shitty liar, Sis.”

“Okay, I guess I have to talk to him sometime,” she answers, a sick feeling churning in her gut.

“Call me after, okay? Good luck.”

She relocates to the living room, not wanting this conversation to take place on Missy’s bed, and waits. The longer she waits, the more on edge she feels. When the knock finally comes, Priscilla startles and runs into the bathroom.

She stokes her own anger as she walks to the door, straightening her posture. She is mad, indignant, furious, ready to go into battle. That is, until she opens the door and sees his crumpled expression, his hooded eyes contrite and devastated. All the anger pours out through her heels, replaced by grief and fear. She feels her chin pucker, her nose burning as emotion wells in her throat.

“Scully,” he croaks out, and she steps forward, opening her arms to him. He folds against her like a rag doll, this big, strong man suddenly like putty. They make their way to the couch and he curls into her lap like a child, crying softly with a tortured grimace. She pets his hair, not offering any words of reassurance, but letting him know she’s there. He sits up a little, wrapping his arms around her rib cage and tucking his face into her neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he says in a harsh whisper, and her heart aches. She wants to forgive him, but sorry is not enough.

“I can’t live this way, Mulder,” she says against his shoulder, and he pulls back to look at her, not sure what she means. “I grew up watching my mother wait for my father to come home,” she explains. “Each time he didn’t write when he said he would, or call on a scheduled day, every time there was something about a navy ship in the news. We waited up, praying that he was okay, and it was torture. I swore that I would never put myself or my children in that position, and it’s a promise I intend to keep.”

His gaze drops away from her face and he nods sadly. “I didn’t understand, Scully, how to have both the X files and a relationship. I thought I was doing what had to be done, but I see now that I wasn’t putting you first, and I’m sorry. I’m going to do things differently, I promise. Please, give me another chance to get it right.”

He lifts his eyes to meet hers and she can see that he really means it, that he really understands. She nods, and he kisses her desperately; her lips, her cheeks, her ears, her hair. He kisses down her neck as he clings to her, his hands touching her back, her arms, her thighs.

“I was so scared, Scully,” he squeaks out between kisses. “I love you so much, and I was so afraid I ruined everything.”

He kisses the tears from her cheeks, finding her lips again as she grips the back of his neck, pushing her tongue into his mouth hungrily, needing him so much closer. He shifts to put his back against the couch, pulling her into his lap and gripping her hips, arching his pelvis up into her.

She’s overwhelmed with arousal, and love, and desperation. He pushes the hem of her shirt up and over her head, finding her braless, and sucks a nipple between his lips. She whimpers, slipping her hand down to rub her palm roughly over the bulge in his jeans and eliciting a deep moan from his throat. She stands suddenly, pulling down her cotton pants and panties, and he follows suit, standing just long enough to push his jeans and boxers down to his knees, sitting again as she climbs astride him. She impales herself on his erection, crying out in relief as they move together, foreheads resting against each other and their eyes locked as she flexes her hips forward and back, pleasure taking away all the hurt and pain.

When she closes her eyes to focus on the sensations, he brings his mouth to her ear, teasing at the lobe with his tongue and whispering to her, his thumb appearing against her clit and sending shockwaves down her legs.

“I love you so much. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, okay? You’re the only thing that matters.” His affirmations flood her with dopamine and she comes hard around him, the feeling extending to the tips of her fingers and turning her joints to jelly. He clutches her to him, finding his own release as he continues to make grand declarations of forever.

As they come down, he peppers her with kisses in the same way he’d started, desperation replaced with contentment. He pulls back a little to look at her.

“Will you come home?” he asks hopefully, and she nods with a soft smile.

“Don’t ever tell Missy we had sex on her couch,” she says, and they both laugh.

[ayellowcurtain]

Sander singing 'without you' (Mariah Carey)...not sad version...kinda like cute style...to robbe

Sander looks at his boyfriend, squeezing his hand, feeling how he moves with no or too much confidence, crossing his steps every time in the way that his hips hit Sander's constantly. Robbe is drunk, in such a good mood only alcohol can give you - or weed - and his happiness makes Sander happy, and soft, and even more gone, if that’s even possible.

It was a good day, spent outside with their friends, playing a bunch of random games they decided to play. Even Jana’s curiosity didn’t bother him. They didn’t have much time to get to know each other before she moved to New York, but she was quick to catch up, the alcohol also clearly getting rid of any shame she could have to ask the most intimate questions. Even Jens got more talkative when around her - which was all night long - and he was happy to ask his questions too.

Robbe laughed at them, trying to avoid the questions he didn’t want Sander to answer. He wouldn’t answer everything anyway, but it was cute to see Robbe dragging his words, always smiling, asking them to go find something else to do, or more interesting conversations to have. Sander knew the three of them were close some time ago, mostly when Jens and Jana were a thing, and so he was happy to tell her all about his plans of spending his life with Robbe, drunk or not.

The party started to die down, everyone finding somewhere to throw themselves to sit for the next few hours until they got sober enough to go home, or to another party, Sander asked. He was as nice as he could, asking Robbe if they could go, and Robbe nodded his head deeply, laughing with the movement, asking for kisses as he said, “Yes, let’s go home.”

The music at the party was okay, nothing that would stand out in Sander’s mind, but he’s very sure there was no Mariah Carey. His brain remembers the song, Sander doesn’t know how, but he knows it’s an old song, and he hasn’t heard it in the past few years, at least! So it’s weirdly endearing to hear Robbe singing it, like an afterthought, as they walk home and he swings their intertwined arms back and forth. The lyrics sound fitting though.

I can't live

If living is without you

I can't live

I can't give anymore

I can't live

If living is without you

I can't give

I can't give anymore

Robbe looks at him when he notices Sander staring, smiling as big as he can, his hair still wet from the sea, smelling like the beer someone spilled next to them at some point, mixed with the salt from the sea.

He lets go of his boyfriend’s hand to hold his waist firmly, grabbing his oversized shirt to see if it helps but he's struggling, Robbe is too loose to be guided.

So he does the second best thing: he stops and makes Robbe stop next to him, putting one arm behind his boyfriend's knees, hearing when Robbe laughs, his hand playing with the hair in the back of Sander's neck.

"What? Sander!" He sighs because Robbe is a little bit heavier than normal, that's how drunk he is, but he’s still light enough where Sander can carry him once they get the position right, Robbe’s arms always quick to hook around his neck.

"Come." Sander says when he finally manages to squeeze Robbe’s knees together over his arm, getting up, walking with Robbe in his arms.

Robbe laughs, kissing his cheek, whispering, "Yeah, come, but not like this."

Sander snorts, and rolls his eyes, carrying Robbe all the way they have left to their hotel, pushing the door open with his feet.

It seems like their group is the only people staying here this weekend so the person at the front desk doesn’t even care to look up when they burst inside. Robbe wraps his arms tighter around Sander’s neck, burying his face against it.

“You’re gonna fall asleep so fast...” Sander purrs, pressing his cheek against Robbe’s, not sure if he’s happy about how tired Robbe will get once he hits the bed or not.

“No way, I’m not.” Sander smiles, pulling Robbe even closer.

He’s been pretty vocal about all the things he wanted, so bad - his words, not Sander’s - to do when they were finally alone. And Sander wants to do all of them because he loves being with Robbe, doing anything with him. But Robbe is extremely drunk. He can’t even walk a straight line. Sander doubts he can do anything else. But he’ll gladly watch Robbe sleep for five minutes before he forces himself to go take a shower before joining his boyfriend in bed.

“Where are your keys, cutie?”

“No idea.”

Sander sighs because he doesn’t know where his keys are either. He’s sure he put it inside his pocket in his jacket but then he took his jacket off, then his shirt, and now there’s no card in any pocket.

Robbe whines when Sander puts him down, standing up against the wall next to their door, with one arm next to Robbe in case he loses his balance again.

“Found it!” Sander grabs the card in the back pocket of his still wet jeans. “Shit, I hope it still works.”

He rubs it against his somewhat drier shirt, hoping it’ll do the trick. Robbe squeezes his hand around Sander’s wrist, and he looks at him, Robbe trying to pull him closer. “Marry me.”

Sander snorts, kissing him gently, “Yes.”

“Marry me.” Robbe complains, frowning and pulling him closer. “Marry me, Sander!” He laughs, letting his body rest against Robbe’s, quickly putting his arms around Sander’s neck again.

“Fuck yes, Robin!” He kisses Robbe’s face, finally unlocking their bedroom, dragging them to the side until Robbe slips inside, letting go of him to regain his balance, turning around, trying to kick off his shoes already.

Sander closes the door, and puts the card on the table, right next to his phone so they won’t lose it again. Robbe tries to take his jacket off by pulling it over his head even though the jacket is completely open. Sander smiles as he watches him struggle for a moment, standing in front of Robbe, his head hiding somewhere in between his jacket and shirt, also going up as he tries to get his arms free, at least. Sander pulls his jacket, and Robbe waits, letting Sander get rid of his jacket and shirt at once.

“Fuck, come to bed…” He says like he wasn’t struggling with his clothes a second ago, dragging his feet against the dark carpet while trying to open his jeans, pushing them down his skinny legs. Sander snorts, getting rid of his own shirt, and jeans as he watches Robbe jump on one feet while trying to pull his jeans all the way out of one feet, then the other.

He turns all the lights off, and lets Robbe settle under the heavy comforter first, closing the curtains, watching his boyfriend from the bathroom while he brushes his teeth. Robbe already found his perfect spot, and he’s trying to watch Sander too, a soft smile just on the corners of his lips. He adjusts his head on the pillow, and by the way he sighs quietly, blinking slowly, Sander knows Robbe is thinking about how much he loves this pillow, how soft it is.

Robbe looks over his shoulder, using his last few seconds of energy to pull Sander’s pillow to be right next to his, almost over it, and Sander laughs, washing his mouth, putting his toothbrush next to Robbe’s too.

He turns around, sad that he can’t watch Robbe while he’s using the bathroom, selfishly already missing him. Robbe is asleep when he comes back a minute later, and it’s no surprise to Sander, but still, he wishes he could at least give him a kiss goodnight.

He lies next to Robbe and pulls his body closer, hugging him tight, but not too tight it’ll make him let go of him during the night.

[egyptsblackrose]

Dancing with Strangers

There will be one more part to this story after this then I think this story is complete. I have other projects in the works and other passions I want to devote some time to. Hope your all doing well and please enjoy.

No actual smut in this one, but reference to intimacy probably still 18+ though so minors please do not read

Part 4- https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/652018121062989824/dancing-with-strangers-more-filth-for-this-story

Part 5-

Your senses slowly brought you out of your peaceful, heavy slumber, though your mind was not ready to open your eyes just yet. First thing you felt was comfort, soft, warm, heavy sheets keeping you safe and cozy. When you focused more, however, you realised that part of your arm that was not in your little cocoon, was radiating the kind of heat only the sunlight could bring. So it was clearly day time, maybe even afternoon. No matter, you did’t have any classes today, that was why you agreed to going out to the clubs with your friends.

Your friends… You gasped and sat up with a jolt, only to groan and hiss. Rubbing your lower stomach and back.

Oh… right… you had gone home with not just one but TWO strangers and had a THREESOME!

Your cheeks set on fire as the events of last night played out in your head. The pleasure, the desire. More had happened after they had each taken a turn with you. Kakashi had been painfully hard again watching your brains get fucked out by Gojo, so you had rolled over and sucked him off lazily, taking your time to tease. That had lead to the boys getting revenge, Satoru holding your hands hostage as he fucked your mouth, while Hatake ravaged you again, harder and more forceful till you squirted for him as well.

Then you had been carried to the shower, Kakashi tenderly, lovingly holding you bridal style in the walk in shower as Gojo massaged your entire body with wonderful smelling shower gel. Only your moans had turned the men on again. Gojo took you this time, having you pressed against the wall with him on his knees, Hatake standing and receiving another blow job from you. Kakashi had to wash your face and hair when he tried to pull out too late, but you had been quick to defend him when Satoru’s teasing went too far.

By the time you were all dried, your legs had stopped working and you could barely keep your eyes open, the sun was peaking through the curtains gently to hint as the beginning of sunrise, and you all settled into bed. Never before had you been so comfortable, resting your head against someone’s chest while being spooned from behind, wearing a really comfy large hoodie and boxer shorts for bed while the two men only wore old shorts.

But glancing around at the bed, you found your companions gone and the bed cold. Nibbling on your bottom lip in thought, you quickly did a body check. Toes were wiggling; but it took effort and there was still a little pain, your stomach felt a little uncomfortable and sore but nothing you couldn’t handle. You smelled good- to your relief- though you needed to brush your teeth immediately. Your hair felt smooth and smelled great as well, your make up had clearly been removed, your cloths were at the end of the bed; freshly washed and folded.

You had clearly been well taken care of, their after care game was obviously on par with their A game. And yet the niggling doubt set into your mind.

Why take such good care of you and then leave you alone? And there was no sounds in the whole apartment from what you could hear. Had they left? There was no note from what you could see. Maybe they’d gone out or to work and hoped you’d be gone by the time they got back. Why else leave your cloths close by, in obvious view and clean to wear. This was their hint to get out. They’d had their fun, so had you, now it was time to leave.

The thought made you a lot sadder than you would like to admit. But then again, the two men were clearly experienced, your friends had even said so last night, that’s why they encouraged you to go through with it. You were not the first girl they did this too, and chances are you weren’t the last. How many other girls out there had woken up exactly like this? With a pout and painful groan, you slipped out of bed and started getting changed on wobbly legs.

This was for the best anyway, you told yourself. They were policemen, they were successful men, there was TWO of them. And you were just a Uni student, you weren’t even half way through your final year, you had yet to successfully land an interview. You didn’t even know if you wanted to stay in Japan after you graduated, if you wanted to graduate here or go back home to your family… There was still so much you needed to figure out, you were just beginning. And successful men like that would want a successful woman, or women rather.

Once presentable, borrowing some mouth wash from the bathroom seen as you did not have your own toothbrush, you took a few deep breaths to sike yourself up. The fact that not just one, but TWO god level men had chosen you to spend the night with them meant something, even if it was short lived. THEY had picked YOU, called you beautiful, whispered sweet nothings into your ear, taken care of you. And now it would be a nice memory, and you could wear this win like a badge of honour as you leave. Just think of how many women would kill to be you.

Opening the bedroom door, your heart sank a little more at not seeing even one of the handsome men. A little part of you had hoped that maybe they were up, and that little part of you made your eyes scan the living room and kitchen desperately for a note or a sign that you hadn’t been left behind. But all you found was a clock above the cooker that read 10:20 am.

Hu… earlier than you thought, but not an unpleasant surprise.

Thankfully the door was unlock-able from the inside, but you weren’t sure about the elevator, seen as they had used a key card to activate it last night. It seemed luck was on your side, however, because pressing the down button meant the elevator was automatically called to you, opened, and a frigging bell boy was waiting with a smile and a polite nod. How rich are these guys?!

“Ground floor Miss?” The young man asked. You nodded numbly, stepping in and moved to the back of the elevator. It seemed the new face could tell you didn’t want to talk, so the journey down was gratefully a silent one as you stared at the floor. How many young women has this man escorted down and out of the building for these two men?

You frowned at yourself. Why were you so hung up on that? You had no right to the answer and no right to even ask the question. They weren’t yours. You weren’t theirs. And it didn’t even matter. But you couldn’t free yourself from the feeling of being used.

Raising your head at the ding, as soon as the doors started opening you dashed out, wanting to quickly get away from this place and move on. The quicker this…mind blowing experience became a fond memory, the better.

Following your memory from last night of being in the taxi, you knew that you had passed your street on the way, and it didn’t seem like such a long ways away. You started walking without hesitation, head down as you messaged your friends that you were on the way home. They replied excitedly, clearly wanting to talk about the events of last night, but you quickly shut them down. Miku seemed to get the hint immediately that you weren’t feeling like yourself and something was wrong, promising movies and home made goodies from her mum who was visiting.

The thought made you smile. Miku and Sakura’s parents had basically adopted you as soon as you got back to Japan, all four insisting on introducing you to as many of their friends and neighbours as possible, promising you and your worried parents that they were only a call away. Miku’s mother was particularly affectionate, a little unusual for Japanese culture, but she often cured your home sickness with gentle hugs and head pats, pinching your cheeks and promising a nice warm home cooked meal and a few wise words. And such parental affections was too good to pass up right now.

Raising your head with slightly watery eyes, you quickened your pace. Only for your wrist to be grabbed in a unyielding hold.

“Y/N!”

“Beautiful?”

The voices made to freeze, eyes widening as you slowly turned and gasped. It was them.

“Kakashi? Gojo?” Your voice was nothing but a whisper from how surprised you were.

“Baby, why are you leaving already?” Hatake asked worriedly, frown in place.

Satoru wagged a disapproving figure at you. “I thought I said we were staying in bed today to have fun.”

“But…” Swallowing thickly, you turned more towards them, wide eyed and confused. “I woke up in bed alone, you were both gone, my cloths were clean and folded beside me…I thought you wanted to me to go…”

“What?!” Gojo yelled in an exaggerated tone, quickly moving to wrap his arms around you from behind and rubbing his face into your hair. “What a silly little head our beautiful girl has Kakashi!”

“Y/N…” Hatake soothed quickly, seeing you frown at Gojo. “Baby I wasn’t there when you woke up because I left to do a little shop of things me and Gojo were out of, and also pick you up a toothbrush for when you woke up. And our idiot here wasn’t with you because I sent him to pick up some breakfast for us all. You said at the club that your favourite thing to wake up to was _____, so we thought we’d treat you. We both went so we could be back as fast as possible, we didn’t think you would wake up so soon, let alone think we wanted you to go. So imagine our surprise when we pull into our usual parking spot across the street and see a figure and outfit all to familiar walking away from us? We were worried you decided that YOU wanted to go.”

The words sunk in slowly and made your eyes water more, especially when you heard Kakashi use the term ‘OUR idiot’ when referring to Gojo. He was including you in their bond. “So… you weren’t trying to give me the hint to leave so you wouldn’t have to see me?”

“Beautiful, are you stupid?” Kakashi sent a glare to Gojo, but the other white haired male continued. “Last night was amazing, and I said that this was the beginning. Do I seem the type to lie to you beautiful? I don’t just say that to anyone, in fact I don’t think I’ve ever said it before. Me and Kakashi want to do so much more to you, with you, and not just in the bedroom…and not just sexual things either.”

The clear implication and teasing was not lost on you, making your cheeks light up a rosy pink. Hatake chuckled sweetly, stroking your cheek as he stepped a little closer. “There’s that blush we love. Y/N, I won’t lie to you. We have had one night stands before, we have had times where we either take the girl home or ask her personally to leave, but neither me or Gojo want this to be one of those times. We don’t want a one night stand with you, your different, special. We actually like you, as a person, and we’d like to see if this…if WE could be something.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. Where…where they SERIOUS? These beautiful, amazing men wanted you in their lives? “But why?”

Kakashi frowned. “Why?”

“Yeah. Why? Why me?”

Gojo chuckled, nuzzling your neck to draw your attention back to him. “Because Kakashi’s right, your different. Most women are flirty with us cause they want some fun. YOU were flirty with us cause WE were fun. You listened to us, you didn’t try to be something or someone your not, you were very real. And the real you is awesome. And we want to know that real you more.”

“Y/N,” Hatake’s hand, that was still on your wrist, moved down to take your hand, stroking the back of it soothingly. “Gojo and I have a strange relationship, we know that. We are more like brothers than friends, and there’s never been any attraction between us. But we have only ever had a functioning, healthy relationship when the two of us put in the effort. We are not perfect, but together we are. And for a long time we have looked for someone who can complete us, who can make us both happy. It’s too early to tell if that’s you, but surely even you had to feel how RIGHT everything felt last night.”

Flashes of charming smiles from the club took over your mind, how easy the flow of conversation was, how natural it felt to have both their hands on you. You had been saddened so much to think that something so good was already over. But here they were, telling you it didn’t have to be. Looking into those amazing dark grey and blue eyes of the two white haired men, you could see how they desperately did not want you to go.

“Ok… we can see where this goes. But, I want to try do this properly, and I want this to be open between the three of us.” Both men looked at each other in confusion, so you continued. “If something happened with just one of you while the other is away, I don’t want it causing fights, I also want to spend time with you, and not just doing…intimate stuff. Dates, together as a three or just as a duo, actually getting to know one another, honesty, proper communication. All of it.” You said firmly. “When I devote myself to a relationship, I do it whole heartedly, and I expect the same from my partner. Just because there’s two of you, doesn’t mean you can put in half the effort. I’m mostly looking at you Satoru.”

The blue eyed man gasped on horror, hand over his heart like it was clutching a fatal wound. “Beautiful, you think I wont treat you like a princess?”

“I don’t want to be treat like a princess.” You shot back firmly, but smiled softly. “I want you to treat me as your equal, like your friend, like your partner, because to me, that’s what a relationship is. I don’t want to be babied or spoilt, I just want to be treat fairly and honestly. And if I find out either of you cheated on me…just remember that BOTH my parents are amazing lawyers and I have another country I can easily move to.” The three of you laughed easily, smiling at each other with warm smiles as you each earliest that this was the start of something. Something beautiful.

Part 6- https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/655347185273241600/dancing-with-strangers-this-is-by-far-the-longest

[bqstqnbruin]

Rinks and rouxes

Ok we’re ignoring so many things here as we normally do when I drop a fic. So first, we’re ignoring the fact that the plural of roux is roux and not rouxes like I have in the title because it sounds weird with English. We’re ignoring typos because no matter how many times I try to catch them all, I never do. We’re ignoring that this is being posted at like three am as well. And then there has to be something else that I’m forgetting but whatever.

This is the longest fic I’ve written as a one off fic so I hope you like this! This is for the lovely @slapshot-to-the-heart​ for the @hockeynetwork​ winter gift exchange (sorry I didn’t get this to you sooner but I was a mess this semester with grad school oop).

Enjoy!

_________________________

You were excited for the first few days in a while where you didn’t have to wake up to an alarm. A few mornings to sleep in, the sunshine pouring in through the windows, Quinn’s snoring filling the room in the bed next to yours. The boys had rented a cabin for New Years, having a rare few days off before and after the holiday to mess around somewhere outside of Vancouver. 

You were not expecting to be woken up three mornings in a row to a smoke alarm sounding in the kitchen because whoever made breakfast burnt something again. 

You sit up, groaning, rubbing your eyes. “Do you think they caught something on fire or do you think we can risk staying in bed?” 

Quinn sits up with a yawn, shaking his head. Before he can say anything, the alarm stops, yelling coming from the kitchen. “I think we should stay up here in case someone gets killed. Don’t wanna be a witness.”

The two of you laugh, the yells getting louder from the kitchen as the smoke alarm sounds again. “You guys make so much money and yet you insist on almost burning the house down every meal,” you say, watching Quinn get out of his bed, no shirt on. You tried not to stare at your best friend, but, fuck, seeing every inch of his torso just there, you were failing hard at not looking.

You grew up with Brock, getting introduced to his teammates shortly after moving to Vancouver for school, hitting it off with Quinn incredibly fast. To say that you had a crush on him was probably an understatement, falling hard and falling fast for the boy no matter how much you were convinced he didn’t feel the same about you. You figured whatever feelings you had would pass eventually. 

But that was three years ago. The feelings had not faded. 

And now, the two of you were sharing a room in this cabin, praying that what you smelled was not an actual fire coming from the kitchen. And he was just there, walking around your room without a shirt. 

“Y/N?” Quinn calls from the bathroom, pulling you out of whatever fantasy you were about to dive into. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“Who do you think burnt the food this time?” 

You laugh, trying to remember who the guys decided was cooking that morning, your mind completely forgetting about whatever thirsty feelings you had coming on with Quinn right there. “I think Jake was supposed to do something but Elias didn’t trust him.” 

“I wouldn’t trust either of them to make us food.” he says, a cocky tone dripping in his voice.

“You act like you could do better when we both know you set off the alarm the first morning,” you chirp back, earning a scoff from him. 

His phone starts buzzing on the nightstand between your beds, nearly falling off the small table. “Want me to get that?” 

“Yeah, what is it?” Quinn yells over the water running from the sink.

You pick up the phone, your heart dropping immediately. “You have a new match! From Tinder!” you say, fake cheeriness dripping in your tone. “I didn’t know you were on Tinder?” 

You hear him laugh, the water shutting off. “The guys thought I seemed lonely so they made me an account. It’s not like I ever use it.” 

“Hm. See. Here’s the thing,” you start, handing him his phone as he approaches, plopping down on your bed to probably look at the new match, “You don’t get matches on Tinder unless you both swipe right, which means you had to have been using it.” He shrugs, not looking up from his phone. “I didn’t know you just wanted hook ups,” you let out, trying to hide the pain in your voice with a teasing tone. If he wanted to hook up, that would mean he wasn’t interested in a relationship, which meant he didn’t like you the way you like him. Why were you even thinking about that? Why were you letting yourself spiral?

“I do not. And before you say, ‘well that’s what Tinder is for,’ because I know you and I know that was going to be the next thing out of your mouth,” Quinn says, a smirk on his face as you roll your eyes at him, slightly blushing because he was right, “I definitely want a relationship but the boys thought this would be a good start.” You swear you saw his eyes flick down to your lips for a moment, leaning in ever so slightly. You had to be imagining this, your still crush on him causing you to make things up in your mind. 

“Quinn! Y/N!” interrupts you from the other side of your thankfully locked door, as you  practically launch yourself off your bed to see Brock on the other side. “I didn’t interrupt anything did I?” he asks, a stupid smirk on your face causing heat to run to your cheeks.

“No,” you say, even though you were sure your face was giving everything away. 

“We made breakfast,” he says, moving aside and gesturing for the two of you to join what sounded like the rest of the team down in the kitchen. 

“Are you sure about that? The smoke alarm says otherwise,” Quinn chirps, throwing a shirt on as he takes your hand and pushes past Brock. You could hear the sharp inhale that came from Brock, knowing that you would be hearing about this later. You can’t help but smile as the boys start to chirp each other, your heart racing until Quinn drops your hand, the smell of pancakes and burnt toast hitting your nose as soon as the three of you get to the kitchen. “So who fucked up this morning?” Quinn asks, trying to find plates for the two of you.

“Jake,” the guys chorus, forcing a laugh out of you and Quinn while you watch the teammate in question turn bright red.

“It’s not my fault!” he tries to defend himself.

“You didn’t even just burn it, you caught it on fire,” Thatcher yells through a mouthful of what you hoped was not the toast. 

“Do you even see any food for us to eat?” you whisper to Quinn, trying to look over the boys shoulders for anything that seemed edible. 

Quinn shakes his head, rolling his eyes as the boys continue. “Well whose idea was it to have me make toast?” Jake asks.

“We thought you were smart enough to use the toaster and not hold the bread over the open flame on the stove,” Petey mumbles, you and Quinn trying to hold back your laughter. 

“So, where is the food that Y/N and I can eat?” Quinn asks, trying to get the boys’ attention.

“I think we ate it all,” Brock says, a smirk on his face.

“Then why did you come get us?” you ask him, clearly annoyed with him.

“We had to make sure you weren’t doing anything inappropriate behind that locked door of yours,” Brock says, the rest of the guys acting like children at the thought.

Quinn scoffs, walking towards the stairs, “Ok, one, no one talks like that, two, Y/N and I are going out for breakfast, anyone who wants to come, be ready in the next 15 minutes.” 

You watch him leave, praying that someone else would get up to go get ready. “Looks like you’ve gotta go get ready for your breakfast date with your boy,” Brock teases, the boys now laughing at you. You hated that your feelings for Quinn were no secret. At least, it seems like it was known to everyone but him, but why did that matter?

“It is not a date,” you start, only to hear Jake yell, “yes it is,” behind you. You turn to him, pointing at him. “Remember that I played soccer growing up so I can kick you really hard if I have to,” you start, the smirk on his face changing to slight terror, “so if burning that toast didn’t kill you, I can.” 

You turn on your heels to go get ready, even more nervous about going out with Quinn since Brock had to go and call it a date when Jake yells, “I didn’t mean to burn the toast!” 

“You still did it, though,” you yell down, shutting the door behind you. You were panicked now, completely freaking out. As much as you told yourself it wasn’t a date, Brock’s annoying voice still rang through your ears, ‘your breakfast date with your boy.’ Fuck Brock. You start to change, realizing that Quinn could come out of the bathroom at any minute and see you half naked, more panic washing over you. You set your phone on the bed, grabbing clothes and try to figure out where to change. “Hey, Q? Can I get in the bathroom to change?” 

He opens the door, no shirt on yet again. This was not fair. You weren’t even sure how you ended up having to share a room with him in the first place, let alone what you did to have him walk around shirtless every day. You practically run into the bathroom before you can do something stupid, shutting the door and leaning against it. You let out a deep sigh, saying, “Fuck,” in the breath, cursing who evers idea it was the bring you here and put you in this room instead of in one with Brock, or in one all on your own. 

You shake your head of the thoughts of whatever he was doing out there. He was your friend, just like Brock was. Nothing more, nothing less. And you needed to be ready soon if you wanted to get breakfast since the idiots downstairs burned any semblance of what would be edible. You try to force any thoughts of Quinn from your mind, pulling on leggings and a sweater.

“Hey, Y/N?” you hear Quinn call, “You’re getting texts.”

You open the door, starting to brush your teeth as you call to him, “You know my passcode, who are they from?”

“Brock.” 

You stop brushing, terror and an urge to murder him rushing through you. “What do they say?” you ask him, thankful you had your toothbrush in your mouth to cover up the anger that would otherwise be taking over your tone.

“‘We all know you two are going to date,’” he reads, “and ‘If you don’t kiss him tonight, I will.’” You were officially going to kill Brock. “Who are you going to date?”

You position yourself so you can see his reflection in the mirror of the bathroom. He was almost pouting, his eyebrows knit together in frustration. He wasn’t mad about those texts, was he? He didn’t know they were about him, right? “Uh, just this guy Brock and I know from home. He was joking about inviting him here tonight,” you lie to him, hoping he would buy it. He nods, scrunching his face up. “You know he’s not coming, right? I mean, he’d have to get here from Minnesota.” 

He nods again, handing you your phone as you come out of the bathroom, letting you send a quick death threat text to Brock. “You ready?”

“Just need a coat,” you tell him. He takes your hand, leading you back down the stairs. You had to pass the kitchen to get out to the cars, passing the guys with your hand in Quinn’s. 

Quinn stops without warning, you crashing into him in surprise. The guys gaze went to your hand in his, pretty much ignoring his words as he said, “So is anyone coming with us?” No one says anything, Brocks mouth falling open as he readjusts his hand in yours, clearly holding it tighter. The look on his face told you that you would not be living this down, forcing a mental note to turn your phone off as soon as you get in the car. “Awesome, text us if you need anything,” Quinn says, dragging you over to the door. 

“Ok, your mood changed,” you point out, putting on your coat and practically running to catch up with Quinn at the car. 

“No, it didn’t,” he snaps, getting in the car. You climb into the passenger seat next to him, looking at him stare at the steering wheel in front of him. He turns to look at you, his mouth in a thin line, “The boys are just annoying me lately, I don’t know.” You cock your eyebrow, telling him that you didn’t believe him. “Ok, fine,” he says, starting the car up, “They made me get on Tinder when I have no reason being on it and seeing Brock’s texts to you made me think about the texts they send to me about-” he rambles, cutting himself off. He looks out the window, turning his attention to the road in front of you.

“About who?” you ask. The boys wouldn’t tell him that you liked him, would they? They would have no reason to be trying to egg him on about asking you out, right? Then again, if Brock would do that to you, who’s to say that he wouldn’t also do it to his teammates who he easily had a closer relationship with and spent more time with. 

“About the girls on Tinder,” he breathes out, you also letting the breath you had no idea you were holding in. Part of you wished he said you. At least that way you could get a read on what he thought about the idea of you two being together. If it was disgust then you could put the whole crush to rest. 

“I mean, if it’s Brock, just point out that the only women in his life are his dogs, me, and his family,” you try to reassure him, pulling a laugh from his lips. “But he would also probably say that he’s fine with it, so you might have to think of something better.” 

Quinn nods, a small smile on his face. You just wanted to know what was really going on inside his head, because what he told you was definitely not it. It’s not like you could pressure him about it, though. He wouldn’t answer you if you tried to get more out of him, so what was the point? The two of you drive the rest of the way in silence, finally finding a diner that you could find a parking spot in front of and walk in. At this point, both of you were starving, already praying that they had the classic breakfast food you could order as soon as the server would come over to you. 

You were seated in a booth by the window, looking out across the street to a small pond that was now covered with ice thanks to the cold Vancouver winter. It had to be thick enough to withstand the weight, because you could see a who you assumed to be a father with his two little girls skating around on the ice. They looked like they were showing him some sort of figuring skating routine, the smaller girl raising her hands over her head in a ‘ta-da’ fashion, the dad lifting her off the ice and into the air, spinning her around before kissing her cheek and putting her back down to chase her sister. You couldn’t help but smile, completely forgetting about the menu in front of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Quinn asks, reaching across the table to touch your hand. 

You barely even notice the warmth of his hand on yours, for some reason feeling all too comfortable by his touch, but you were lost in the memory and thoughts the scene on the pond had brought up. “Have you ever seen the movie ‘Holiday in Handcuffs’ with Mario Lopez and Melissa Joan Hart?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word, a smile on his face as he gets ready to listen to you.

“So, it is your classic tale of Stockholm Syndrome,” you say, both of you laughing, “But basically, she kidnaps him to impress her parents that she has this great boyfriend compared to her perfect brother and sister and they fall in love. There’s this one scene where they’re standing out on the back porch and she’s talking about how one Christmas Eve she had this big figure skating recital but it got cancelled because of a snow storm, so her dad made a rink in the backyard so she could perform it for them. Mario Lopez’s character surprises her the next morning by making an ice rink so they could skate around together.” 

You look over at Quinn, not even realizing that you had been watching the dad and his daughters the entire time. He had this soft smile on his face, for a moment forgetting that you two were out in public until the waitress came over to take your order. 

“Tell me more about this ice rink,” he asks you once she leaves. 

All you can really do is shrug. “I don’t know. Him making the ice rink just seemed like such a romantic gesture. If a guy did that for me, I think I would melt,” you tell him. 

“Just like the ice would,” Quinn jokes, leaning back as the waitress comes with your food.

“I hated that. I hated that so much,” you joke, both of you laughing as your phone buzzes on the table, interrupting whatever moment may or may not have been there. You sigh, seeing Brock’s name pop up yet again. He had to get tired of this constant teasing about you and Quinn at some point, right?

“Brock again?”

You throw your head back, letting out a groan that you hoped only Quinn could hear. “Since Jake burnt the toast this morning, he is now no longer allowed to make dinner tonight.”

“Tell them to order something then, we can pick it up?” 

“Nope. Brock told the guys about the mac and cheese that I used to make when we were in high school and now they all want it. Something tells me there is virtually nothing in that house that lends itself to being mac and cheese.” Brock keeps sending more and more texts about how your ‘date’ is going with all the hand holding you two had to be doing, prompting none other than an eye roll from you as you shove your phone in your coat pocket. “So now I need to get to the store at some point.”

Quinn looks at the window, watching the father pick up his daughters and carry them to his car. He smiles, turning back to you, “When we’re done, do you think Brock can take you? I have to take care of something.”

“Uh, sure?” you say in response, texting Brock to pick you up from the diner. Quinn’s mood shifted, becoming much more animated than he had been earlier. He kept looking between you and the frozen pond, the smile never leaving his face. 

He doesn’t stop talking the rest of breakfast, paying and leaving as soon as Brock pulls up to take you to the store. “So how was the date?” Brock smirks as soon as your door is closed, watching Quinn practically sprint to his car and drive off. 

“If you keep this up then you aren’t going to see the New Year,” you threaten. 

“We all know you two are going to get together, we just don’t know why you haven’t acted on it.”

“What was at the house from the recipe I sent you?” you ask him, praying that he’ll drop the subject.

“Nothing and you aren’t dodging this subject.” 

“You don’t even have milk?” 

“You saw what breakfast was this morning. And since you won’t admit the obvious here, we have a plan for tonight.” 

Nothing good could come of those words. You knew Brock well enough to know that any plan he came up with would end in disaster. And his teammates were just an extension of his idiocy. “Please don’t. If you love me at all you will not do anything,” you beg him.

“I never said I was going to do anything,” he teases. You glare at him, only resulting in him laughing at you as he pulls into a grocery store. 

You let out a deep breath, knowing today was going to be a long day. “Get flour and salt and then whatever else you guys want for food. You’re paying,” you tell him, practically running into the store just to get away from him. There was no way you were going to spend the entire time being heckled about the crush you didn’t want to have in the first place. It’s not like it was reciprocated, anyway. You could feel your phone buzzing in your pocket, dreading what Brock was texting you. ‘Do me a favor: grab your favorite wine and those sugar cookies you like.’ came from Jake. 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t surprised it came from him instead of Quinn, but who were you to judge? ‘Can I ask why?’

‘Just want to make tonight special ;)’ 

Don’t like that. 

You shake it off, debating on even getting what he asked you for. Why would Jake ask you to get your favorite stuff? That seemed so out of character for him, at least in his interactions with you. You grab what you need for the mac and cheese, not even sure how much you should make considering how many boys were there in the house. You wander off to find Brock, praying that he actually got what you need. “This is not where you find flour.” He turns around, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, including the wine and cookies Jake had texted you to grab. “When I said flour this is not what I meant. What are you doing?”

“Jake wanted me to make sure I got these for you,” he tells you, handing them over to you.

You stare at him for a minute, your face scrunched. This had to be part of whatever scheme they were planning to get you and Quinn together. No part of you wanted their meddling, but you knew that the more you tried to fight it, the worse it was going to end up for you. “How long would I be in jail if I just killed you all?” 

“A few life sentences depending on how many murders you committed,” he shrugs, walking away from you. 

You didn’t even want to talk to him at this point, pissed off at the fact that they were all scheming against your wishes. You grab what you need, including some stuff for baking, figuring the longer you kept yourself busy, the less likely you were to to harm the idiots you were spending time with. 

“You bought apple cider and cream cheese for mac and cheese?” Brock questions, holding up the gallon at check out.

“Apple cider no, one of the cream cheeses, yes. You wanted me to make mac and cheese, let me make mac and cheese. I was gonna make apple cider cupcakes for everyone.” 

The two of you get back to the house, which was strangely quiet considering how many of the guys were there. You start getting to work on the cupcakes, figuring it was too early to start dinner. You get out everything the real owners of the house had to bake with, figuring that you could focus on this instead of whatever bullshit was going to face you that night. 

You get lost in baking, measuring and mixing when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. You didn’t care who it was, as long as it wasn’t Brock.

“Need help?”

You look up to see Jake leaning against the counter, his head resting in his hand. “After you caught the toast on fire this morning, I don’t think so.” 

The two of you laugh, falling into a conversation. Of all of Brock’s teammates, you probably had spent the least amount of time with Jake. It was nice; he was weirdly easy to talk to, somewhat flirty if you were reading him right. If he was showing interest in you when Quinn wasn’t, who cared? 

“Can I at least help with the frosting? I can’t burn that,” he begs, coming up right next to you. He juts out his bottom lip, batting his eyes as you stand there with the bowl, knowing that you didn’t want to whip the frosting yourself. 

You let out a deep sigh, handing him the whisk, “Fine. Get the cream cheese soft and then add in that vanilla and the powdered sugar.” He gets to work, you hopping up to sit on the counter next to him while the cupcakes are in the oven. “Why did you ask me to get my favorite stuff at the store?” 

He shrugs, a smirk on his face while he continues to whip the cream cheese. “You put up with us teasing you about Quinn so I figured you could use something that you enjoyed.” You can’t help but smile at his words, not even getting the chance to say anything before he continues, “So who are you kissing tonight?”

“What?”

“It’s New Years Eve. Who are you kissing at midnight?” 

You sit up a little straighter at his question, not even thinking about it before. “I don’t know.”

Jake stops whisking, the sound of another set of footsteps coming down the stairs. “Would you mind if I kissed you then?” You sit there for a moment, shocked. He knew you liked Quinn, right? You start to stammer out an answer, none of it coherent when he turns his attention from you to whoever just came into the kitchen. “Unless there was someone else Y/N should be kissing tonight, Quinn?” 

You twist around to see Quinn turning red, looking at you sitting so close to Jake, your leg obviously touching his side with the way you were twisted. “I don’t know why you would be asking me that,” he seethes, going over to the now beeping oven. “Want me to take these out?”

You nod, hopping off the counter to check if they were done, putting the first batch on top of the stove to cool, the next batch in to bake. “So, Y/N. You and me kissing at midnight, then?” 

You stand up, your back towards both of them. If Quinn had wanted to kiss you, then he would have said something. “I guess so, Jake,” you say, going back over to him to help him with the frosting. 

Quinn stands there, not sure what to do. There was no way you could be kissing his teammate tonight. He opens his phone, storming off before you could get the chance to ask him what was wrong. 

Jake eventually leaves you once the cupcakes are done, leaving you to start the mac and cheese the boys wanted. You start making the roux when you hear the front door slam, someone’s overly obnoxious laugh floating through the house. Whoever it was came into the kitchen, startling you while you were starting the melt down the cubes of cream cheese.

“Hi!” comes from behind you, an overly peppy high pitched voice, a skinny redhead appearing in the doorway. “I’m Katie!” 

You had no idea who this was, looking past her to see Quinn behind the two of you, nervous and practically shaking. “She’s my date for tonight.” 

“Oh!” you let out, turning the burner down and putting down the whisk. “I had no idea you were bringing a date! I’m Y/N,” you tell her, feeling less and less bad about agreeing to kiss Jake tonight. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, practically on top of you. 

“Making the roux for the mac and cheese tonight.”

“Rue? I thought that was when you made someone regret something. You know, like in iCarly?”

You turn to her, doing everything in your power to not burst out laughing at her reference. You swear you could hear Quinn muttering something under his breath, his head in his hands as he leaned against the counter. “That’s r-u-e, I’m making a r-o-u-x. It’s the base for the cheese part of mac and cheese.” She cocks her head to the side, looking between you and the pot on the stove. “You know, I think some of the guys are out on the porch with some beer, you should go join them,” you suggest. 

“Ok!’ she says, bouncing away. 

You turn to Quinn, your eyes wide and a mocking smile covering your face. “Well she’s just adorable. Where did you find her?” You knew you were being petty, but no part of you cared.

“Tinder,” Quinn mumbles. 

“Come here,” you tell him, handing him a spoon to start stirring the pasta. “Why did you find a date all of a sudden?” 

“Well who am I supposed to kiss at midnight now that you’re kissing Jake?” he snaps, some of the pasta water flying away from you.

“Brock?” you joke, earning a scoff from him. “Who did you intend on kissing? Me?”

He stares at the pot of water, shaking his head, “I guess I’m not now.” He puts the spoon down, leaving you stunned at the stove while he goes out with the rest of the guys. There was no way he wanted to kiss you that night. You couldn’t believe it. There was no way. You shake off the thought, finishing up the mac and cheese as the guys start coming in to ask where the food was. 

Everyone sits around the table like they were this morning, Katie talking everyone’s ear off about something you weren’t paying attention to. Elias was sitting right next to her, looking like he was plotting her murder with every passing second. If she went missing that night, he was the first one you were going to blame. 

“Hey,” Jake nudges you in the shoulder, taking you away from the trance you set yourself into, “You ok?”

“Yeah, just kinda tired. Someone woke me up with the smoke alarm again,” you tease, pulling a laugh from him. “I think I’m just going to go up stairs to mine and Quinn’s room.” You get up, Jake the only one seeming to notice that you were leaving the rest of the group. 

You must have actually fallen asleep, awaken by someone pounding on the other side of the door. “It’s open,” you say, fumbling around to turn on the light. 

Quinn opens the door slowly, poking his head in like he was afraid to see you. “It’s almost midnight. Are you gonna join?”

You nod, getting up to follow him down the stairs. The two of you reach the door to the backyard, Quinn stopping in front of you, bending down to grab the pair of ice skates that were by the door. “You’ll need these,” he smiles, taking your hand.

“What is this?” you ask when he opens the door, the guys playing a pick up game on a sheet of ice on the lawn. 

“You said you thought it was romantic when a guy made his girl an ice rink in her back yard. So I made one for you,” he says, looking down at his feet, his face turning red.

“What? I have so many questions.”

He laughs, sitting down to put his own pair of skates on, you following suit. “Katie is with Jake right now, probably doing things that we don’t want to know about. Turns out the guys used Jake as a ploy to get me to finally ask you out, so when I figured that out, I asked Katie over so Jake could have someone to occupy him.”

“You want to ask me out?” you ask, not hiding the smile on your face.

“Oh, you are so oblivious,” he groans, a smile on his face, as well. “Of course I do.” 

He picks you up to step on the ice, off to the side where the guys weren’t playing. Brock gets the puck past Thatcher, his hands in the air in celebration when Elias yells, “15 seconds!” 

The guys start counting down to the new year, your heart racing with each second as Quinn’s hands wrap around your waist. “Would you rather have me or Jake?”

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

“You really have to ask?”

“Seven! Six! Five!”

“Yes.”

“Four! Three! Two!”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, Quinn’s face centimeters from yours, your foreheads pressed against each other. “You.”

“One!” the guys around you yell once Quinn’s lips connect with yours, everything around you melting away. 

“Happy new year, Y/N,” he whispers once he pulls away, stealing another quick kiss before the guys can pull you away from each other.

“Happy new year, Quinn.” 

[applsauss]

Letters | War-tober #18

Description: “Read it to me?” When you speak your voice cracks with disuse.

Fandom: Band of Brothers


Pairing: Ronald Speirs/Reader

Word Count: 1.9k+

Warning(s): None.

      “We ain’t get any letters for a while now…” O’Keefe breaks the tepid silence without thought, as if he doesn’t spend every moment not filled with gunfire spiraling with dread. 

“Nope,” Perconte says around his toothbrush. 

You squint up at the white sun, then close your eyes and chase the colors dancing behind your eyelids. It is a dull pain that takes the edge off the darker thoughts prowling the corners of your mind. The acrid smelling smoke rising from the cigarette in your right hand fills your nose, and you flick it so the ashes crumble, then are taken by the breeze.

Germany is peaceful. Spring is melting the frigid countryside bit by bit and when the wind picks up, you don’t shiver anymore. It is the type of cold like shade on a summer day, not something bone chilling and desperate--a reminder of the dead.

The birches planted along the road sway while the countryside takes another long breath, their leaves flashing silver under the pale blue sky, and you watch this marvel of nature without comment, utterly still. 

"You think they'll come in soon?" O’Keefe asks. 

“Nope,” Perconte responds again.

"Well, I hope they do," O'Keefe barrels on with an optimistic lilt to his voice. 

This is the final straw for Perconte. He pulls the toothbrush from his mouth and braces his forearm on his knee. "Why? Got a dame back home to get ahold of? O'Reilly?" 

You let out a sharp breath from your nose. No matter how much the replacements bother you, they always seem to drive Perconte the furthest up the wall. Everyone's lost their fuses since Toccoa, the Krauts have gone around the circle with scissors halving them. Discipline helped you survive Sobel, but you've traded that, along with your patience, in for the reflexes and nerves honed only in battle. 

You are not so different that you are unrecognisable as that paratrooper who spent that night of nights praying to god for mercy over the English Channel, but you are changed, like that person you were before was nothing more than a cast, and now the common Easy Company soldier is poured and forged of iron. 

O'Keefe seems to consider Perconte's question, then after a moment he fumbles over his answer. "...Yes?"

Perconte turns sharply towards you. "Now that's a lie if I ever heard one." 

You are tired, the memory of the fear you felt in that flying fortress enough to drag your heart down until it is barely beating. You bring the cigarette dangling loosely from your fingers up to your lips and take a drag to try and calm down. "Leave the kid alone, Perco," you mumble. 

Annoying as he is, O'Keefe is right about one thing. You haven't gotten a letter for a very long time. Not just because they haven't been delivered, though. Nobody's writing anymore--not even your parents. It's not that they don't love you, but you think that they've already finished mourning you. 

Everyone back home, they've made peace with never seeing you again. Whether you die today or live tomorrow, it wouldn't make a difference to them because you'd still be gone. They've moved on, not for any fault of yours or theirs, it's simply been too long since they've seen your face. 

This is just one more thing that drives the wedge between the common Easy Company soldier and replacements deeper. There is this deep, ugly resentment that seizes your heart and fills your mouth when you watch those boys walk around as if they are still loved, while you know in your body that you are not. 

What’s worse than that is that the funny thing the men have been saying is right. Germany is the best you've had it this whole war--better than France, or England or even your own Toccoa. Germany is the closest you've felt to home since you stepped foot on the train that dragged you away from it. 

Perconte clicks his tongue at you, then sticks his toothbrush back into his mouth, the bristles nearly flat from use. "Take that fuckin' thing outta your mouth," you grouse. 

"Not everyone wants to rot their teeth with them cigarettes," he defends halfheartedly. Squabbling is a comfortable pastime you've honed. 

"Perco,” you shoot back, “you're one annoying sunnuvabitch." 

"He's not that bad!" O'Keefe is quick to jump to Perconte's defense, and the sound of his voice makes annoyance pinch in your gut. 

Both you and Perconte round on O’Keefe at the same moment. "Shut up!" 

Nobody shuts up. O'Keefe keeps talking about home like it's down the road, Perco keeps sniping at him, his sharp words flying right over the replacement's head, and you take another drag from your cigarette, then stare down at the mud between your boots. Fuck, you wish you had a letter to read. 

Gravel crunches under foreign feet, and all three of you glance up as Captain Speirs walks past in that dangerous, prowling way he does. He doesn't look at you, but the sight of him churns your stomach--just not in the same way it makes Perco gulp nervously. Everyone in Easy has gotten a little more comfortable around Speirs (Bar Talbert, who tries to compare him to Winters every chance he gets, only to disappoint himself), but the air still changes when he's near. It is the shocking cold feeling of being alert. 

You wait till Speirs disappears from sight, then put your cigarette out in the dirt and pocket it, fed up with your current company. “I’m gonna go sniff around for some food,” you say before standing abruptly and stalking off in the same direction you last saw Speirs. 

---

He's in your thoughts more often than not. 

When you're staring down at the puppy chow the cooks serve you, when you're shivering under your thin blanket watching the stars, when you’re washing your face in a bucket of dirty water, when you're pressed up against your fellow soldier being shelled to bits, more often than not he's in your thoughts. 

Speirs’ face is leagues better than the last one you were stuck on (your neighbor's while he waved you off to war, two years older than you and a college boy, too smart for you anyways).

"Sergeant." You nearly jump out of your skin when Speirs' voice rings out from the dark alley to your left. He steps into the light, emerging from the liquid darkness like he is born from the obscurity. 

You startle for a moment, your hand settled over your stuttering heart, then you close your eyes. "Sir." 

Speirs hums quietly and says your name then, cradles it in his mouth before the affection bleeds through the syllables and your chest expands with warm breath and something else--some emotion entirely too strong for you to name. 

There is a delicateness to his features that seemed foreign until you traced it for the first time with your fingers, learned that he tastes of the same liquor you and your pals pass around the fire. 

Now when you think of Speirs, of that low camber of his voice, of his dark eyes as he watches you, his long eyelashes and the bow of his lips, there is no danger. You are as familiar with him as you are yourself. 

“Ron,” you utter, voice unchecked.

---

In your memories, it is morning. The winter sun is struggling to peak over the horizon and the dawn is a solemn blue-gray, as if it is afraid to break the silence. You are afraid to break the silence as well, as you pull the covers off your naked legs and take in your first breaths of wakefulness. 

The radiators have no such qualms. It is so quiet you can hear the house whispering with each breath it takes, and then they click on all at once and the house is filled with the sound of that comforting rumble, a promise of warmth.

You make your way through the house, bare feet sticking to the cold hardwood floor, and you hear your father in the kitchen, fussing with the coffee pot. There is something sacred in the mundane, in the everyday. This moment in time will live with you forever.

---

You spoon the warm beans into your mouth and close your eyes. Eating this meager dinner feels better than anything ever has before after two days without, but there is an exhaustion that sits right behind your eyes now--always. 

“We’ve got it better here than we’ve had it anywhere else. Isn’t it kind of bullshit?” Luz gripes from beside you. 

You are sitting at the top of the steps of some shop front, leaning against the awning. Luz and Johnny are cramped in beside you, and Cobb, Liebgott, Malarkey and Jancovek are sitting below you. Liebgott is resting his back against your shins, you can feel the warmth of him through your pants and when he shifts, his shoulder blades knock against your knees. 

You don’t pay much attention to anything said after that. The night is turning dark and the silver clouds obscure the stars from sight. Faintly you wonder if the Germans feel the same way you do, or maybe they’re more upset because now they are fighting in their own country. 

“Hey,” Liebgott says suddenly, shifting so your legs move with his weight. “Any of yous got letters to read?” 

The question makes your heart twist painfully. You’ve lost your appetite. 

---

Despite how hard you fight it, when given a moment of respite your thoughts, without fail, turn homeward. You are no longer in Germany, aware of krauts or guns and bullets, but you are a child and the smell of food cooking in the kitchen fills your nose. You are a teenager tripping over the shoes in front of the door, late once again to meet with your friends. 

You are unaware of the world, laying on the hardwood floor with stripes of sunlight shaped by the windows across your bare skin. The window is open, the breeze smells like baked asphalt and grass. A dog is barking. The leaves on the tree in your frontyard shimmer and flash like scales. 

Your mother calls your name. 

Your father laughs. 

Speirs sighs, and you blink your eyes, suddenly staring at the cracked ceiling of someone else’s childhood bedroom. 

Night falls quicker than you’re used to in this part of the world. Candlelight bounces off a pile of silver in the corner and is alight in Ron’s dark eyes. 

He is sitting up, back against the headboard, the blankets around his waist as he stares at a letter he received today. 

You huddle into the quilt, curled up in your side. You trace the lines of his face with your eyes before your attention drops to the letter. There is a bitterness in your mouth you bite back. A loneliness--a longing you cannot control. 

Home. 

You think of your home.

“Read it to me?” When you speak your voice cracks with disuse. You clear your throat before repeating the question once more, only with less confidence.

Ron’s eyes flick to you and he regards you for a long moment before his eyes soften with something like empathy, something like love--and maybe those two things are in practice, the same.

He clears his throat and begins narrating the letter from his mother without much inflection, though in just hearing the kind words of a mother you can pretend to feel the love of one. And with that you close your eyes and slowly, slowly drift to sleep to the sound of Ron’s voice filling the gentle darkness, traveling out the window and into the night--warm like candlelight and soft like the shade of a tree in springtime.

Masterlist | Posting Schedule | War-tober Prompts

[bisexual-inuyasha]

The Hook

Prompt: “Tell me to stop touching you.” “No.”

Chapter One: Meeting

Ling was supposed to be meeting his future husband. Not right now, but soon. Far too soon.

When he was a child, before his mother had unveiled the curse of his lineage, he had dreamed of love. He had dreamed of sweet arms around his shoulders. He had dreamed of his love’s hair tickling his nose while they laid under the Xing stars and fell asleep.

And now his heart was breaking.

And maybe that was why he was one bottle down on the sweet wine, shirt loose and feet bare in the gardens. His vision blurred, only a little, but that made it easier to pretend the white flowers in the arches were stars. But no amount of drunken stupor could turn alone into not alone.

Inside the palace was a feast. People chattered on without him, somehow not bothering to find him in his own party. So far away but close enough he could still hear the band’s music warbling through the night air. It hadn’t been difficult at all to slip a bottle into his jacket and disappear through the back doors.

He should have grabbed two bottles, he thought. “Maybe I can go back in and leave again.”

“Not a fan of this kind of thing?”

The voice came from somewhere above him. He didn’t feel like turning his head to see who it was. “What?”

“Do you usually make a habit of slipping away and drinking yourself stupid, or is today an exception?” A foot nudged his, the sensation of hard leather unpleasant against his skin. “I don’t think your new husband will approve.”

“Oh, shut up.” Ling closed his eyes. He didn’t recognize the voice. Whoever it was could fuck off. “If you tell on me, I’ll just run away and then what? You’ll look like the guy who ruined the first royal marriage in Xing in almost a hundred years.”

Which was only because the last emperor had married when he was barely more than a child and then not died until he was so decrepit as to be near dust. Still, so few remembered the last wedding that all of Xing was going wild for the chance to celebrate.

“I don’t envy you.” The voice got a lot closer. “Do you have more?”

Ling sighed. The empty bottle waved around, his grip tight on the neck to ensure he didn’t drop it on his head. “No. All empty.”

“Do you want more?” A clinking sounded beside him as the bottle was suddenly gone. “Or do you think you’ll get sick?”

“I am still engaged?”

“Unless the bastard drops dead of a heart attack.”

Ling could see bright blond hair, glowing dully gold in the lamplight. “Well, then. Please, give me more to drink.”

“So polite for an emperor.”

“Politeness is a whole language, and I am fluent.” Ling struggled to push himself up. “I’m only impolite to people I really like.”

“You just told me to shut up.” The blond chuckled.

“And you brought more wine. I obviously have excellent skills of perception.” Ling grabbed the bottle and greedily drank a mouthful.

The stranger only laughed again.

Ling liked the sound of it. He looked at the stranger, struggling to focus. These weren’t exactly small bottles of wine. The man was pretty.

“Thanks, though the last person to call me pretty was a lot smaller than you.” The person took a long, loud drink. Ling hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he didn’t regret it.

“I’m not going to remember you in the morning, you know.” Ling wiped his arm across his eyes. “In case you’re trying to get some kind of favor.”

The man got quiet, his face suddenly stern. “I’m not trying to get anything from you. You just looked so… scared. When you went outside.”

Ling felt the tears gathering. Why should he care? Why should it matter to him if this stranger saw him cry? An arm wound around his shoulders and Ling cried into a warm chest.

“I’m Edward.” The bottle was pressed back into his hand. “I’m from Xerxes. Or was, I guess.”

Ling thought the name Edward sounded familiar. And if it sounded familiar to him… from Xerxes? He was too drunk to really think it through, but he had a feeling that Edward from Xerxes wasn’t just some guy. “Ed from Xerxes. Do you want to lay down with me?”

“You’re way too drunk for all that.” Ed’s arm swung away from his shoulder. Ling groaned and grabbed the arm again.

“Not like that.” Ling flung himself back, and the stranger Ed followed. “Just lay and look at the stars.”

“Those are flowers,” Ed said but it was too late. Ling was already asleep.

--

He woke up the next morning with a headache that threatened to split his face in two. His mouth was dry. Drool dried on his chin. Someone was moving just outside his view. “Lan Fan?”

“Yes?” His best friend was busy not looking at him.

“How bad did it go last night?”

“Grandfather found you asleep in the garden.” She bit her lip.

“Was I alone?” He had the shape of a memory. Of a person, kind and warm and pretty.

She burned red. She gestured on the chair beside his bed. “You were alone, but.”

A red jacket lay across the back. It was well crafted. Ling got the impression it was also very soft. Bits of grass stuck to the sleeves. “This was covering me?”

“Yes. You were clutching it quite possessively.” She hesitated. “Did… Did anything happen?”

“If I say yes, do I get to not get married?”

“Unfortunately, Sire, I think not.” She reached over and brushed his hair away from his eyes, placing a firm kiss against his forehead. “Though, the fact you didn’t turn into a mess tells me enough.”

Ling rubbed at his eyes. He yawned and tried to ignore the anxiety swelling in his chest. “Well, I guess we best get the day started.”

All his insides felt tangled and wrong. A sour taste permeated his mouth. He swung his feet over the edge of his bed, thumping his feet against the floor. The smooth wood was cold and grounding. He felt a little less wobbly now.

He ran his hand over the jacket, brushing off bits of grass from the sleeves. A lavish dining hall full of people, all there to celebrate his engagement, and only a single person sought him out. He struggled to remember the stranger’s face or his voice or anything. All he could remember was being so alone, and then not, wanting to watch the stars fade into morning. And then nothing.

“Lan Fan, do you know who this belongs to?” Ling picked the jacket up, slid it over his shoulders. It was too small.

“I don’t, Sire.” She chewed on his cheek, a habit she had when she wanted to say something but was too nervous.

“Don’t worry, I’m not. Expecting anything.” He sighed and laid the jacket back onto his chair. “I understand my duty to Xing.”

The words grated against his mouth like nails. He scrubbed the inside of his mouth with a toothbrush. Lan Fan finished fiddling with his breakfast, which he was certainly not touching, and left him to get organized for the day.

He needed to bathe. His hair was filled with small bits of twigs and grass. “Ugh.”

He didn’t have anywhere to be too early this morning. The advisors had assumed he’d be worn out from his party and would need time to recover. They were fully right, of course. Just not for the reason they’d assumed.

He poured perfume and salt into his tub, filling it with the hottest water he could stand. And he spent the next hour scrubbing the sweat and dirt and sick-sweet smell of wine from his body and his hair. Try as he might, he couldn’t scrub himself free of even the vague memories of last night.

“Hm. Red jacket, huh?” He glanced at the chair. It was a nice jacket. Surely whoever was missing it would want it back. And he owed them some kind of thanks for keeping him company. Right? “I’m sure someone knows who you belong to.”

He sat in the bath until it was cool and the bubbles had disappeared. The smell of sandalwood and fire still hung around the room, but his stomach had settled not long after he’d crawled into the water.

Mind made up, Ling pulled a simple white shirt over his head, loose and cool, and shimmied into a simple pair of dark pants. His skin felt raw, everything too sensitive and overstimulated. A dull throbbing ached behind his eyes. Pulling the brush through his hair threatened to throw him into a migraine, so he didn’t risk tying his hair back. He lay back on the bed again for who knows how long, mind drifting through what he was meant to do now and what his options really were.

The late afternoon sun was red, hovering just above setting. Ling had wasted a whole day of his freedom locked away in his room. He’d have to shake himself out of this. He gave himself a full body shake, in each of his limbs and through his hair, imagining all of this feeling falling off his body like water. His mother had taught him that technique, and usually it worked.

Maybe not so well today. Still. He grabbed the jacket from the chair, taking a chance to really look it over. Bright red, finely crafted. Mostly just a rectangle with a long, ruched sleeve holding it together at either end. The fabric was soft, woven. Stitched, very carefully, into the back was the Xerxian lion.

A memory floated up through the haze of last night. It was still soft all around the edges, not quite set, but enough that Ling thought he could at least test it out. Someone had told him they were from Xerxes… or used to be… Someone named Ed. Well, everyone from the party would still be here tonight. A Xingese engagement celebration lasted for a full week. In a usual situation, it would be a week where he and his lover did not see each other, so that they might have a chance to dedicate themselves to their friends and their families, and allow anticipation to grow for the day they saw each other again.

For Ling, the engagement party would end, and he would meet this Amestrian for the first time. From there, he was expected to be united with his husband. And his husband with him.

But already, Ling was getting the shit end of this deal. His husband had chosen him. Ling had been advised that this was a wise match--his future husband’s military strength was impressive, and the man was said to be handsome, if a bit gruff. The advisors had outlined how a marriage of this type would confirm Ling’s rule--no one would be able to challenge his proclamations any more. Not without risking the weight of the Amestrian military crushing them.

It wasn’t how Ling wanted to rule. A people loyal under threat were not loyal at all. But the clans still fought, day to day. And the people were distrustful of him and his youth. The Amestrian he was meant to be marrying was supposed to be older, experienced. It made Ling’s skin crawl.

He’d gone through hell to get here. He’d rather be miserable than let all the lives he took and all the things Lan Fan had endured go to waste. So he’d agreed. Like a man with his neck in the noose, he’d agreed.

Now, though. Now his fingers buzzed with the feel of the fabric. He hadn’t bothered to put on shoes yet. With any luck he’d be mistaken for one of the many guests around and his guards would leave him alone. If he only kept his face out of view.

He didn’t know why he was so interested in whoever owned this jacket. It wouldn’t matter. And if he was right, it would only make it worse.

He began in the west wing, sidling up behind one of his housekeepers who was nosily dusting a very dustless vase. He assumed her diligence had very little to do with the state of his Palace and several-greats-grandfather’s priceless pottery and everything to do with the very loud and unsavory sounds coming from the room behind the vase. “It’s not unusual for people to pair up at these kinds of shindigs, you know.”

Ling kept his voice low, his presence unassuming. She jumped anyway, tossing the duster in her hand clear over his head. It was quite a feat, considering he was at least a foot and half taller than her. She was mousy and plump, every bit the picture of the nosy old woman. “Sire!”

“Well, hello there. You seem quite,” he glanced pointedly at the gleaming vase, “committed to your duties. Would you mind telling me if you recognize this?”

She took one glance at the red jacket and her face relaxed. “Oh, that’s just the Amestrian alchemist's uniform.”

Ling frowned. He would have noticed that. “Are you sure? Look here, it has this lion on the back of it.”

She barely glanced back at it. “It’s been customized. But I just washed about a dozen of those. You can see here how the sleeves have been taken in, so as not to smudge the chalk.”

Ling frowned. “So, is there a Xerxian alchemist in the Amestrian alchemists program?”

“I’m sorry, Sire. Not that I know of.” She eyed the jacket again. “I can take that for you, if you’d like. It needs a good washing.”

Ling pulled it away just before she was able to grab it. He winked at her. Her lined cheeks turned bright red. The jacket flung casually over his shoulder, and he walked quickly away from her. “No, I’d like to return it myself.”

By the time he found someone else to ask, someone who wasn’t a housekeeper or cook or any other nosy body, the sun was sinking. He was nearly out of time. Dinner was starting soon, and he’d have to be dressed and suitable for addressing the people. So he was less smooth this time, when he finally stopped someone who looked not at all familiar. “Do you know whose this is?”

Immediately, he sensed danger. The person he asked grinned, their eyes way too wide and excited to be a casual reaction. Instinctively he pulled the jacket back to his chest. “Yeah, you know. I do. Hold on.”

The person turned back towards the room they’d been coming out of. “Oh, Ed! Someone has something of yours. He’s handsome, too.”

“Al, I swear to God if you’re fucking with me--”

And Ling suddenly had another memory as the golden haired man stuck his face out the door. “You are pretty.”

And then the door slammed in his face. Like, painfully. He rubbed his nose, feeling underneath for blood. Maybe it would bruise.

The door inched open, and Ling saw a still grinning Al. “Sorry about that. He’s not used to people calling him pretty. I’ll send him right out.”

Ling wasn’t standing around for long before the man returned. He covered his nose and held out the jacket. “You left this.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to remember me.” The man scowled.

“I assume that’s why you left a clue behind?”

“You were completely shitfaced.” The scowl deepened. “I couldn’t just leave you there, uncovered.”

“I get it, you felt sorry for me. I didn’t become Emperor of Xing by getting embarrassed by stuff like that.” Ling ran his hands through his hair. “Would you like to go to dinner with me? I want to repay you for your kindness.”

Al was watching them both with a grin stretched across their face. “Your kindness, Ed.”

“Do they usually act like this?” He wasn’t sure if he was meant to laugh or if he was being laughed at.

“Yes, they do. When it’s me, at least.” Ed rubbed his hand over his face. “Well, I guess. Let’s go.”

Ling looked down at his clothes. “I’m not wearing shoes.”

“Yeah, you should take care of that.” Ed’s scowl was maybe just permanently fixed there. Was it possible Ling was making a mistake?

He’d just opened his mouth to tell Ed that he wasn’t required to eat dinner with him, if he didn’t want. Sometimes that happened too--people assumed when he asked something, that it wasn’t a real question. So he’d stopped asking for things, usually, unless it was an order. Or he was talking to Lan Fan.

Ed waved him off before he could speak, reaching for his jacket. “So, are you ok?”

Ling’s mouth snapped shut. He hadn’t expected that. “What?”

“Are you ok?” Ed gave him a worried look. “You seemed pretty messed up last night. I mean, by the time I found you.”

“I’m doing better.” Ling lied.

“That’s good to know.” Ed shrugged his jacket back on. “I don’t know how often I can get away with sneaking out to the garden with you and drinking ourselves senseless.”

Ling blushed. “Ok, well, you know. You don’t have to remind me.”

“Apparently you remembered all on your own.” Ed shook his head, his blond braid swinging behind him. “So, are you going to change, or are you planning a soft rebellion?”

A soft rebellion sounded nice. Ling did not consider his bare feet to be a soft rebellion. “I’ll be stopping by my room, briefly. Feel free to follow me if you like.”

Ling had meant it as a teasing, assuming that he’d meet Ed in the dining hall. Yet, when he headed down the hallway that led to his rooms, Ed followed behind, ticking off artifacts and paintings on his fingers. The run of his fingertips against the wall sounded unusual.

“Are you wearing… Metal gloves?” Ling paused, listening more closely.

“No, actually. The opposite.” Ed tapped his fingers purposefully on the wall. It made a loud, satisfying tinking sound “Wanna see?”

Ling quirked a brow. “See your hands?”

“Well, hand.” Ed wiggled his fingers on his right hand, a thin white glove covering whatever was making the metallic sound against Ling’s walls. Carefully, one finger at a time, Ed took the gloves off to reveal a metal hand. “See, I’m wearing cloth gloves. What you heard was me.”

Ling moved closer, nearly touching Ed’s fingertips before he caught himself. “Is it ok if I touch it?”

“I--uh, yeah? Most people just do.” Ed rubbed the back of his head with his other hand. “Thanks for asking.”

The gratitude surprised him. “It’s your hand. I wouldn’t be happy if someone just grabbed my hand without warning.”

Ed’s face split into a grin. “You know, you’re right.”

Ling shook his head, placing his hand gently against the metal. Cool, jagged edges pressed back against his palm. “Can you feel my hand?”

He didn’t look up to see if Ed responded. He brushed the tips of the metal caps with his fingertips. They weren’t sharp, like he’d expected. And the oval plate meant to be the base of the thumb was smooth, polished nearly naked by use. It was art, Ling thought to himself. He pressed his hand against Ed’s once more. Art in a more real way than Ling had ever seen--art of a person to a degree he’d never been able to accomplish. His fingers stretched out beyond the edge of the metal, his palm just a smidge wider. “My hands are bigger than yours.”

Ed coughed and pulled his hand back. “You’re... I didn’t expect you to be that interested. Usually it’s, kind of like a. Like a party trick, you know?”

“Are you nervous?” Ling had gotten too close. He stepped back and turned on his heel. “Your arm is beautiful.”

“People don’t usually have an opinion on it.” Ed frowned. “Well, unless they’re automail mechanics, but then it’s nothing like that.”

Ling laughed. “Then what do people usually say?”

Ed considered for a moment. “Nothing. They usually are surprised that I've got a metal arm, say something about how I’m an inspiration or something, and then we move on. Automail mechanics usually go all gaga and ask me for Winry’s number.”

They’d made their way to Ling’s rooms. “Do you feel like an inspiration?”

“No. Can’t say I do.” Ed tapped his fingers. “I have to say, this is an unusual conversation. Let’s change the subject.”

So Ling did. “Well, I’d best get changed. You’re welcome to come in.”

Ed followed him, quietly. Ling flitted around the room, grabbing the most comfortable, passable clothes he could get away with that night. His room still smelled of sandalwood and soap. It was a pleasant smell but heavy and perfumy in a way that made him self conscious. He glanced back after pulling his shirt off to see Ed rustling through his papers on his desk.

“Did you do these?” Ed didn’t touch Ling’s work. Instead he hovered over them, nose nearly touching the charcoal. “No wonder you called my arm art. You probably see art in a lot of things.”

Ling scrambled over to the papers, quickly placing himself between Ed and the desk. “You are an explorer, aren’t you? Ha.”

Hastily, he stacked the papers and shoved them into a drawer.

“What, you don’t like them?”

Ling groaned and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to get into how he felt about his art. He went to rub his hand over his face but flinched as his hand bumped against his bruised nose. “Ow.”

Ed scowled more harshly than Ling had seen him scowl so far. His non-metal hand reached towards Ling’s face. Ling flinched on instinct. But Ed’s touch was gentle as he traced over the light bruise on Ling’s nose.

“I’m sorry about that. You caught me off guard. I didn’t expect you to remember anything.” His thumb pushed a little too hard on the bridge of Ling’s nose and Ling hissed in pain. “I used to be able to help with stuff like this. Nowadays, I’m useless.”

“It’s just a bruise. Don’t be so dramatic.” Ling covered his nose with his hand. It was a mistake--it just hurt again.

“Jeez, no need to get all embarrassed. I’m the dumbass that slammed a door in your face.”

“You were, weren’t you?” Ling hummed, tapping his finger against his chin. “I guess that means you owe me.”

“I don’t do just any kind of favor.” Ed crossed his arms and stood defiantly straight. The pose reminded Ling of a small bird puffing out its chest. “What do you want me to do?”

“Model for me. Just real quick. Your arm, I’ve never seen anything like it. Not up close anyway.” Ling picked up a charcoal left on his desk. “All the tarnishing in the nooks and crannies, all the smooth polish of well used parts. It’s so unique to you--to the actions you’ve taken and the places you’ve been.”

Ed deflated sheepishly. “Oh, that’s all. Ok, then. I mean, I don’t get it really. It’s just automail.”

Ling grinned. “I’ll show you, after I’ve sketched it out.”

Ed looked uncomfortable at first. Then, Ling nudged his shirt sleeve up until the full bottom half of the automail was exposed. Carefully, Ling arranged Ed’s arm to catch the light, to show off all the worn angles. As he sketched, arranged, sketched, and rearranged, Ed settled down. He held his metal arm perfectly still, and laid his head on his other hand, and closed his eyes. Ling almost thought he was asleep, until suddenly, Ed leapt from his chair.

“Dinner!”

And then they were both jumping, Ed all but dashed out the door while Ling slung his robe on.

It wasn’t until he got to dinner that Ling remembered he wasn’t wearing shoes. “Shit.”

They were very late. Late enough that the dining room was full.

“We should have come in separately.” Ed whispered from the side of his mouth. “This is weird.”

Ling didn’t say anything. Lan Fan sat in her usual spot, his empty seat beside her. A familiar face sat across from her, grinning the same wide grin as when Ling first met them. Alphonse. So, the two of them must have been talking when neither he nor Ed showed up on time for dinner. He wasn’t sure how, but Lan Fan must have made some excuse, since everyone was eating. Even if the guests were still staring at them, at least they hadn’t been waiting to start for all this time.

Ling took his seat, careful to never drop his neutral, most royal expression. “How is the food tonight, Lan Fan?”

“Delicious as always, Sire.” Lan Fan took a large bite off her plate. “Though it would have been better warm.”

Her words bite. She’s upset at him. “I’m sorry, Lan Fan.”

Al laughed. “He’s so quick to apologize. My brother is stubborn to the end. He never says anything outright.”

Ling grinned around a mouthful of rice. “An emperor must have some sense of humility. And besides, I got carried away with him. I should have paid closer attention to the time.”

Ed sputtered. He’d forgotten to put on his gloves, so one metal hand waved around with this others. “You can’t just say--do you know how that sounds? It was just art, ok!”

“Art?” Al tapped their plate. It was already empty. “You’re not usually so appreciative of the creative process, Ed. What kept you?”

“I was modeling,” Ed’s voice got smaller and smaller, until it was difficult to hear the last word. He rubbed at his automail, face tinged red. “Anyway, what business is it of yours?”

“To the contrary, Edward Elric. It is everyone’s business where our engaged Emperor disappears to during his celebrations.” Lan Fan put her fork down. “It is something you should be aware of if you choose to become close to the emperor.”

Ling didn’t feel much like eating. She was right, and right not to sugar coat it. But it still hurt. “Usually there are fewer eyes, though it is no less true.”

“Why on earth would I care?” Ed glared at his food, alternating between chowing down on his rice and glaring at whoever dared watch him. “Al, do you want the rest of this stuff?”

Al gladly accepted the grilled pork from Ed’s plate. The rest of the night the conversation stayed civil, the stream of words flowing easily between all of them.

“You know, he draws a lot of pictures of you,” Ed pointed his fork at Lan Fan. “You do a lot of chores. He should be paying you more.”

“I am the highest paid advisor he has. In all of Xing, only Ling is better compensated.” Lan Fan narrowed her eyes. “I go around in his rooms and helping him because he is my friend.”

Ling put his fork down. “My best friend.”

Ed looked between them. “Oh.”

“Not like that, brother.” Al shook their head. “They really are just best friends. Lan Fan is super gay.”

And for some reason, the rest of the dinner, Ed was all smiles. Not a scowl in sight.

Eventually, the food and the small talk was over. People were heading to their rooms. Some were barely able to stand, some leaned a little to casually into the bodies of their partners, and some were already dozing at their tables. The housekeepers would corral the snoozing partygoers into their rooms. Ling was worn out from the previous nights drinking and the up and down of rolling depression and unacceptable adventure of the day.

Lan Fan had already gone for the night, and Al was hovering around Ed to walk back to their rooms. Ling opened his mouth to say his farewells.

“Can you show me the work you did of my arm? I never got to see the end result.” Ed didn’t look at Al. He didn’t even look at Ling. He stared off somewhere near the door, hands tossed over his head. Ling could recognize a carefully casual pose when he saw one. So could Al.

For the first time since Ling met them, Al’s grin faltered. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t be silly, Al. It’s just some pictures.”

Al paused, their face unnaturally stern. Then, they grinned again. “As long as you're sure. Be careful.”

“I didn’t even respond yet.” Ling scoffed.

“Oh, do you have something to do?”

But now the prospect of showing off his work, possibly drawing more of Ed’s arm, maybe even convincing Ed to let him draw his face, had Ling feeling wired. “Uh, well, no. But still, you should have let me answer at least.”

“I’ll expect you back sometime tonight, Ed.” Al waved and headed off to their own room.

Ed just waved himself on, following Ling as they headed back to their room.

“You got away with wearing no shoes through all of dinner.” Ed chuckled.

“Yeah, well. You can get away with a good bit when you’re emperor. People don’t want to point it out, in case it’s something you’re supposed to be doing.”

This time, the walk back to Ling’s room was heavy. There was an expectation, a shared thought neither of them wanted to voice.

“I didn’t realize you’d gotten that much of a look at my drawings. You really liked the ones I did of Lan Fan?” Ling shrugged his robe off. His room was hot, the smell of sandalwood having finally faded, but the humidity lingering.

“You’re talented. I knew who you were drawing straight away.” Ed stretched.

Ling spread the few pages of preliminary sketches he’d gotten done across the work desk. “They aren’t much. I was still working out shapes and angles when you realized it was dinner.”

“Weird how time got away from us.” Ed laughed. “Didn’t realize my arm was so captivating.”

“You are good company,” Ling tapped his charcoal against the paper. “But, now you’ve seen the pictures. I’m sure Al is expecting you.”

It was a direct challenge. Ling wondered if Ed would meet it.

“If I’m such good company, why’re you kicking me out?” Ed scowled again, and this time Ling laughed.

“You make that face too often. Let’s see if I can get a prettier expression.” Ling sidled up against Ed’s side, his lips still split into a smile. “And then maybe I could draw some more pictures?”

“Hey now, how conceited do you think I am?”

Ling darted around Ed, pushing his golden hair away with one hand while tilting his chin with the other. “I think you are conceited enough to invite yourself to the room of an engaged emperor.”

“Well, you wanted me here.”

Ling did, it was true. “Let’s get you posed then.”

“Posed?”

“Look, if you’re going to be here, I’m going to get some practice in.” Ling tapped his hand against Ed’s cheek, sliding through Ed’s hair until he’d smoothed the blond strands behind a scarred shoulder.

And so Ling took full advantage--he drew. He drew Ed’s long hair and strong jaw. He sketched the scars where the automail connected. Ed told him about nerve connectors, and his automail mechanic, and the podunk town he grew up in.

“What about Xerxes?”

“Xerxes hasn’t had a ruler in a long, long time. Eventually, we were whittled down to nothing and Amestris absorbed us.” Ed frowned, and it marred the image he was sketching. “It was going to happen eventually, but. It didn’t make it better.”

“Amestris is quite a greedy nation, isn’t it?” Ling put down his charcoal. There was something he’d wanted to do, from the moment he’d first touched Ed’s metal hand. “First it takes your home. Then it takes me, reaching its claws into Xing. Offering what we want in exchange for everything we already have.”

He slid his hand along the cool metal, pushing the arm up and away. “Can you feel my hand? Is that how the nerve reactors work?”

“A little. It’s like a pressure.” Ed narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious but not worried. “Not like when you touch my other hand.”

Ling nodded, pulling Ed’s other hand to him. He had almost a memory of Ed’s arm around him. Almost a memory of a moment. “Tell me to stop touching you.”

Ed didn’t look away. “No.”

“Then I’m not going to stop.” Ling cupped his hand against Ed’s face. And there, exactly where he wanted them, Ed’s arms wrapped around him.

Tomorrow's problems would come tomorrow. This was what he wanted now.

[fruitcoops]

Hi hello I would love to know more about this tidbit from your oher fic? “Three months after we moved in together, Remus slept on the couch for a week because he hated the way I left toothpaste on the sink.” “I wasn’t even angry about the toothpaste.” Remus got up to refill Leo’s water glass. “I was scared we were moving too fast and that everything would fall apart.” pretty please with puppy dog eyes?

Anything for you, Beyonce! Hope you enjoy your trip on the angst train >:)

Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for couples arguments, self-isolation, mild anxiety

Day 1

“Oh my god, Sirius.” Remus shoved his toothbrush back in the holder more aggressively than he probably needed to. His hands were shaking, though whether it was from rage or something else, he wasn’t sure.

“What?”

“Really? Again?”

“What?” Sirius asked again. He had the nerve to sound truly bewildered and the bed creaked as he stood up. “What did I do?”

“You left the toothpaste uncapped and it’s all over the sink,” Remus sighed, running his hand down his face. It was too late to fight about this.

Sirius gave him a look. “Re, there’s literally one smudge.” He swiped it away with his thumb. “There. Better?”

“No, it’s not better. I told you I hate it when you do that.”

“Are you okay? You seem…upset.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” he snapped. Sirius recoiled at his tone and he bit back a second retort. “Look, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

“What—sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me sweetheart, okay?” Remus grabbed a fresh set of pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt out of the dresser. He couldn’t handle being surrounded by Sirius’ smell right now. “Just…not tonight.”

 Day Two

They ate breakfast silently. Every ping of Sirius’ spoon against his cereal bowl was like nails on a chalkboard as he choked down a slice of toast and all but chugged his coffee. “So…” Sirius started, looking up at him from under his eyelashes. “Do you want to talk about what happened last night?”

“Not really,” Remus muttered. “I’m going to run to Target and get some groceries.”

“In your pajamas?”

Remus went upstairs without a word. He slept on the living room couch again that night and tried desperately not to miss Sirius’ solid warmth next to him. This is good for you both, he repeated again and again and again. Space is good. Space is healthy.

Day Three

Sirius didn’t bring it up again, but he stole quick, worried glances that Remus caught in his periphery whenever they were in the same room together. There was a gentle knock on the living room doorframe and he poked his head in, offering Remus a grilled cheese sandwich that basically broke his heart. “I’m really sorry about the toothpaste,” he said softly when Remus didn’t respond. “Um, I made dinner, but you seemed busy. So. Here.”

“Thanks,” Remus managed. As soon as he heard the bedroom door close upstairs, silent tears began streaking down his face. The sandwich tasted like sawdust. “You need to breathe,” he reminded himself. “If you move too fast it’s going to fall apart. If you can’t exist apart then you won’t be healthy together.”

And yet somehow he was unhappier than he had been in more than three months, even when they were still living in the same house.

 Day Four

Remus ran errands. Hung out with Lily in the park. Made lunch and left a brief note next to the crock pot for Sirius to find when he was done working out. Love you, it read. Simple. Normal. Healthy.

His back was beginning to cramp from the too-small couch. His feet were cold every night. Lily’s silent concern played over and over again in his head as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

 Day Five

It was getting easier to create distance with Sirius despite the fact that they shared most spaces. He offered quick smiles when they passed each other in the hallway, chaste kisses whenever he left the house, and even scooted over to make room for him on the couch when the Avatar reruns started on Nickelodeon.

“Remus, are you mad at me?” Sirius asked after a period of suffocating silence. Hearing him say his name was strange—his accent curled around it in an unfamiliar way, like he was making a conscious effort not to slip up. Remus squeezed his eyes shut. It was agonizing to be so close to him and yet so far away. They always cuddled on the couch.

“No,” Remus said in a small voice. “No, I’m not mad at you.”

“Is this…are you breaking up with me?” From the soft huff of air that came after it, Remus knew he had been sitting on this for a long time.

“What? No!” He turned, making eye contact for the first time in days. It was brutal and made him feel raw. “No, I love you.”

Sirius’ shoulders folded in slightly and he fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “Are you coming back to bed soon?”

“I—I don’t know,” Remus forced himself to say. I love you! He wanted to scream. I love you so much it’s scaring me. I miss everything about you, even the toothpaste smudges on the sink and the way you look at me when you find more of my socks scattered around. I miss holding you and racing shopping carts in Target with you. I miss your laugh and your smile and just being near you. “Probably. I’m not sure. I’m sorry.”

“Take your time.” The words sounded like they pained him. “Take all the time you need.”

“This isn’t payback,” Remus said. “Sirius, this is not payback for the time we spent hiding, okay?”

Sirius gave him an astonished look. “How did you…?”

“Because I know you.” He was miserable. So fucking miserable. “I know you, Sirius, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

One question hung unspoken between them. Then why are you staying away?

 Day Six

Sirius was gone when he woke up, but a sticky note in his careful handwriting rested on the end table near Remus’ face. He frowned as he sat up—he been too drained to deal with tangled blankets when he went to sleep, but sometime in the night they had been smoothed all the way up to his shoulder and a second one had been added to cover his feet. Remus shoved down the urge to burst into tears and grabbed the note to distract himself.

Remus, it began. Ouch.

Pots and I are taking Harry to the park today, I’ll be back around six. Lily said she wanted to talk with you at some point so keep an eye out for her calls. Thanks for picking up extra pasta at the store.

Love you,

Sirius

He smoothed his thumb over the note, feeling each bump and curl of Sirius’ pencil because his vision was too blurry to make out the words a second, third, fourth time. “This is bullshit,” he said to himself. “This is bullshit!”

When the slight echo of his shout faded out, he set it back on the table and curled up, drawing both blankets tight around himself. “Why am I doing this?”

1.      You had sex before you went on a real date

2.      You went through a traumatic event and are still working through it

3.      You’re so fucking scared of how much you love him

4.      You want to spend forever with him because he’s your best friend, too

5.      Normal couples date for at least a year before moving in together

6.      Normal couples—

“Fuck it.” He shook his head to clear the anxiety list from his brain. He had been reciting it to himself for days as some sort of convoluted justification. “Fuck it. I love him and this is bad for both of us. So what if we’re not a normal couple? What the hell is a normal couple? We’re never going to be normal and I love him, I love him, I…”

The low sobs that resonated in his chest burned in the best way. His breathing was even, but he just couldn’t repress this anymore. “I’m a coward,” he sniffled, sliding further under the heavy blankets. His pajamas only smelled like laundry detergent and regret. “And an idiot.”

The phone rang and he picked it up. “Hey, Lils.”

“Well, you sound like a wreck.”

“I know.”

“What’s going on, Re?”

“I’m an idiot.”

“And?”

“And I’m in love with him.”

“And?”

“I’m done self-flagellating to try and fit the societal standards of a healthy relationship based on heterosexuality.”

“There’s my Remus,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Are you okay? I was worried about you.”

“Better now. I’ll fix this when Sirius gets home.”

“Good. You’re both suffering from this.”

 Day Seven

When Remus woke up, it was pitch-black outside. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered to the ceiling, scrubbing at his itchy eyes. The wall clock read 12:06. After another thirty minutes of crying, he had cleaned the whole house top to bottom, went for a run, and then apparently passed out on the couch for five hours.

Fix this. In any other circumstance, Remus would have spent at least an hour fretting over every tiny detail. But this was Sirius. This was about owning the fact that he was happiest with Sirius and that he had unintentionally hurt him by trying to create distance that they didn’t actually need.

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself up the stairs and knocked softly on the bedroom door. There was a moment of silence, then a sleepy voice. “Re?”

“Hey, baby. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius hadn’t bothered turning on the light, so the room was dark as he slipped in and closed the door behind him. Sudden nervousness washed through him. “I’m sorry.”

There was a rustle as Sirius sat up. “Why did you do that?”

“I thought—” His mouth was so dry. “It’s so stupid.”

“Please tell me.”

“I thought we needed space. I didn’t want space, you didn’t want space, but I was afraid we were moving too fast and that we’d suddenly wake up one morning and hate each other. That everything would crumble because we rushed into everything.”

“Hmmm.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“After day three, yeah. And then I was just worried. You seemed really unhappy and I didn’t know why.” Sirius paused. “Um, I called your mom.”

“What? When?”

“Friday morning. That was what, day…four? I heard you crying downstairs and I was afraid someone had died or something.” His voice wobbled. “She was worried, too, but she said you might just need to work through it.”

“I’m so sorry, Sirius.”

“I know.”

“Can I…?”

“C’mere.” Sirius reached over and lifted the edge of the covers up on Remus’ side—as far as he could tell, they had been left tucked in the whole time. “I love you,” he murmured as Remus curled up.

“I love you so much.” He carefully reached out and brushed their hands together, and Sirius wrapped an arm around him to pull him close. “So much, you have no idea. That was the worst week.”

Sirius’ heartbeat was steady as Remus kissed the top of his head and melted into his warmth. “I capped the toothpaste in the bathroom.”

When Remus laughed, it was a little teary. “I say this with all the love in the world, Sirius, but I couldn’t care less about the goddamn toothpaste. I care about you.”

His hold tightened and Remus squeezed his eyes shut. I know, it said. I’ve got you. I love you. You can stay.

[guessimwritingficsagain]

Delightful, chapter Four (Javier Peña x reader)

Author’s note : James wasn’t supposed to take so much space but I felt it’d be better if he was here in the end. Let’s say that Reader didn’t see Javier from the day after Carrillo’s death to a few months after Javier’s return in Colombia.

Previously : Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three

------

You woke up expecting him gone, as always, but walked into the kitchen to the smell of coffee. Peña was sitting on the couch, a cup in hand. 

‘Still here ?’ 

Your voice was hoarse with sleep, so you went to get a cup of water. He got up and followed you, pouring you a mug of coffee and handing it to you. 

‘Yeah. Thought I’d stick around, to thank you.’ 

‘You don’t have to.’ 

‘Yes, babe, I do.’

He was chewing his bottom lip. You turned around. He was standing further than yesterday, a small fact for which you were glad, you mind briefly going back to that moment in bed. The shame didn’t sting as much. He looked better than the night before, even with his shirt crumpled and his hair all over the place. You never got to see him like this, you realized. 

‘Listen,’ he continued ‘what I told you last night … I shouldn’t have said it. You don’t need to know about that shit.’ 

‘It’s okay, Javier.’ 

You held his gaze for a while before turning to look at your living room. You wondered if he was still looking at you. You felt like he was. You longed to know if he wanted to lean in and brush his lips on your neck as much as you wanted him to. To regain your focus, to prevent the feeling from drowning you, you asked the exact opposite of what was on your mind :

‘We’re friends, right ?’ 

You heard the mug being set down on the counter and felt Javier shift, get closer. 

‘Well, you did finally learn my first name.’ He whispered, his breath hot on the side of your face. His torso was pressed on your shoulder now, and, just like last night, you regretted asking, not for the same reasons though. 

Now that you were on the edge, you weren’t quite so sure you want to take the leap. He made the decision for you, anyway :

‘Yeah, you got me there, babe. We’re friends.’ 

You turned your head sharply at that, and found him close, closer than you’d ever been. His hand came to your shoulder, eyes heavy, and his thumb settled right there, on your naked skin. He kept going, seemingly unbothered, and leaned in : 

‘If that’s what you want to be.’

He pressed a kiss to your temple then, as you grabbed one of his forearms like a lifeline. His moustache was soft against your skin and you wanted to stay in that moment forever. You were ready to take that leap, now, you realized. Your hand was about to move to his elbow to bring him closer when he whispered, lips still against your skin :

‘It’s better like that anyway.’

He gently took your hand, removed it from where it was grasping, and you let it fall at your side as you watched Javier Peña take his pack of cigarettes on the counter, light one, and announce :

‘See you around, babe.’ 

You didn’t see him for a year and then some, after that. 

The bookshop was a quiet, nice little place where you sometimes lost yourself during the day when things in your mind got blurry. You’d found yourself here more and more, those days. You knew from Connie that things at work were insane, but you felt hurt by Peña’s silence. You hadn’t seen him, spoken to him, in six months. 

You picked up a book you’d seen on those shelves countless times, in the English section, Women Who Run With the Wolves, and started reading random paragraphs here and there, when a voice interrupted :

‘It’s a good one, you should give it a shot.’ 

A man was standing there, at a respectable distance, a shy look on his face. You took a second to properly take him in : he cleaned up nice, was a gringo, obviously. Unsettled by your scrutiny, he put a hand through his blonde hair and explained :

‘I’ve seen you around before, and I’ve noticed we share some readings in common. So I thought I’d tell you about that one.’

‘You work here ?’ You asked. 

‘No,’ he shook his head, ‘but I’m around a lot.’ 

You inspected him a bit more, trying to remember him - if he’d seen you around, you’d seen him around, obviously. Something was indeed vaguely familiar about him, so you took the bait, thinking what the hell : 

‘Okay, so what’s it about ?’ 

He had some interesting things to say about it, and he spoke in a pleasant voice. You could tell he was used to talking to people, maybe in a professional way too : he had some kind of teacher thing going for him. When you asked, he confirmed : English teacher at university. 

You crossed paths, after that, always falling in nice, uncomplicated conversations. Your mind supplied, once, as James was talking about his last class, that this man wouldn’t come home to tell you of colleague of his had died on the job. Your thoughts went to Peña, then, about the deafening silence, about what you saw on the news everyday. 

What the hell, you thought again. 

So when James asked you out for coffee, you said yes. 

You settled into some kind of routine. It was nice, grounding, a good contrast to what was going on in the country. You’d still wake up, sometimes during the night, thinking Javier but you never picked up the phone to ask Steve or Connie, even though you grew more and more worried. You put all of that in the trashcan of denial, instead. Up until the day Pablo Escobar died. 

You picked up the phone, that day, hands shaking and heart pounding and dialed Steve’s number. The second you heard him say 

‘Murphy.’

You asked :

‘Javier, is he okay ?’ 

A silence, and then 

‘They sent him back home.’

They sent him back home.

You felt cold. You felt lost. And then you felt nothing. 

———

You woke up to someone pounding at your door, and that hadn’t happened for a long time. James, laying right next to you, startled awake and whispered :

‘Sweetheart, what’s going on ?’

You got up immediately, answering it’s fine without meaning it because with both Steve and Javier gone from the country you had no idea who was on the other side of that door. You put some clothes on, turning the light of the living room as you walked to the door and opened it carefully. 

Javier Peña was standing there, and like he hand’t been gone for more than a year, like you hand’t called Steve like a fucking grieving widow after months of silence to hear Javier was back in the States, he asked :

‘Your couch is available ?’ 

You said yes, because you could never say no to Javier. James came out of the bedroom as Javier came in, wondering :

‘What is it, sweetheart ?’ 

His eyes were moving from Javier to you. You explained :

‘An old friend. He needs to sleep here. Go back to bed.’ 

Javier stood eerily still for a second, then extended his hand for James to shake. As they greeted each other, you went to make the couch, hands slightly shaking. 

You let Javier settle on the couch, you let him reach your leg and squeeze it. You let him say :

‘I’m sorry.’

He knew that wouldn’t cut it. You let him have this moment of peace, though. You put a hand in his hair. You let go, eventually. Javier Peña was a thing of the past. You had something good going on, now. 

Except he wasn’t a thing of the past, not anymore. He’d show up to sleep on your couch once in a while and you had to buy him a new toothbrush (you remembered how long it took you to throw the old one in the trashcan). 

But, along with his toothbrush, you’d put Javier in the trashcan of denial, and now the lid was threatening to fly open. James had no problem with that mysterious man suddenly back into your life, even when he stopped by in the morning to bring you breakfast and found Javier here. When you finally had the courage to bring it up, he just explained I trust you. He was right to trust you, but you had some serious unpacking to do, some things to settle in yourself, and you didn’t want to.

Javier started showing up at the bar again, but you didn’t talk. That silence, that now defined your relationship, also put it in some kind of grey area, a neutral zone full of respectful distances and words about to burst but always contained. You didn’t exactly like it, but it was reassuring. You didn’t long for him the way you used to, because worry and anger had taken to much space in your non-relationship. It’d been easy to get angry, once you’d learnt Javier had been back for a while before he came to see you. You’d reasoned he didn’t care that much, after all. You’d allowed yourself to feel betrayed, even though that tiny voice always whispered you were being unfair, much like it had been whispering that at the beginning of your relationship with him. 

Everything must come to an end, though, even grey areas and unspoken agreements to never speak. It came unexpectedly, as one evening, James and his coworkers came by for a few drinks. Those nights were always nice because his friends were sweet and James always kissed you softly every time he came to order drinks. Usually, you didn’t like showing affection in public, but in those moments, you found you liked it. This night, in this bubble of you and him, you could allow yourself to pretend Javier Peña wasn’t worming his way into your relationship. Right then, you could pretend you didn’t think about him too much. You could swallow down the guilt you felt because James hadn’t a jealous bone in his body while you sometimes thought things you shouldn’t be thinking. The only thing you’d been willing to unpack so far was what you felt about James. You knew you loved him. You’d said it before. You loved him in a quiet, tranquil way, not at all in the way you felt about Javier. But you loved him. 

Javier sat down at the counter at some point during the night. You gave him a whisky, trying not to think too hard about the fact that this was the first time James and him were here at the same time, and then scolding yourself because there was nothing to be guilty of. James would still come to the counter to order something, he’d still kiss you, and Javier would still sit there in silence. 

Except that didn’t happen : when you took your break, Javier followed you, and, as you were lighting your cigarette, one in his mouth already, he decided to leave the grey area, and the trashcan of denial too.

‘I’m sorry I left like that, babe. After the last time we spoke, things went to shit and I didn’t want to involve you, in any way. I did some questionable things, but they got the job done. I’m sorry I never called, though. They sent me back and I just didn’t know what to do with myself.’

Even though you had taken a deep breath and had convinced yourself you were going to be put together, especially because he’d chosen the night James was in the bar to tell you this, you broke :

‘I thought you were dead. I had to call Steve. I thought about going to the DEA’s office to ask …’ 

You weren’t quite crying but your your voice was longing. Javier brought a hand to the back of your neck, bringing you closer. He whispered in your hair :

‘I’m so sorry, babe. Never meant to leave you like that. I thought a clean break was better than some phone call once in a while. We’ve seen some shit together, and I just felt it’d be a mercy to let you get on with your life. Murphy called me on my bullshit, though. You’ve been so good to me, but I wasn’t sure you wanted me back into your life.’ 

You could tell he felt uncomfortable saying all of this. He never spoke that much. You couldn’t identify exactly what you were feeling but you could feel the wave of all of it coming crashing down on you.

Your fingers found his shirt and grabbed it, You started crying, then, because Javier was back. 

———

You should have seen it coming but you didn’t. A month and a half later, while he was having a beer at your place, James announced :

‘We need to talk.’

And that took you by surprise (once again, it shouldn’t have). You’d came back to the counter that day with red eyes and had had to take a trip to the bathroom to fix yourself up. James never mentioned it but you blamed yourself for thinking he hadn’t seen it. But Javier had left right after your little talk so you’d convinced yourself the usual, comfortable bubble was back. And James never brought it up. Until this moment, you guessed. 

You put the beer down, as he said :

‘I’m not Javier Peña.’

Your world tilted at that, a mix of shit and fuck and this is not what you think going through your head. James beat you to it, though :

‘I know nothing happened. You’re too good for that. But I heard you that day.’

Something clicked in your mind, something you’d overlooked because you’d been so caught up in Javier Peña you’d forgotten about that little detail. James explained, anyway :

‘Usually, when you take a break and I’m at the bar, I come with you. But he was there first. I didn’t mean to listen but … He called you babe, and you let him, and he grabbed you by the neck and you let him even though you won’t let me take your hand in public because you hate that kind of shit. I heard he’s DEA. I’m not DEA, shit …’

His laugh was bitter as he went on :

‘It’s not that I’m not Javier Peña. I’m the opposite of Javier Peña. I love you, and I know you love me. And I could keep going like that with you because I could settle. I don’t mind being the second choice. But you I know you, you can’t settle, not with him back. I know you. You never really told me about him but it’s obvious. We got a nice thing going, but, if I asked you to marry me …’

You found your tongue, at that point, and urgently asked, the dread filling you almost overwhelming :

‘Were you planning on ?’

‘Before Peña, yes. I thought you were it, for me. But now, I know you’d say no.’

You wanted to prove him wrong so bad, you wanted to say that Javier was just an old friend but James read you better than almost anyone. So he kissed you on the cheek, took his stuff, and left.

Javier, of course, came by a few days later, noticed James’ toothbrush gone and asked :

‘What happened ?’

You answered :

‘Life.’

Because you couldn’t answer ‘you’.

Chapter five

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

Tag list (don’t hesitate to ask to be added)

@pedritobalmando @amidjarin @ajeff855 @justpedropascal @sara-alonso @sarahjkl82-blog

[fallingappleshurt]

63 with Wilbur and Techno. Bonus if it's a flashback to their childhood after wilbur's death.

Hi yes I write things I swear

So the second part of the request is more directly implied than outright stated so oops but yeah! Also this takes place in some modern AU because the SMP is tiring me

all that’s dead and gone and passed tonight

TW: swearing, major character death (already dead not- they are just grieving)

Techno felt like he was watching himself in a painting, a shitty, hazy painting. One where the artist got frustrated and gave up halfway through, smearing the paint up and down and across the canvas in rage.

He couldn’t focus- the smudges on his glasses were distracting and unwanted tears building up in his eyes were blurring the words on his assignments together.

The sky was screaming, the wind whipped at the trees and slapped at the house, thunder shook the clouds and lightning slipped through the cracks. It was raining so hard Techno couldn’t see out his window.

Sharp and painful feelings that he tried so hard to crush were bubbling up along with tears in his eyes- he couldn’t do this. He had at least 3 assignments due at midnight and 2 missing ones that he couldn’t find the motivation to do, he should probably shower, he felt gross- and the rain made him think of Wilbur-

Oh god Wilbur.

If Wilbur were here he’d make Techno take a break after teasing him for awhile, hanging upside down on Techno’s bed and commenting on his fantastic posture.

He jammed his hands in his hair, nails getting caught on the tangles and coating his hands with grease, pulling and digging his fingers into his scalp. This was the last thing he wanted to think about was Wilbur- fuck- his stupid fucking hair was getting in the way.

Phil had tried to get him to take care of it again but even brushing his hair felt like a hassle and Wilbur wasn’t there to braid it. Techno knew how to braid and care for his own hair- but Wilbur would always do it- he used to.

His chest was tight- ribs mending together and crushing his lungs- no he had to focus- just get these assignments done- the thunder cracked outside again.

Tears burned his face, he was tired, so tired, he knew he didn’t have the right to be but he was- he went to grab his pencil only to accidentally jerk at his hair again.

He snapped, shoving his papers and books off the desk, jumping up so fast his chair fell over.

Techno pushed his door open and stomped into the bathroom, rummaging through the drawers in the dark like a mad man, washcloths and toothbrushes and bandaids being shoved aside until he found the scissors.

He grabbed a chunk of his hair- yanking it so he could see it better- and lined the scissors up. He paused, tears clouding his vision to the point where he could barely see himself- did he really want to get rid of it? Of something that took so long to grow- something Wilbur liked so much?

His eyes flickered to the small nightlight on the wall.

He bit his tongue and sliced through his hair.

Iron filled his mouth as he threw his hair on the floor, snipping wildly at the other parts, ripping them away, feeling the jagged ends brush against his face and neck.

Techno dropped the scissors, he stumbled out of the bathroom and back towards his room- it felt unfamiliar but homey at the same time- it smelled like dust and ink.

He collapsed on the already made bed, it was soft and enveloped in him in a cool but familiar sheet of grief.

He wrapped his arms around the pillow, that smelled like the shampoo that Wilbur had insisted on using, holding it to his chest, and somehow fell asleep.

“You’ve been sitting there for the last 3 hours, I thought you’d be finished by now.” Wilbur commented, flopping down on Techno’s bed.

“Shut up.”

Wilbur snorted, “You’re in a mood.”

Techno gripped his pencil tighter, “Go away- I’m busy.”

“You’ve said that a lot recently-”

“Cause I’ve been busy so fuck off!”

Wilbur rolled off the bed, setting his hand on Techno’s shoulder, “You need a break-”

“I need to finish this project-”

“It’s due on Monday, you’ll still have the rest of the weekend to finish it, now come on, we’re going on a walk.”

“But it’s raining,”

“So? That’s what makes it fun, besides it's basically summer so it’s warm.”

Techno let Wilbur drag him out of his room, past Tommy who was passed out on the couch with the TV blaring, and through the kitchen towards the garage.

“Leave your shoes.”

“What?”

“Walking barefoot in the rain feels much better than with shoes, now come on! You’re so slow!”

They walked out of the garage and were immediately pelted with fat drops of water as the sky dumped buckets on them. Wilbur grinned and they continued down the driveway and down the sidewalk.

Techno felt like an idiot, walking in the rain in shorts and a t-shirt with his twin, but strangely, he didn’t mind it. Wilbur closed his eyes and put his head back, smiling widely, letting the rain hit his face and drench his hair.

Barely anybody was out, Techno could see faint light filtering from other peoples windows but the streets were clear, he watched leaves and twigs get swept down the little rivers that ran down the curb every time it rained.

Wilbur grabbed his hands suddenly, spinning them around, Techno was barely able to stop himself from falling.

“What-”

“Come on Tech! Move your feet, get your blood flowing!” Wilbur twisted them around again, laughing. His laugh was like little drops of sunlight in the sea.

Techno snorted, trying to keep up with Wilbur’s rapid pace.

They spun themselves at a shitty old field by the middle school, where the buses would park over the summer and the people would let their dogs run. The asphalt was gray and cracked, huge potholes filled with water and pebbles.

Wilbur pulled him along, urging him to go faster, until they were running. They ran through the puddles, splashing muddy water on their legs. Techno ran and ran, feeling the wind in his hair that was simultaneously sticking to his forehead, his feet hit the ground so hard he thought they might bleed but he finally felt like he wasn’t wrapped in a foggy haze.

Wilbur nearly tripped twice and Techno couldn’t see out of his glasses but for the first time in months he felt like he could breathe.

Eventually they went back home, creeping through the house Techno went to get changed and dry himself off, once he did he sat back down to work on his project again. Only for Wilbur to poke his head through the door, droplets of water still clinging to his hair.

“Oh no you don’t, I just got you to loosen up, you gotta stay loose. Come here,”

“I really should be working-”

“Shut up and let me braid your hair.”

Techno found himself in Wilbur’s room sipping a cup of hot chocolate, curled up on the bed with Wilbur running his fingers through his hair, sectioning it off for braids.

It was still pouring outside, rain pattering against the window, the ceiling fan creaked and rattled mixing in with the TV’s soft melody of a cheesy old show Techno hadn’t seen in years. The multicolored Christmas lights Wilbur had taped to the wall were glowing softly but still brighten the room.

When Wilbur finished the last braid he leaned against his twin, his hot chocolate forgotten on the desk, “Stay the night with me?” He asked quietly, “It’ll be just like old times.”

Techno nodded and Wilbur laid his head on his shoulder, just like old times.

Phil had been worried when he woke muffled thumps and bangs coming from the hall but after quickly investigating found that they were safe.

He felt the panic flare up again for a moment when he peered in and saw Techno wasn’t in his room and it was in complete disarray but relaxed when he found him in Wilbur’s room, curled up, fast asleep.

He wondered if he should wake him and ask if he was alright but ultimately stopped himself, he couldn’t do that to him, even in the dim light Techno looked more at peace then he had in months.

It had been months since Wilbur died and Phil’s chest burned everyday, there was a piece missing from his home, his heart, his family, he lost his songbird.

He knew it affected his other sons too, Tommy flipped between loud fits of rage and sadness, screaming or sobbing softly, while Techno was barely managing to scrape by as human.

Wilbur and Tommy were close but Wilbur and Techno had been by each other's sides since birth.

He remembered Wilbur refusing to leave Techno’s side when he was sick and how Techno never missed one of his concerts. The paper crowns and crudely made flags and swords as they decided they were the most fearsome duo that would conquer the land one day.

They never got that far.

Phil knew Techno tried to put on a brave front but it was cracking, piece by piece, baggy eyes, slipping grades, and forgetting to eat. He had tried to help but nothing seemed to be working, Techno was slipping into a husk of himself.

Wilbur may have been in a casket but any fool could see Techno was the dead one.