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simpingforsoftboys · 3 years

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Reacting to You Confiding In A Friend That You Miss Them

ft. SakuAtsu

G/N reader

Yes I wrote this at 2 am this morning 😃 Why? Because I wanted to be sad. ☹️ Luckily for you the ending is fluffy ✌️

You were curled up on the carpeted floor of your walk in closet. The lights were off, door shut, and the only thing audible was your quiet cries. A pillow was pulled up against your chest, which you heaved soft sobs into- desperately seeking some sort of comfort in the plush object. There was nothing more you wanted at the moment then to feel your dear boyfriends arms around you (even if Kiyoomi’s hold was rather hesitant). Alas, they weren’t here with you- busy with late training. Honestly you couldn’t even find it in you to be mad at them- knowing how important the next few upcoming matches were for their careers. Some people said you were much too understanding- that your relationship dynamic wasn’t fair- since your partners spent so much more time together than they did with you.

You weren’t a fool- love lost simply was not the case at all- it was just the fact that you barely felt their presence in your home in general. They went to bed at around 9- while you turned in at around 10 or 11 most nights. In the mornings they were up at 5 or 6- whereas you rose at 7:30. The only times you got to really spend time with them was on their sole day off- Sunday. Even then, it was usually spent with them relaxing at home sleeping, no date nights or anything. Again, you weren’t hurt by this specifically- it was just that you missed being with them.

So here you were at 6pm on a Friday night, sitting in the dark recesses of your designer brand filled closet. No amount of prada, gucci, or Valentino products could be enough to soothe the ache in your chest. You hadn’t spoken to Atsumu or Kiyoomi about your feelings yet, not wanting to ruin the peaceful atmosphere that surrounded your home... they had warned you about their busy schedules when you first started dating them afterall. So you were merely reaping what you had sowed.

You sighed, clutching the pillow tighter and burying your face into it. Eventually you would have to leave the comfortable space of your closet- but for now you would enjoy the company of the cool shadows and the feeling of a protective wall behind your back.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak with them... but maybe you would be able to tell someone else of your grievances and lighten the heavy feeling in your heart.

W/SakuAtsu:

“Omi-Omi!” The blonde setter called, setting the ball over to his lover- just the way he liked. Kiyoomi ran up and jumped, arm back before swinging it down forcefully. The Mikasa ball zoomed over the net- smashing into the floor with a “boom” sound. “That was great!”

“Thanks.” Sakusa replied, before striding over to the benches- grabbing his water bottle and taking a swig. “Let’s clean up, shower, and head home- I’m tired.” He says straightforwardly, ignoring the sour face Atsumu makes. “We’ve spent enough time here- even Hinata went home already.”

“Fine... Y/n’s probably missin’ us anyways.” Normally Atsumu would argue- but he realizes that while practice is important, he would much rather spend time with you instead.

A little while later they arrive back to their penthouse, freshly showered and ready to spend some quality time with you. All the lights are off except for the kitchen’s- Atsumu pokes his head into the area- only to see it devoid of his lover. The dinner ingredients are all laid out and ready to be cooked.

“Hm that’s weird isn’ it Omi?” He asks, looking at the taller male. Kiyoomi’s eyes are narrowed, lips turned down in a frown, then he’s stalking away- telling Atsumu to come along like he’s talking to a dog. “Wow rude much-“

“Shh... do you not hear that?” Kiyoomi questions in a low voice, pausing outside of their bedroom’s cracked open door. They fall silent, listening intently. Soft sniffles and barely audible talking are heard from within the room- no from the closet. Exchanging a look, Sakusa silently pushes the door open all the way and the two slip into the room- intent on eavesdropping on the conversation.

“It’ll pass Keiji- honestly it’s just because it’s around that time of the year again... I can’t- won’t say anything... this is what I signed up for when I entered this relationship.” It was you- and it sounding like you had been crying (if your hiccups were anything to go off of). “But I-“ You fall silent, most likely to let Akaashi speak. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Kiyo, Tsum-Tsum? Yeah I know it’s supposed to be the busiest time of the season but I’m feeling kinda touch starved so could you please indulge me?’ No way- Yes it is selfish!”

“I”ve heard enough of this-“ Atsumu mutters, his heart hurting for you. He had known that they weren’t spending as much time with you as usual- but he really didn’t think it would pain you like this. Why wouldn’t you tell them? It wasn’t selfish at all- damn your too big heart.

Kiyoomi was having similar thoughts, they, no- he had made you question your worth in their lives... Made you feel as though your feelings were worth less than his career. This was unacceptable and completely wrong. THEY were blind for way too long- it was time they made right by you.

“W-hat are you d-doing home so early?” You gasp, startled at the sight of your towering boyfriends in the entry way of the closet. “Yeah I-I’ll call you later- mmph.” Atsumu nearly tackles you into a hug, leading you to drop your phone onto the carpet. Kiyo folows his lead and sits on his knees in front of you two, reaching over to brush his thumb over your lips. Vaguely, they can hear a soft chuckle then the dial tone- signaling that Akaashi hung up.

“Doll why didn’t ya talk to us? I’m so sorry we made ya feel that way- I love ya so much I never meant t’ hurt-“ Atsumu trails off, presssing lingering kisses to your face- attempting to convey all his love for you through them.

“It’s okay Tsum-Tsum, I should’ve said-“

“No.” Kiyoomi interrupts, pressing a finger to your lips. “My love you did nothing wrong. We knew that this would be the busiest time of the season- and because of that we should have made sure to leave some room in our schedules to spend time with you.” His normally calm eyes were glittering slightly, a flurry of emotions buried in his dark hues. He leans in and presses a long, loving kiss to your lips. “Volleyball comes second- you and Atsumu are my top priorities.”

He says it so easily, as if he had no doubt about it- so surely like there was no possibility that his statement could be untruthful in anyway. It caused your heart to warm exponentially- reassurance filling your veins.

“Kiyo...” What do you say to that? You initially want to disagree- to argue that there’s no way that THE Sakusa Kiyoomi could love and value anything over volleyball. But another, larger part of you want so desperately to believe him- to have the same faith in his last statement that he himself does

“I can hear ya doubtin’ already.” Your other, possibly more volleyball crazed boyfriend, says. “But it’s the truth babe. It doesn’t matter if ya ‘knew what ya were gettin into.’ Cuz yer wrong. We love Y/n the most- not volleyball.” He reaches down and holds your right hand in his own strong one. “Please talk to us if yer hurtin’ even if we don’t seem t’ notice right away- it doesn’t mean we don’t care.”

“Okay... thank you for being here when I need you most. I love you Tsum, Kiyo.”

“We love you too, now let’s get out of here hm? There’s no practice tomorrow (because it’s Meian’s anniversary)- so we can go out on a date?” Kiyoomi offers, lips quirking up at the excited smile on your face. Even with the tear tracks and messed up hair- he thinks this look is one of his favorites.

“Yeah! We can even wear those matchin outfits ya bought last month! How bout it dolll?” Atsumu agrees instantly, gazing at you expectantly.

You smile back and nod. “Sounds like a plan... but first I have to make tonights dinner.” Your words have them chuckling- both agree to help you out (but it’s more like you and Kiyoomi are going to cook while Atsumu hands you things).

Your problems aren’t solved yet, but with a little more time and communication- the three of you know that you’ll be just fine.

#haikyuu poly au #miya atsumu x reader #sakuatsu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #atsumu x reader #sakusa x reader

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heyitsyn · 4 years

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Manager!Seijoh Part 5

a/n: we ltr going at 5 parts and i have another part written out and im just drowning in love with these seijoh asks

for more seijoh content, check this masterlist out!

anon request:

Can i ask for cute moments between manager and the boys outside of school, like how she and kyoutani probably bump into each to go feed strays etc??

yes anon!!!!!! these moments made me so soft™

IM CACKLING LIKE BLS THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE PARTS OF THE ENTIRE STAGE PLAY BC HE PLAYS OIKS SO WELL AND IWA IS JUST SO IWA AND I LIVED FOR OIKS’ ‘IWA-CHAN!’ AND IWA’S ‘RAAAAA!’ AND THIS GIF JUST SHOWS SEIJOH BEING SEIJOH AND HOW THEY WOULD REALLY ACT IF THEY WERE REAL LIKE UGH THEY DID SUCH A GOOD JOB W THE CASTING

these are the cute little moments and get ready to die of the cuteness

be warned, this isnt a straight plot or no main focus but just bits and pieces of fluff

keeping up with seijoh episode 3467328937

as mentioned before, they dont really get to hang out a lot w you outside of practice

youre either too busy taking care of your schoolwork, catsitting for the aizawa’s, or having you time since youve been busy w the boys all week

but there are times where you do have available time to go hang out with the boys

and they know about your schedule so they try to make memories either during practice or after practice

fortunately, kyo lives at the same street as the aizawa’s so he walks you to their house when you have a job

but sometimes when you are just walking home, you both stop by the convenience store first and find some cat food cans and dog food cans and water

it was a complete accident when you both found each other standing at the same aisle, holding the same things, with the same intentions, for the same animals

the alleyway where you first met is basically your second home bc thats where your babies live

since you cant exactly take in 5 dogs and 6 cats in your house, you and kyo are taking care of them in that alleyway where you feed them and build them a little shelter with blankets and stuff

this will be explained more in the next manager!seijoh part

after practice, particularly after a really productive one, the guys like to go to the ramen shop near the school to treat themselves after their hardwork

by now, the old lady who owns the shop knows their order by heart and has it ready when you all enter

yall get settled in but you go over to yahaba and snap his wooden chopsticks for him bc he never snaps them properly and ends up breaking them

meanwhile,,

you gather as much napkins as you can and place them beside kindaichi bc he makes such a mess while he eats and you have stand-by wipes for him

you make a special request to add tofu into iwa’s ramen bc the mans loves tofu so much and he still doesnt understand how the lady seems to know this despite him never telling her

your seat is usually next to mattsun bc he doesnt eat all the side dishes up like the others and you can eat some of it too

kyo sit across you and demands you eat at least 2 bowls bc you never seem to eat enough and he gets secretly concerned so he aggressively cares for you

‘kyo-san,,,, im full though’

he ‘glares’ at you

‘what you mean youre full. you didnt even finish the bowl. eat the rest and have another or youre not leaving this table’

pls what

fun fact, oikawa actually has two pairs of glasses and he gave you one in case he forgets to wear his main one and leaves it at home

so he gets to school and he just realizes he forgot his glasses and his contacts were still being shipped so he freaks out and texts you about it

but you always have the case safely tucked in your bag so you wander up to the third year floor and knock on his class door

iwa, who is in the same class as him, glares at the students who stare at you and nudges oikawa who was looking out the window

‘oi, your glasses’

his head snapped to the side and sees your smiling face and the familiar brown box being held out to him

his face scrunches and he launches up his seat and takes you in his arms

‘Y/N-CHAN IS SO RESPONSIBLE! SO NICE! OIKAWA-SENPAI REALLY APPRECIATES YOU!’

‘oikawa-san, please let me go’

you mumbled, embarrassed at his behavior in front of the whole class

once iwa has you safely on the ground, you excuse yourself and go back to class

the class still stared at the door you passed through and iwa had to bark at them to go back to their business

youre like the seijoh and younger version of goddess kiyoko

before kyo got back to the team, you usually walked home by yourself but makki actually accompanies you when he doesnt have errands to run

‘makki-san, i heard theres a sale going on for puffs’

you would mention as you walked and you would look to see his eyes light up and walk faster towards the bakery

‘cmon, y/n-chan. makki-senpai is treating you today!’

he turns into a child, a contrast to his chaotic energy in school, and he runs over to the glass where indeed, there was a sale going on for his puffs

while he was staring at what flavor he wanted, youd go to the cashier and give her your card

‘when that guy with the light brown hair with the blue and white jacket comes up to pay for his cream puffs, charge it to my card, please. whatever you do, dont take his and use mine immediately, please. ill come by later and pick it back up’

the old cashier lady felt true hope and happiness for humanity at your actions and it increased when she saw the shocked look on the boy’s face when she immediately swiped the card when he finished ordering

‘what? i havent paid-’

‘the young lady that came with you already did, young lad. shes a keeper’

he turned red

‘ahaha, no, shes our team manager’

once he finished paying and went outside, he took out his phone and dialed your number to call you

you smiled from the aisle in the convenience store down the street bc you were expecting him to call you

‘hewwo, makki-san’

he shut his eyes at how cute you sounded

‘y/n-chan, senpai wanted to treat you today!’

he whined but you bit your lip, leaving the store after purchasing a drink with the remaining cash you had

‘hmm, but i did too. you just werent too fast, senpaiiii~’

you teased and he let out a breathy laugh

‘next time i’ll be faster! mark my words!’

‘then im looking forward to it, senpai~!’

did anyone notice that he is the first one she called senpai?

to our baby yahaba

we know how he literally tried to go after yachi in that one episode so you know how flirty he is

but youve made it clear that you reject his advances and he pouts and finally accepts it so he stops it, instead actually just caring for you

ya know how he cares for the others and cheers them on?

he does the same to you

our babie notices that you are so busy taking care of the others that you forget to take care of yourself

like that time they lost to shiratorizawa, you made bentos for them all week to cheer them up

but he saw you not even eating and realizes that you were busy making the food that they like, each different to accomodate to their taste, that you had no time to make your own

he went down to your class and noticed you missing and he asks kindaichi and kunimi and they said that you said you wanted to get fresh air

since he pays attention to you, he knows you like to go to the roof to breathe

he ventures up the stairs and when he opens the door, he notices you just staring up at the sky, sitting down on the floor

‘being in an empty place like the roof doesnt compare to how lonely Pluto must feel to be outcasted in the solar system’

your comment catches him off-guard but he regains composure and makes his way to you before sitting down next to your form

‘hmm, oikawa-senpai talked to me about space one time. he mentioned the vast possibilities that stays hidden in the shadows’

you and him turn your head at the same time and share a gentle smile

‘but its up to us to find those secrets and abilities’

you finished

he nodded and went back to look at the clouds that looked like they were slowly moving but it was really the earth turning

‘i want to be a sports instructor. i want to be able to help others,,, i want to help them find those abilities and perfect them so they could fully love playing’

a chuckle escaped you and you tightened your arms around your knees, following his gaze to the blob of white that was painted on to the blue canvas

‘let other people be your universe, baba-senpai. dont let them be like Pluto. take time to find out who they are so they dont feel so lonely, okay?’

yall im tearing up right now though

as mentioned at the first part of this series, you go to the gym very early to set up for morning practice

sometimes, the four third years arrive at the same time but sometimes, only iwa comes

you noticed him put his bag down and help you with the nets before pushing the cart to finish the task for the morning

‘thank you, iwa-san!’

you thanked and he ruffled your hair

‘can you actually help me with my workout?’

you nodded and you knew his routine by now

as he got in position for a push up, you gently sat down on his back so he could start pushing up

you sat cross-legged and you counted every push up and held a timer so he could beat his previous record of 100 push ups in under 5 minutes

IWA IS LITERALLY ON ANOTHER LEVEL

once he hit 100, he collapsed on the floor and you stopped the timer at 4 minutes and 48 seconds

‘good job, iwa-san! new record!’

you cheered and he grumbled on the floor

you gently turned him over so he could lay on his back

he closed his eyes from the bright light of the gym and he raised his arms as his hands made a grabbing motion

‘hug. i want hug’

he whined and you fake gasped at this

‘iwa-san, i didnt know you could be so whiny’

‘huuggg~’

in my series, its canon that iwa is actually a whiny little babie despite that tough exterior and hes much more whinier than oikawa

you laughed before surrending, mumbling ‘yes, yes’

this wasnt the first time this happened since he asked you to do this before bc hes a touch starved babie and as a manager, you must give your team love

you climbed on him and laid your head on his chest while he mumbles happily with his arms going around you

‘just five minutes’

you offered and he said ‘mhm’

well, you both fell asleep and were woken up by scandalized and jealous yells from oikawa

to our baby libero watari

watari is actually the only player who has been to your house before

you made an off-handed comment of making bentos for the team again and he offered to come and help you make them

so here he was, standing in your kitchen, as you were cooking with him

you were chopping up vegetables and he was waiting for the eggs to boil so he was just stirring it slightly

‘wata-san, can you give me a bowl from the cabinet above you?’

he nodded and gave it to you so you could place the chopped carrots and onions in it

once the timer was done, he scooped out the eggs and placed them into an ice bowl so he could peel them later

you knew his favorite food was boiled eggs so you wanted to boil some so he could snack on them

‘can you peel one and see if theyre perfectly cooked, wata-san?’

his fingers skillfully rolled the egg on the table before peeling it effortlessly

he hummed as he chewed on the food

‘delicious?’

you asked and he turned to you, cheeks still full but he raised a thumbs up

you grinned and went back to chopping the scallions

‘actually, i didnt need any eggs for the dishes. i wanted you to snack on your favorites as i cook. its like payment for keeping me company’

his eyes shone and he hurriedly went to hug you tightly

‘i really appreciate everything youve done for us, for me. but i just want you to keep smiling okay? i know we’re a handful and we can get out of hand sometimes but you always keep us together. you must be stressed and there must be times you get angry with us and must’ve cried because of us but i hope you’ll still stay with us even through all that’

WATARI YOU MAKING ME C R Y

lmao kindaichi’s made me laugh

so basically, we all know his famous haircut, right

but what if that was actually just a style hes had since he was young but he has naturally down hair?

the stuff he puts in it like this brand of gel is just so tough and sturdy that two washes of hair is the only thing that can get rid of it

even during practice when hes sweating the atlantic ocean, it somehow stays up

he puts gel on it and stuff after he showers to make it stick up and BOOM turnip head

but one morning, he,,,, wasnt turnip head

the boy woke up late and he didnt have time to perfect the sticking up so he went to school with his hair down and everything

you were already there since morning practice has started and kunimi told you that kindaichi texted him he would be late so you were just patiently waiting by the door for your classmate

but some guy just walked in

your eyes widened and you pulled their arm

‘um, this is for seijoh volley-’

then the words died in your mouth

‘yuu-kun,,,’

you stuttered and he placed his hands on his face to hide away

‘dont look y/n-chan!’

his shout attracted the others and then silence before the laughing and howling started

‘THESE FIRST YEARS I SWEAR!’

makki was on the floor, punching it as he laughed

kindaichi turned red and he was about to run out but you held on to him

‘i can fix it for you, yuu-kun. come with me?’

he nodded immediately and hurried away towards the back where the sun was just starting to rise

you rummaged through your gym bag and found the specific gel brand he uses

kindaichi was SHOOK bc why the hell did you have it?

you noticed his shocked and confused look

‘i knew this would happen. we’ve facetimed before, remember? just in case this would happen, i brought backup’

his eyes glistened with tears of gratitude but you waved it away and started attempting to fix his hair

tbh you dont know why he did this hairstyle because his hair was really soft and nice and he still looked attractive either way

moving on to kunimi babie

lets face it, he probably doesnt sleep at all at night and he suffers from insomnia

and when he cant sleep, he bothers his friends

but he doesnt bother you though

which makes you sad bc you thought you made it clear that he could come to you if he was in need of something

you only found out after kindaichi accidentally blurted out during morning practice of how tired he is bc kunimi wouldnt stop talking to him at 2 in the morning

‘aki,,, you could’ve called me’

you gently said and kunimi scrunched his nose at how sad you sounded

‘you need your sleep, y/n’

‘but i want you to sleep too’

‘kindaichi’s been my contact since i was like 5 so-’

‘so you dont need me?’

your eyes watered and kunimi jumped, frantically fussing over you

‘okay, okay, y/n, okay. ill call you’

then as if they were never there, you cheered up and bounced happily

‘i’m expecting it, aki-kun!’

but at 1:43 in the morning, his finger hovered over the call button on your contact since he really didnt want to bother you

but he could already hear your whines in the morning

‘aki?’

he cursed when he heard your groggy voice

‘sorry y/n, ill hang up-’

‘no!’

you sat up, forcing to wake up

‘stay’

you mumbled and he made a sound of agreement

‘not tired?’

you asked

‘no. well, like im tired but i cant sleep, yknow?’

you laid on your bed with your cheeks puffed out, trying to think how to put him to sleep

‘we can just talk, aki’

‘about what?’

‘anything. just,,, talk to me. i want to know your favorite color, your favorite food, everything about you’

:( morning calls really hit different

last one is our mattsun babie

so like, mattsun is a TREE

im like 5′3 and hes like 6′2 so we a whole dwarf next to him

you are always dwarfed whenever you stand next to him and this little shite takes advantage of that and puts his elbow on top of your head

he likes to poke fun at you but you just pout bc you know hes all fun and games

‘hows the weather down there’

‘so mean, mattsun-san’

but his height did give him a special memory with you though

you were both left in the gym to clean up bc everyone had something to do like oiks had to go home bc takeru got sick and iwa also got sick and you just volunteered to clean up and mattsun stayed behind

you were sweeping the floor and you unconsciously started humming as you swept and started swaying a little

mattsun heard you as he pushed the carts and watched as you just swayed and twirled around and he found himself smiling at you

you noticed him stop in front of you and he bowed down, holding out a hand

‘may i take this dance, m’lady’

you laughed

‘what? whats going on?’

he softly held your hand and pulled you to him

‘you were dancing and i wanted to join you’

you nodded and looked up at him, eyes half-lidded

‘stand on my feet, chibi-chan. i can lead while you sing’

it was a random song you heard from the radio earlier but you complied while he moved with your feet on his

you giggled when he would lean down to softly kiss your forehead and shriek when he would unexpectedly dip you down

either way, at 8:34 PM, you and mattsun danced under the gym lights with no witness except you and him

ughh i really want seijoh now

you and the team share individual memories that are more special than the ones with the others bc its where you could actually be upfront with each other

its just a shame that there are 4 third years in the team that would eventually graduate and go their own separate ways after high school, leaving behind their underclassmen

they could just hope that those memories and special moments would remind them of who you were and how special you were to them since at the prime of their youth, you were their first true love

a/n: ngl i didnt expect to finish this so quick but im just in a really soft mood right now and this is to makeup for the fact that my update schedule could start becoming erratic due to my school so i hope you enjoyed this blurb!! and depending on my asks, there could only be one last part to this series unless someone requests for another specific scenario with the manager!!

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starryse · 3 years

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Tent Bonding

Mingyu x Reader

Fluff, slight angst, implied sexual themes

1,663 words

Summary: it’s your annual camping trip with your friends, but there’s a change of plans this time around..specifically in love

The woods that surrounded the small campsite went on for miles, the lights of the city seeming to be non-existent. Shades of orange and yellow in the sunset lit up the clearing, casting bright shadows off of the trees. You stood on the outskirts of the site, admiring the calm environment. It was a nice change compared to the busy city, the sounds of traffic replaced by the small chirps of birds and the scurrying of the animals running amongst the forest floor.

“Yah! Watch the food, that’s all we have!” Seungcheol’s sudden voice carried through the trees, scaring off the birds that had taken shelter on the branches. You turned your head over your shoulder, peering back at the scene behind you. Soonyoung held the basket of food close to his chest as he tripped over dirt piles and twigs, Seungcheol following close behind, his hands extended, in case Soonyoung fell- not that he was worried for his member, the food was his priority, of course.

You stifled a laugh, covering your mouth with your hoodie sleeve.

“Hey y/n, wanna help me set up the table?” Joshua appeared in front of you, a bag of appliances in hand. You nodded your head, following him to the large picnic table. The table was across from the tents a few of the boys were setting up, right in front of the fire pit that was poorly dug in the ground.

Joshua passed you one end of the dark blue tablecloth, unfolding the cloth over the middle of the table. Once spread to each corner, you taped the end pieces underneath the wooden table, not trusting the wind to keep it in place. Josh grinned, giving you a half-five, “easy peasy.”

You laughed, nodding with what he said, “just be glad we didn’t get tent set up-“

You both turned your heads, chuckling at the chaotic mess the boys were as they miserably set the tents up. One of the tents were lopsided, the other two not even put together quite yet. The cry’s and complaints were heard even across the clearing, the boys laying across the grass in frustration.

“Should we help them?” Josh spoke through giggles, his smile wide across his face

You contemplated your answer. It was highly entertaining watching the boys struggle, as they were so confident in the car. You could still hear their cocky remarks, “were men Y/n! We can put up a simple 2 step tent, okay. Have faith in your friends!” Plus, you were still pissed at Mingyu for acting like a douche over something as simple as you wanting to ride with Jeonghan to the site.

“I dunno, watching Mingyu struggle has been the highlight of my day so far, asshole deserves it from earlier.”

Joshua hummed, understanding why you were mad at the dark haired boy, “it is highly deserved”

“It is-“ you were cut off by the shout of Seungkwan, his voice echoing long after he finished talking.

“Hey you two!”

You and Joshua tensed. Seungkwan marched over, tent sticks in hand, “why are you standing here being useless while I work so hard to put up the tents?!”

Seungkwan held up his hand, shutting up Joshua very quickly, “I don’t wanna hear it, follow me”

You unwillingly followed the grumbling boy, watching as his hands flew left and right as he complained about “how lazy some people are”. Gripping your hand, Seungkwan tugged you to help setup with the left crew (composed of Mingyu, Seokmin & Chan), while Joshua was pulled to the right (Vernon, Seungkwan & Jeonghan).

You stumbled over the hammer that was carelessly lying about, earning a few snickers from Seokmin and Chan- though they immediately shut up when you stared them down.

Seokmin waved you over, patting the spot in the grass next to him, which happened to be right by Mingyu, “come sit, y/n! We need all the help we can get”

You could feel Mingyu’s eyes on you as you moved to sit down, though ignoring it didn’t do too much as your face heated up anyhow; whether that was from nerves or the fact you were still pissed at him, you wouldn’t know. Now you were a fumbling, pissy, mess as you turned your head to ask Chan a question, “Hey Channie?”

Chan hummed, his eyes quickly darting up to meet yours before he refocused on the tent,

“Who’s in what tent?”

That seemed to get his attention as he nervously slid his hand on the back of his neck, avoiding yours and Mingyu’s gaze as much as possible, “well we only have 3 tents, and they’re uh-“ he began to stutter, “pretty big, so we couldn’t fit anymore in the car-“

Oh you didn’t like where this was going.

Chan finally raised his head from anxiously toying with the grass in front of him, “but I figured I could squeeze in one of the small ones from last years trip-“

You cut him, a short sigh leaving your lips, “meaning Mingyu and I will be sharing one, right?”

Chan gulped, mumbling an mhm. Seokmin darted his eyes back and forth from you and Mingyu, who was currently chewing on the inside of his cheek, “that’s not a problem right? I mean, I can always stay with you, y/n-“

“No.”

Your eyes snapped in Mingyu’s direction, his lips in a thin line above his clenched jaw, “that won’t be necessary, they’re fine with me. Right, y/n?”

His eyes dashed to yours, not budging from their place. You quickly nodded in agreement, no clear words forming a response.

The sound of someone clearing their throat in front of you caused all 4 of yours heads to pop up, meeting the confused face of Seungcheol, “is everything okay here?”

A chorus of yeahs and mhms broke the awkward silence, Seungcheol casually shrugging it off with a pout, “anyways, it’s dinner time. We can finish these up afterwards”

You had never been to such an awkward dinner. At least for you and the guy across from you it was.

The entire dinner was spent by ignoring Mingyu’s glances, or the few times he bumped your knee with his own. The other boys continued to laugh and wreak havoc as per usual, but you and Mingyu seemed to be in your own worlds.

You cleared your throat, catching Minghao’s attention next to you, “I think imma head to bed”. Minghao sympathized with you, he knew how close you and Mingyu were, and he hated seeing you two act as if you didn’t know one another.

“Alright, please try and work it out?” You could only budge a sad smile at him, muttering a quiet goodnight. He patted the small of your back as you got up, tossing your plate in the trash bag that was strung on the tree for you.

Meanwhile, Mingyu creeper mode was activated as he silently watched the encounter. He could feel the guilt eat away at his stomach, he hated when you were upset. And knowing he was the cause, was even worse. Minghao exchanged looks with him after you left, a silent agreement settling between the two as Mingyu trudged after you.

When Chan said the tent was small, you forgot just how small he had meant.

The tent was barely big enough to fit a sleeping bag, let alone 2. Meaning you and Mingyu were to be up each other’s asses the rest of the night. Your shoulder deflated as you sighed, a disapproved look etched on your face.

You began to roll out the sleeping bag on the hard floor of the tent, adjusting it so it was as close to the wall as possible. With all the rustling of the bag as it slid around, you didn’t notice the sound of the tent unzipping. That is, until someone coughed right next to your ear.

You let out a sharp screech, body jumping out of its skin before you fell to the ground in shock. After you recovered from the almost heart attack, you whipped around to be with the sullen expression of Mingyu. His features resembled a puppy as his eyes were innocently looking into your own.

He moved to sit on his own sleeping bag he had set up earlier, “I’m really sorry for how I acted earlier, y/n”

You fell back onto your butt, sitting criss cross across from Mingyu. Your lip was hues of red and purple, your teeth had been gnawing on since he entered.

“I know”

Mingyu shook his head, a guilty look present in his eyes, “no, y/n. I shouldn’t have acted like that, you’re allowed to be friends with whoever you want” He paused, thoughts going haywire as he looked at you, Your face showed anger? sadness? He wasn’t sure, all he knew was he didn’t want to ever be the cause of them again.

Sucking in a breath, Mingyu quickly rambled, “I-I like you, Y/n- actually, no. I love it you”

Your heart stopped, pulse slowing down for a split second before rapidly speeding up, “w-what?” Your voice was soft, confused even.

Mingyu smiled, canines on full display. He shifted closer to you, smushing your face between his hands, “I love you y/n”

Before you could register what you were doing, you smashed your lips onto his, teeth clashing from the sudden push. Your cracked lips mixed with his own, the taste of the beer he had with dinner smothered the previous taste of champagne you had drank. Your brain was a fuzzy mess, and your stomach wasn’t so far off either.

You pulled back, a trail of saliva dripping onto your chin. Mingyu pulled his sleeve down, wiping it off, a sheepish grin etched on his face.

“I love you too”

Mingyu melted at your words, quickly reattaching his lips to yours. I think you know how the rest of the night went.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Oh okay well Danny tells Ryan that they’re “going to talk in the morning” at the end of the Was it good? peice and I would like to see that. Maybe Danny telling Ryan some of the things that happened to Nate and making him super uncomfortable? Idk I like Danny protecting Nate it’s interesting

CW: Referenced past torture and pet whump, referenced alcohol use, brief reference to dissoci@tion

Follows on Was It Good?, takes place the next morning

Ryan wakes up with maybe the third serious hangover he's ever had to find a glass of water and a couple Tylenol on the side table next to the bed.

His hip hurts, a strange tight ache over his old tattoo, and he feels like his mouth is full of cotton and his head has been used as a bowling ball. Fuck. He never gets hangovers - it's the family blood, Dad says, with a hint of his brogue and a slight smile. Just how the Michaelsons are.

Their liquor doesn't touch us the same, Patrick had said when Ryan asked, tipping a glass to him, eyebrow raised. That's why I import the liquor my own people once made.

It had made perfect sense at the time. Now, though... what people? The Michaelsons have all left Ireland. They're all here now.

In any case, it'd been his dad's shit he'd been drinking last night, and too much of it. The world's faint queasy spin tells him that, even if last night is still a mess of nonsense impressions slowly coalescing back together.

He takes the pills and drinks the water after, ignores the uneasy twist of his stomach, and pulls on a t-shirt, soft as second skin, and wanders out in that and his boxers.

Danny is up before dawn, every day, and today is no exception. His brother is sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, staring out the window over the kitchen sink at the fading depth of night, finally giving way to pinkish sunrise.

When Ryan enters, those wide blue eyes move immediately to him. They are not soft, or sad, or lost - they are precisely focused, and the skin under the red of his scars is pale, nearly colorless under a smattering of freckles. Both of them pretend Danny's whole body doesn't still twitch with a need to slip to his knees on the floor as soon as someone enters. "You took, um, the pills?"

His voice is soft. And still Ryan feels unsettled, something between uncertainty and guilt. "I did, yeah." He moves to pour himself a cup of coffee, the peppermint mocha creamer he'd bought changing dark brown to silky tan. Not that you need much, with Danny's coffee.

Ryan could half believe in magic, really, just from seeing how Danny didn't seem to do anything different but his coffee is still always the best.

Danny's eyes are still on his back. He can feel the weight of them, settled there. His brother, who flinches and murmurs to himself and looks at anything but whoever is talking to him... staring. Directly.

He turns slowly around, and as he does the memory of his brother's voice slips in from the night before. Strong, and even. Angry. I want to talk about this in the morning. A Danny he'd thought had died up in Canada, resurrected, reborn to defend...

Ryan's stomach drops as the whole night, fuzzy but mostly there, slots into place. "Oh, fuck," He whispers.

Fingers around Nate Vandrum's neck, closing tightly, Nate's green eyes wide and lost in terror, calling him... what?

Pl-please, Ashley, please-

Danny snorts, glancing away from him and then back again. His hands are closed around his coffee mug so hard his knuckles are white under the scars there, too. "Not too, um, blackout drunk, then," Danny says. There's a wry sarcasm there, something so familiar and so lost to Ryan that it hurts to hear now.

This is how his brother sounds, a little irritated, cynical. Not weak and soft and pliable, bending to suit whatever he thinks he has to be to stay safe. This is the brother Ryan has lost, not quite resurrected maybe, but maybe opening his eyes beside the open grave.

He's somewhere between, Ryan thinks, between the angry, dancing boy who disappeared and the broken, frightened man Ryan brought back home. He's holding himself together like this, so carefully, fighting so hard not to slip away.

Ryan sits slowly down at the other end of the table and tells himself to have the courage to meet his brother's eyes.

He manages - barely.

"No, I... I remember."

"Good." Danny slowly lifts the mug to his lips, sips, sets it down again. Like he's acting out a routine of normal, each move robotic and tightly controlled. "You can't... be cruel to him, Ryan. Like that."

"No, I know. I lost my temper a little, that's all. It's... it's not that big a deal, Dan." Ryan rubs at the back of his neck and tries on a shamefaced smile. It falters when Danny's expression hardens, like lava solidifying to rock, harmless on the surface but still hot enough to burn.

"You could have hurt him, Ryan," Danny says softly. His voice is so low, and so strong - both at once. "You, um. You did hurt him."

Ryan nods, again. He feels like a kid sitting in front of his mother after getting caught skipping curfew. He feels like Danny skipping curfew, the disappointed annoyance from their parents. Ignoring that it had almost always been Ryan's idea to sneak out.

"I... I get that. I didn't-" Ryan takes a breath and groans, leaning on his elbows, rubbing hands over his face. "Fuck. I hear all the shit that bastard did to you, and I think, Vandrum was right fucking there, Danny! Right there! And he... did nothing."

Danny sets the mug down and it clatters with the trembling of his fingers, nearly splashing out entirely. Ryan looks up and catches the sight of a bead of red on Danny's lower lip, chapped skin torn. Redder than his scars, more immediate.

"He didn't do, um, nothing," Danny whispers, barely audible. His strength is fading, pulling back inside him. Ryan's brother will just... fuck off somewhere and the stupid goddamn puppy will be there instead.

Dr. Rosa has a whole thing about this, about trauma and Danny protecting himself, something about identity and like a lot of really uncomfortable questions about their childhood Ryan has no idea how to answer...

"What did he do, then? Huh?" Ryan finds his finger jabbing in the air, watches as if from outside himself as Danny flinches back. "Tell me. What did he fucking do?"

"He, um." Danny shifts, drops his hands into his lap. His hair, shaggy and unkempt, is a riot of red waves and curls around his face. "Watched. Or... helped. He-"

"Danny, please. I'm angry enough, don't make me even more pissed at this guy-"

"He, he didn't want to, Ryan." Danny looks at him again, and Ryan watches tears glitter in his blue eyes, one run out and get caught in the crevices dug in by scars, follow its map over cheekbone and down to jaw. "He hated it. But he-... but I-..." Danny breathes, that awful fucking thing he does now to calm himself.

Breathe on, hold for a few counts, breathe out. Again and again. Ryan knows what he’s doing, inside his head, and it makes him sick.

My name is Red and I belong to Abraham Denner, and then those stupid rules - and there’s like fifty of them - over and over again until his breathing calms, until his hands settle.

Until he’s good.

The bastard, the fucking demon piece of shit that laughs at Ryan on the stand... Abraham Denner taught Danny to do that. And now, free of him, the Denner bastard about to waste away in prison for life... He still does it.

He still needs it.

Ryan's eyes drop to the scars around Danny's neck, a collar he can't take off, and he swallows. His stomach turns. He pushes the coffee mug away, the smell and taste of peppermint are making him sick now. Too cloying, too sweet, too much in the face of his broken brother's pain.

"I'm alive because of... of him," Danny says finally. "D'you see?"

"Yeah, cause four years later he found a fucking conscience-"

"No. No!" Danny's hands slap down on the table, rattling the ceramic mugs, and his breath is faster, airier. Whistling, almost. "I, I... No. Because he, he, um... He suffered, for me. With me. For four years."

"You suffered," Ryan says, voice flat. "He watched."

Danny looks at him, and there is a darkness there, a shadow around eyes and mouth, that Ryan can't always see. But he sees it now. "He, um. Was made to watch. That... That's suffering, too.”

“Bullshit.”

Danny’s jaw sets. “Don't touch him again, Ryan."

"Don't plan on it."

"Please." Danny's voice drops, almost to a whimper. "Please, Ryan. He's-... He's the only real thing."

"What?" Ryan blinks, but Danny is already pushing himself up, moving away staring out the window at the sunrise as he dumps his coffee into the sink and rinses out the mug. Automatic, thoughtless cleanliness.

Danny doesn't look back at him. He's so tall, towering over everyone, and he is still so... very small, in his fear.

"Abraham could take everything," Danny says, lips barely moving, his eyes locked on the sky slowly turning blue with the morning light. "Everything from me. He did, he, um, he could... do it again. But he never took Nate."

He turns to look at Ryan, and there's a brief flash of Danny again, really Danny, his big brother's flash and fire, before it fades under the weight of what has been done to him.

"You could take Nate away from me," Danny says, voice low. Almost weak. "Please... Please don't, Ryan. Don't touch him again. Don't b-be Abraham, in this house. Don't... Don't. I need... I need, um, this time. With Nate, while I have it. Before he... Before it's over. Before he comes back for me."

He leaves the kitchen with Ryan still staring, guilt an inferno that will burn him alive at the pleading uncertainty in Danny's face, his voice. The door to Danny's bedroom opens and shuts, almost silently.

Ryan is left alone to say, to no one, "But... He can't come back for you. He"s going to prison."

Danny acts like Abraham Denner could just fucking walk out of it.

---

@whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @astrobly@whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary, @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-tr0pes, @wildfaewhump

#daniel michaelson's story #ryan michaelson is a good brother #or he tries anyway #whump #trauma recovery #referenced pet whump #past torture #past pet whump #referenced dissociation #kind of - ryan doesn't understand it yet #referenced alcohol use #caretaker #angry caretaker #broken whumpee #recovering whumpee #ryan is so naive #sorry 'bout that bad arc that hasn't happened yet buddy #conditioning

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Boy in Luv (Midoriya x Reader)

Pairing: Midoriya x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff/crack

Summary: Midoriya has a crush on a girl in his class, but he has no idea how to confess to her, enlisting the help of his two good friends.

Inspo: Based on BTS “Boy in Luv” MV

Word count: 1,802

Tags: @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak @yuki-osaki

a/n: As promised, here’s the post! And with this, I’ve officially added Midoriya to the list of characters in the Touch Starved collection.

Enjoy the cuteness and, mostly, the crackhead friendship between the main 3 characters! And even though I’m really late, happy 6th anniversary to Skool Luv Affair!

Midoriya, Bakugou, and Todoroki sit on the front stoop of their dorm building, enjoying the good weather since it was raining the past few days. They've been practicing all day and decided to take a break and snack together.

Midoriya munches on his stick of string cheese. "Do you guys get the math stuff? I'm still having trouble with integrals and stuff."

"Tch, you're falling behind again, Deku," Bakugou scoffs, ripping open a bag of spicy chips.

Todoroki, the only one of them who decides to snack healthy with some fruit, chews for a moment before offering, "I can help you if you're stuck, Midoriya."

"Like you're any better, Icyhot. You went completely frozen trying to figure out that problem in class yesterday," Bakugou points out smugly.

"I was simply calculating the answer mentally before writing down my work," Todoroki answers, cool and collected as ever.

"Don't make me laugh! Just admit that you can be dumb sometimes too!"

Midoriya laughs awkwardly, stuck between his two friends as they argue - more like one of them screaming while the other brushes them off calmly. The boy raises his eyes out to the distance, widening his eyes at what, or who , he sees.

The girl jogs towards the dorm building with Yaoyorozu beside her. Her face lights up into a smile at whatever they're talking about. A black windbreaker jacket is thrown over her golden honey colored sports bra that shows off her lean abdomen, and black leggings with a matching yellow stripe tracing down the side hugs her toned legs. Midoriya doesn't want to admit it, but he can't stop staring.

The two girls slow to a stop in front of the group of still-bickering boys. "My, they're always fighting, aren't they?" Yaoyorozu shakes her head.

The girl lets out a few chuckles. "That's just how they are, I'd be more surprised if they stopped, honestly." She turns to the green-haired boy and offers him a beaming smile, her eyes crinkling up. "You still holding up, Midoriya?"

At first he's dazed, staring at the way her chest heaves as she breathes and the thin sheen of sweat on her face glistening in the fading afternoon light. At his name, he sobers up and his cheeks flush from what he was staring at. "Oh, uh, yeah, somehow," he sputters. "Did you guys just come back from training?"

"Yeah, we had a pretty good session." She stretches her arms over her head, letting a few hums of pain escape her. "I'd love a good shower and my bed right about now, but I still have homework to do. See you tomorrow!"

The boy watches as the girls retreat back into the building. I never thought yellow would look good on someone besides Kaminari, he finds himself thinking.

"Midoriya, are you okay?" Todoroki's concerned voice scatters his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Your cheeks are red and hot like you have a fever." The heterochromatic haired boy leans forward, about to touch his face. "Are you coming down with something?"

"No, you clueless idiot, he's in love," Bakugou barks, "He's got the hots for (Y/n)."

Midoriya jolts up. "Is it that obvious?"

"Maybe not to Icyhot, but yeah, you look at her like she's your entire world or something."

The boy's emerald eyes drop to the ground and he hugs his knees to his chest. "She's a really down to Earth person, and she's really easy to talk to. And...the way her smile lights up her entire face." His goofy smile and warm feelings fade as he sinks his head down to rest on his knees. "I don't really know how I should tell her though."

Todoroki takes a bite of his orange slice, pondering the situation. "Give her a lamp? Since you said she lights up easily?"

Both boys shoot him a confused glance. "I don't think that would impress her." Midoriya gives it a thought. "She likes coffee, maybe I can get her a thermos for the morning?"

"Give her a new set of pens, she has a bad habit of always losing her own."

"Maybe buy her a new pencil case to match?"

"Buy a plant for her dorm to brighten it up, like a cactus."

Bakugou finally throws his head back and groans at their stupidity. "You guys are such idiots! Neither of you know the first damn thing about romance?"

The two other boys slowly shake their heads dumbly

The ash blond groans again. "Okay, let me tell you what you should do, Deku, since you're obviously clueless." After explaining a somewhat elaborate plan to the two other boys, he leans back, a triumphant grin on his face.

Midoriya's eye widen, blush coating his cheeks again at the thought of the scenario unfolding. "Wow Kacchan, I never expected you to be a romantic."

"Yeah, it's because you idiots are totally clueless. You need me to educate you."

"If you're so good, why are you still single?" Todoroki asks simply.

Silence.

"SHUT UP ICYHOT! DON'T MAKE ME KILL YOU!"

Two days later, the three boys decide to go through with Bakugou's scheme. After class, Bakugou silently follows the girl, waiting for her to stop talking to the rest of the girls to get her alone. After spending an annoyingly long amount of time outside their classroom talking to Mina and Tzuyu, she finally bids them goodbye and makes her way to the library to study.

Unfortunately for her, she never makes it.

Just before she opens the door, she notices a shadow looming behind her. Turning around, she's startled to have Bakugou's piercing crimson eyes boring into her's. She backs into the door and he slams an arm by her head. She's shaking like a leaf. "W-What do you want, Bakugou? I didn't do anything to you." Despite trying to seem strong, her voice comes out feebly.

A sinister smirk crawls across Bakugou's face. "How'd you like to go on a little trip?"

Before she can scream bloody murder, he grabs her arm and pulls her away on a little "joyride."

Meanwhile, Todoroki and Midoriya move all the chairs and desks of an empty classroom towards the walls to make a clear space in the middle.

The nervous, freckle-faced boy nervously paces around the room, going over the lines in his head while his fears wreck his quivering body. "I can't do this, Todoroki! What if she says no? What if she laughs at me?! What if she tells everyone?! I'll be absolutely humiliated!"

"Midoriya, calm down," he stares at the jittery boy with a level gaze. "Bakugou said he's very confident this will work. He's sure she also harbors feelings for you too." He places a warm hand on Midoriya's shoulder to stop his anxious habit. "Besides, since she likes you, she would appreciate your nervous stuttering because she would find it endearing and think it's genuine of you. Sounding too practiced ruins the natural anxiety of the moment."

The boy stares back the Todoroki's stoic expression, letting his words sink in. "So I need to make sure I don't overpractice or else she'll still reject me?" he whines.

The half-hot-half-cold boy sighs, being cut off by his phone ringing. "It's Bakugou, he says they'll be here shortly. And he says, 'Don't mess this up, Deku.'"

The boy cries out, feeling his entire body suddenly lose all heat to hysterical cold. Todoroki turns off the lights and closes the window shades, plunging the room into darkness only to light the few candles scattered across the room, casting a dim golden ambiance.

For the final step, Todoroki produces a single rose out of the inside pocket of his uniform jacket. Walking over to Midoriya, who's mumbling strings of inaudible, neurotic fears to himself, he juts the rose out in front of him, cutting off his speech. "Relax, Midoriya. Just say what comes naturally."

Midoriya blinks, delicately holding the rose by the stem, Todoroki moving to stand behind the door to be out of the way. The smaller boy feels sweaty, shaky, sick. His uniform tie is suffocating around his throat, stomach heavy in anticipation and fear, heart hammering in his chest and ears.

Finally, the door swings open and his heart almost stops completely.

Bakugou walks in first, holding the girl by the arm. The first thing Midoriya notices about her is her insanely windblown hair and dazed eyes. Bakugou said he would take her out on a ride around school, hitching her on his back, jumping out a window, and using his quirk to rocket them around the school building once. He says it would get her blood pumping, adrenaline rushing, and cheeks blushing; the perfect primer for riling her up for the big finale.

"Take it away, nerd," Bakugou makes a dramatic sweep of his hands towards Midoriya, and he knows it's his turn to shine.

The girl blinks back into focus and surveys the layout of the room, scanning the messily pushed around desks, the candles, and finally resting on the boy with the rose in his hands. Her blush intensifies at the last thing. "M-Midoriya, what's all this for?"

The boy goes cold all over again, perfomance anxiety getting to him. "I... Uh, (Y/n)- You-" All the different ways he could possibly start his monologue jumbles together to produce a mishmash of word vomit. Pull yourself together, don't mess this up! He takes a deep breath in and clears his throat to start over. Whatever comes natural. "(Y/n), you are the most amazing, bright, fun, cute person I know. Just seeing you smile makes my day and manages to tongue-tie me. I'd really like to be...more than friends." He holds out the flower with both shaky hands and dares to look in her eyes. "W-Will you...go out with me?"

Her silence seems to last agonizingly forever. Her entire face seems to lift as she flickers back and forth between the boy and the flower he clutches to keep from coming undone. She finds it endearing. In a swift movement, she gently grips his hand, leans in close, and places a kiss on his freckled cheek. "Yes, I'd love to go out with you, Midoriya."

The boy lets out a strangled yelp of excitement, before slapping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I'm just really happy!" Sheepish chuckles bubble out as he throws his arms around her, and she welcomes his embrace with her own delighted laughter.

The other boys look on at the scene before them. "The nerd did better than I thought he would've," Bakugou mumbles, shoving his hands in his slack pockets.

"At least his confession was accepted. Don't know what would happen if you tried this, though," Todoroki comments, his dig smoothly executed.

Bakugou grips the boy's shirt. "YOU WANNA DIE ICYHOT?!"

#midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #midoriya fluff #crack #mha #bnha #izuku midoriya #midoriya imagine #midoriya scenario #mha deku #bnha deku #female reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bts boy in luv

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fluffypeachwriting · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the first installment of my Hypmic Burlesque AU (definitely inspired by the 2010 film)! This is only an introductory chapter but it won’t be the last so I hope people stick around for more installments! It won’t be like a full fic with a coherent plot, just little snippets of the AU, so updates won’t be as regular or in chronological order.

Edit: I’ve uploaded it to Ao3 (in case anyone prefers reading there) with the title Show Me How You Burlesque! I’ll include links in future updates too!

The song sequence Ramuda performs, Guy What Takes His Time, is this one, and Tough Lover, mentioned near the end is here!

Rating: Mature/No Warnings Apply

Words: 1740

A guy what takes his time, I'll go for any time I'm a fast movin' gal who likes them slow Got no use for fancy drivin', want to see a guy arrivin' in low. I'd be satisfied, electrified to know a guy what takes his time

Backup dancers let Ramuda take the spotlight as it turned on, and he revelled in it, puffing out his chest with the swell of music. This was by far not his first performance of this particular song but the first chords of the song resonated in him like he had never heard them before. The pink feather fans parted to reveal him perched on the piano, like a clam opening to reveal the treasure inside. It was planned to be this way, with the pearl costume and its subdued colours bringing out the natural beauty that was contained within.

Natural, though nothing close to pure.

His nickname would suggest that. His fans called him the ‘lamb’ of the burlesque stage. It wasn’t just a small play on his name, as he was frequently seen adorned with his favourite fluffy white coat when he wasn’t dancing, usually holding onto the arm of a rich hotshot that took his fancy at a party that night. But he was anything but a weak animal, as he was just as deceptive as he was cute. His dainty little body was seen at every big party and club in town, buttering up everyone who caught his eye, never seen hanging around alone. He lived fast and hard.

He wasn’t past stepping on the spines of his rivals in stiletto heels to reach for the crown.

Ooh. Maybe I should make a king themed costume. Yeah, something super lavish and shiny.

A real wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Not only that; the manager had threatened to ‘cook and serve him with mint garnish’ when he got on her nerves, along with other more colourful insults. He knew she loved the club really, so pushing her buttons from time to time wouldn’t do too much harm.

In his heart Ramuda loved the club as well, and everyone else too. The other dancers and their strange banter was kind of endearing to him, the band was reliable as always, the bar and tech staff taking care of the behind the scenes stuff, and… he did love the manager too. In an odd way. There was nothing remotely intimate about their relationship (save for a very drunken night soon after Ramuda’s employment but bringing that up would have him incinerated on the spot) as they spat all kinds of insults at each other daily while knowing that if worst came to the worst, they would have each other’s backs.

I really do mean, the worst.

And they would be together to see it, like a weird package deal. They went back too far for him to get fired on the spot, if ever. Though that wasn’t to say that he never caused any trouble in the club. Always teetering on the line, laughing whatever predicament he caused off while applying his make-up while the other dancers dealt with the fallout. They had no idea why the manager put up with him for so long at first, until they saw him dance. She had scooped up his talent and put him to work early on as the club’s first full-time dancer. And he was showing no signs of stopping soon.

You could speculate that he was built for doing this, even from one glance at him. It was almost uncanny. His hips swerved through the air as smooth as whipped cream and his shoulders shook with laser precision, every movement constructed to entice the viewer and pry more money out them night after night after night.

Lustful intensity oozed from his body language while he mimed as if he was singing; he’d asked the manager if he could sing during the performance, pouting when he was met with a firm ‘not yet’. Ramuda was known behind the scenes for being notoriously bratty when he wanted to get his way, and with the amount of money he brought into the establishment it wouldn’t be a surprise if the costume was actually composed of real pearls.

As if anyone could ever refuse his demands in the first place.

His look was finished off with dramatic pin-up style make-up and pearl jewellery to match the costume. He was undoubtedly radiant. Every inch of flawless skin was shimmering with the powder puff he’d meticulously applied just a few minutes ago before rushing onto stage and claiming it as his.

This was his speciality, commanding every head in the room with a sultry but oh so deliciously unattainable aura. It was the fact that he was always out of reach that made him such a tempting treat for the eyes.

As he gracefully lounged upon the piano the audience was being scoured by his all-seeing gaze, and you wouldn’t be able to tell if he was just acting or if he was searching for someone. It was a total cinch for him, maintaining a watchful eye over everyone while executing a perfect performance. Either way, he was the predator and they were the prey, being devoured by the small man. When he flashed his teeth in-between lines, there was a glint of malice that sparkled with a twisted form of integrity.

He sold undeniable perfection without letting it slip out of his possession.

Right now his mouth was curved into a cheeky smile as he mimed singing. He couldn’t be more content with the crowd wrapped tight around his finger, like how one hand was wrapped around the neck of the champagne bottle and tap tap tapping in time to the song. You could say that they were in a strong chokehold, but he wouldn’t be that mean.

Usually.

He tipped his head back just as he tipped the bottle towards the glass, spilling the alcohol everywhere except the glass (intentionally) and setting it down with a satisfied smile. The words he mimed were asking for a slow lover, not a tidy one.

Ramuda himself had yet to find a lover that suited his needs and wants. For now he was happy with a life of self-indulgence and luxury, holding onto the arms off all kinds of people. The kinds that had lots of money to throw around.

That led his mind to wander and remember another man who wished to dance at the establishment, a man who didn’t look a day over 20, who’d seen Ramuda perform a few times and stopped him to ask for his advice. The young man was in for a rude awakening when Ramuda told him the harsh, bitchy truth of the job. That was a few weeks ago now, but he could remember him and the young man standing in the cold rain just outside the building like it was yesterday. The man didn’t look completely deterred after that, despite the rain soaking through to his skin.

Perhaps he would be coming back soon, Ramuda hoped. He would be a fun one to mess with.

He hopped off the piano giggling to himself, then ran one hand up his neck and through his hair, relishing in the small moment before the next section of the song.

His strikingly icy blue eyes blew wide open in fake shock as the upper half of his costume was tugged off by a string, flying off-stage. He snatched one of the giant feather fans from a backup dancer and held it close to his chest (as if he wouldn’t be happy to bare it all, but burlesque was all about the foreplay and nothing more, and Ramuda was a tease at heart) and continued to strut his stuff.

His hair, pin-curled just for today, bounced around his face as he tottered around the band members, the pearls on his lower half shimmying over his soft skin with each perky little step. The stage lights were close to being unbearably warm but he walked with a cool aura that would send a hot chill down your spine if you approached the stage. It was a wonder how anyone kept up with him.

The two other dancers accompanying him tonight were considerably bigger in stature and build than him yet they were completely outshone. This specific fact was something Ramuda thought was hilarious. A duet had recently been choreographed to Tough Lover for them after being in such high demand from the audience, some even mentioning it directly to the manager, but they had yet to agree to it. Ramuda knew they would crack soon enough, it was only matter of neither man wanting to say yes first at the risk of their bad-boy exteriors wearing off. The two men were so alike in dignity and enthusiasm yet they fought in a typical cat-and-dog fashion at every opportunity. This, Ramuda thought, could be the reason they clashed so often. Whenever Ramuda (as cute as he thought they were) silenced them because they got too annoying, they were practically at his knees without question or thought.

He didn’t know exactly why. Maybe it was because Ramuda had had others fired before for less.

This certainly wasn’t an admired quality. On the few occasions during the songs that he made eye contact with either of them Ramuda could sense their envy of being the man to rake in the most money and attention.

What Ramuda couldn’t sense, surprisingly, was the man sitting in the shadows near the back of the hall. A past dancer of the club who was let go a few months back.

He was sitting there out of envy.

Staring Ramuda down with a deep-seated contempt that he hadn’t felt quite to this degree before.

Hate watching, you might call it.

Ramuda settled into the finishing pose of the song, his costume pulled completely off now with some miscellaneous musical equipment covering the goods. A quick wink earned him a long whistle. Each hoot and holler from the crowd was fuel to the fire.

Hate watching?

No… he was studying.

The lamb disappeared from view as the lights dimmed and the other man left the building just as fast. He didn’t want to think of it as cowering, but he did nonetheless.

He was a real sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Things were about to get interesting around here.

#hypmic #hypmic burlesque au #Ramuda Amemura

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matteblackstars · 4 years

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Nicholas x Tentacles : For Research

as requested by @catastrophicur fantasy verse + DP / sounding / throat fuckin’ / yes he’s a virgin / no its not written well, you know what, just keep walking, don’t look here

Nicholas scampered down the halls with the type of excitement that had nearly everyone he passed looking nervously behind. Short cleric navigated past clergy with ease, slipping between droves of prayer walks that ended in disapproving scowls and heads shaking in disappointment. Not that he noticed, because he got the aFTernOOn oFF~ For research. Which terrified everyone.

Due to prior mishaps in the dorms, Nicholas was given his own room well away from the rest of the populace just in case he summoned another undead bear or 30ft snake that he still couldn’t find or the time when gravity reversed itself in the mess hall or-- needless to say, when half the clerics came down with a curse that made them dance nearly to death and the other half frozen in time reliving their trauma in a void-like hellscape, he was banished asked to move his studies far far away and to notify the higher ups when he was going to be doing something potentially dismal so they could avoid it.

So when the final piece of his spell finally arrived in the mail, he was beside himself running through the gardens to get to the abandoned wing of the church where he had been allowed to make camp. Dreary and a bit dusty, the large heavy door requires small thing’s whole body to push against and when he finally slips through, it opens up into a massive study. Books covered the walls and laid in haphazard stacks along the floor, papers spilling with ancient languages and symbols, candles and floating colorful orbs illuminating intricate gold writings, bones, potions, skulls, vials, gems, taxidermy rabbit, a mobile of the solar system, a mobile of a different solar system -- everywhere one looked there was something new and potentially dangerous lurking about.

His desk held a multitude of messy papers and ink pots filled with ink that shifted colors (one that looks suspiciously like blood), and a single thick heavy book. It was the same size if not wider than the cleric himself and it takes a strained heave to lift the cover before fingers rushed to find a particular page. There. It only takes him minutes to shuffle about his room, moving stacks of things out of the way to clear space on the floor and hunting down the bits and pieces of spell components that involved ink, a single bit of bone, chalk, and whatever else. The item he had been waiting for came in the shape of a small crystal pendant. Some easily made magicked trinket that produced as manny mirrors as the holder desired in any shape or size. The spell had a tiny hand written note on the side that strongly suggested its use and Nicholas wasn’t entirely sure why or how this aided in the spell, but mirrors had their own magical properties that he’d mentally note to delve into. Tall and rectangular, he follows the note’s directions until the space he’s made is surrounded by them floating delicately at the perimeter with gaps enough he can slip through. He takes a moment to proudly smile at himself in the corner of one and then another few minutes to apprehensively stare at the complicated chalk circle he’s made on the floor, wondering if it was... too big. He wanted to summon tentacles, not the whole tentacle monster. Or did he??

There was a moment of doubt after everything was set up, last thing needed was the single drop of blood and ink to circle’s center, when his own eyes catch himself in a reflection. “Am I being too nasty for this?” Reflection shakes its head, of course not. It’s for fun. For research! “Getting a handy by a tentacle for... research?” You’re testing old magic that just happens to have the use of a few wiggly arms. “And if it doesn’t listen...?” Reflection chants back at him for research! for research! before short human is thoroughly convinced. For research.

Ink and blood fall with a deafening plop to its center, sleeves of thickly layered robes pushed up as far as they can so pale palms could press into the floor at circle’s sides, feeling the magic pulsate through limbs until incantation leaves the room silent. Chalk glows warmly, then dies out. The creaking groans of the walls and wood floor halting and little thing blinks, candle light flickering making the shadows dance and for a moment -- nothing happens. “WHAT” Disappointed bark has Nicholas flopping backwards and then forwards again to peer into the spell circle, sniffing bottle of ink and blood, wondering if it was his blood needed and-- well, that would make sense. Lips purse together, but the prick to his finger and the added dot of red leaves him full of expectation and.... noth-- oh?

Leaning close, he can see movement, like a plant breaking its way through the surface of the earth, a single blackish-red tendril wiggles its way through. Arms shoot up with an excited YES, gaze bolting about as if someone would be there to congratulate him on his small success before immediately leaning down closer with words of encouragement. Maybe it was shy? Weak? It’s ok bb, Nicholas is here~ “There there little guy, come on, coooome on~” Chuckle brightens his face, completely forgetting the whole intent of bringing this thing out, and more focused on the fact that it was tiny and absolutely adorable. It wiggles nervously, then confidently, growing in size until finally Nicholas is sitting up and staring at it face to face. It’s inky looking and curious touch tells him it’s slimy but even that’s just clear with an almost oil-slick like sheen.

“Oh the staff at the cleaning staff would hate this--ACK??” Something touched his face! Head snaps around and in the reflected circle of the mirror is another tentacle, breaching its way through with curious intent toward summoner. Then another- and another-- “oh. Oh no, that’s too many--” Even in the circle before him do more start pulling themselves through, shapes and sizes varying as thin ones twisted about thicker bases, others nearing with clear intent to grab and-- “OOoooohkay, nope, we’re just going to just, stop all this. Do you understand me?” It’s definitely more of a nervous plead than a command. “I’m gonna need your friends to just... go back to-” Since when was there one wrapped around his ankle? And lord they were strong--

“Hahaha-- ok ok, time to stop guys-- no-- no, don’t grab the other ankle, nooOOOoo-- I meAN IT--” The nervous panic was starting to set in as they took hold of each ankle that ignored his petty attempts at tearing them off and instead yanked legs apart with a loud yelp. The more he struggled, the more they seemed set on restraining him with their smooth heavy limbs, and even though feet kicked in an attempt to crawl backwards, his back smacked into the front of sturdy mirror that acted more like a wall caging him inside. Oil-slick slimy tentacles reaching from the mirror took their chance to drape over shoulders and slip into his neckline causing goosebumps across his skin. W-wait-- hey-- no no nO -- but the moment arm raises in protest, strong slick limb grabs his weak wrist, knee jerk reaction had frame twist to undo it, but all it does is make his free wrist captured. With arms now bound and ankles held taught apart, there’s a pause. Nicholas’ face contorted in frustration and then ultimately defeat as next tentacle wiggled across the floor in sly expectation over pants.

“F-fine. Fine!” Lips pursed together and things twisted in eager acknowledgement that had Nicholas bickering with it some more. “Oh- OH, So you CAN understand, fine! Just-- nothing too weird.” A mute point when he’s so compromised and a few more inky intruders start to tug and pull at his limbs until lower half is thoroughly spread and smaller constraints touch under clothes to elbow and knee. Another thicker one presses at his cheek approvingly, hugging against his neck in jaw as if that was some form of comfort before bold member slips beneath his pant line.

Now short cleric was... “pure”. Physically. Hands have enthusiastically explored himself and he was no stranger to relieving himself of his sexual frustrations, but this was the first time he’d had anyone but himself touch him and it showed. Any babbling he had done just seconds before cut themselves short and heart rate rises as warm limb grazed against him, sliding over balls and taint, between cheeks to come out the other side and wedge pants down just enough until butt sat on he chill floor and growing erection exposed if upper layers weren’t messily covering him. Something about not seeing what was happening only made everything more exciting, more nerve wracking as more eased their way beneath fabric to taste and squeeze gently over sensitive skin.

Anticipation and tinge of embarrassment has dark haired thing squirming with a single tentacle that wrapped around the base of him, easing itself upwards and back down again with ease. Then it moves a bit faster, others curling over sack with equally comforting tug, and it doesn’t take much for cleric to start breathing heavy against the limb that still licked at his cheek or try to hide behind elbows that were being raised ever higher by captors. It’s not until the smaller ones start writhing their way over the thick boys do things get overwhelming.

A long thin tip searches over penis head until it finds small slit to slowly wiggle into; gentle and curious, it presses in, waiting for any protest, and then out, repeating but going deeper while it joins brothers about the shaft, squeezing and releasing in an upward pulsing motion that has his legs trembling. It feels weird, tingling, and he has little control over how hips jerk desperately for escape or the friction at his wrists as tentacles tighten their grip there and at his ankles. Panting moans verge to the point of barely muffled whining, voice pitching and cracking with every wiggle as foreign limb slowly fucked itself into him. Another slithery blackish limb slid across pale thigh staying close to the crease of his leg before wrapping underneath his clothes possessively at his waist. Heat was pooling at the pit of his stomach with legs desperate to slam together, knees trembling as boiling point started to to get near. Panicked chest rising and falling, whatever this thing was, it realized he was getting close and started to move faster, wet suction growing stronger, and all too intrusive tip no longer leaving the hole it occupied, pumping with a dangerous speed that has Nicholas crying.

“Out-- Take it out-- Take it outtakeitoutplease-- PLEASE!!” Toes curled as he begged, overwhelmed tears welling up in the corner of his eyes before words are too complicated to say and tentacle slips out just as it gave conclusive squeeze and burst of cum decorated his stomach and thigh. Body jolts into silence that he’s finally granted release from his torture save for the echoed whine and pathetic needy whimpers that follow. Oh gross gross gross--! Shame is the first emotion to wash over him, embarrassment the next, and a tinge of fear-- why did that make him cum so hard?? Restraints give small cleric some slack and a welcomed relief as he tries to collect himself and palms smack tiredly against the floor. Head falls back against the mirror, hand resting on his chest with the realization that he’s been freed. Peace!! Peace at last -- mind evaluates himself and curious tug pulls clothes from over himself just to see the mess he’s left and that his dick was fine. Oh thank god. This relief last if only for a moment.

Single inky tendril slides sneakily towards his hip, feeling the air, attempting to take small tastes of his skin that Nicholas lazily tries to shoo away. Which was apparently the Wrong Thing To Do.

The show of weakness has the same limb thick and strong, snatch at fragile waist, yanking him downwards onto his back with a hard thud. There was no time to yelp because the moment he does, mouth is occupied. Fat and heavy, slimy member forces its way to the back of his throat, excited by impulsive need for human to swallow and tighten around it. It’s patient enough to wait for Nicholas to stop struggling, a minute before he starts to breathe through his nose and then it moves, languidly pressing in hoping to feel the velvety vibrations of fragile mortal’s moans which would come soon enough. Beast, monster, demon -- thing doesn’t bother restraining arms (not that they weren’t eagerly feeling over their hopeless attempts to escape) because its focus was too busy working complicated layers of clothes to get at the softer fleshy bits. For Nicholas, it was hard to fight back when his attention was at his mouth trying to breathe, muffled protesting shouts dying off, and tongue curling instinctively about its surprisingly warm weight. Thoughts were a buzz and buzzing faster when he feels protective clothes leave him and holy garb torn to make way to his chest. He’s not sure if he’s completely bare, it wouldn’t have mattered now that pale skin was easy to mark and already was starting to turn pink in the places where tentacles had clung and sucked onto.

A multitude of thicker limbs caressed over him, feeling at the highs and lows of bone and muscle, and with nippled exposed, smaller mandibles slithered their way to dance and play with them. It doesn’t take long for distressed breathing to slow, acceptance as refractory period was rushed to a close, and soft muted moan surprised even him. He liked this -- sharp flick against his chest has him pressing his legs together, messy thighs sliding against each other while he takes what’s in his mouth a tad bit deeper. If he could swear he would, wondering if it was the lack of control or the feeling of captured prey that had him creeping up on next sinful sound.

The tentacle at his waist smoothed underneath his back, lifting it to a small arch that Nicholas readily complied with, but he nearly chokes when lower half is flipped skyward. Thing must have sensed his tension and distraction came in the form of a strong thrust into his throat, a bit faster, a bit harder, then slowing down once the hands desperately hugged at the thing eased. Hands tried to grab for something else, something easier only to messily catch hold of the multitude of other tentacles that seemed to be joining to fray, curling around his legs that now hung over him. The embarrassment he felt before? Gone. Occasionally legs twitched and kicked, only to be haphazardly restrained while mandibles inched ever so dangerously close to the place no one has been in. Not that thing cared, it was busy coiling back over his hardening shaft, squeezing at balls and -- ok the embarrassments back when he’s hard again. Mind stimulated to a degree that was near overwhelming.

First to make curious prod is small, winding wet and slippery between exposed spread cheeks to tease at virgin hole, testing the waters and feeling his heart rate anxiously rise until breaching inward. Whimpered cry catches in his throat and once again legs try to right themselves with struggled jerk, back and behind wiggling in protest done more out of habit than need, but thick vice around his waist tightened and its tip pressed at his lower back so he was more firmly held in place. The one at his ass slid ever deeper, rhythmically pulsing at the edge, growing ever bigger the easier it was to stretch him wider, until it was finally built up enough to be fucking into him with wave-like motion that had little thing lightly bounding against the ground.

He’s melting into the floor moaning with little conscious need to hold back confused pitched sounds, every synapse bursting in strange new position when suddenly he tastes air. Deep breath gives way to shuddering sigh, tongue licking at wetted lips that had odd mix of saliva and mystery coating that had the faintest taste of magic to it and bleary eyes glance upwards to see the size of what was in his mouth now hungrily fall over tentacle-caged erection and taint to--

“NO. HnGNGgghH-- W-Wait-- No-- I-- I can’t--ah-ah-aHW-Wait--” whether thing could understand him or not, pleading fell on deaf ears and tip was already wiggling and nudging around hole that was still occupied by far smaller guest that started to move slower, a bit deeper so that thick one could more easily lick at edges, pressing experimentally until finally it gave way. Clearly excited, it wasted no time trying to push deeper, twisting sloppy and moist around partner that squirmed eagerly inside of him.

“AhhHHHhnNNN!!” Nicholas immediately became unabashedly loud. It didn’t hurt, not in the slightest, event as fat member stretched him far beyond the limits he thought was capable, both fucked into him with opposite momentums leaving him a mewling wreck, calling for names he’d only heard in dreams. it wasn’t nearly as nice to him this time around, the multitude of tentacles wrapped about his dick squeezing just hard enough that it wouldn’t let him cum as the two continued to move faster. The fullness was tantalizingly thrilling, he’d never felt this way even with what little toys he could get and he’s gotten so noisy with every rushed pant that left his sweat stained against the floor. The closer he gets, the more it tries to restrain him; wrists against the wood by his shoulders, one even found purchase at his neck, pushing chin upward so his unbelievably lewd cries have no where to go but echo off the walls of the room. For a minute, he even catches a glimpse of himself entangled in multicolored arms that all moved with eerie fluidity into him and he knows it’s him because when he opens his mouth, it does too and-- god he looks so obscene-- but so-- good---

Back arches with ready anticipation of what’s to come, a needy moan as one of the tentacles manages to brush against the spot that made Nicholas want to end it all and the smaller stopping its thrusting in favor of focusing meager attention on sliding against it while larger continued to pump in tandem with his breath. Teeth bite hard into his lip and he almost wished he could dig his nails into a person, but that sentiment is short lived when nipple is pinched and that familiar searing heat started to boil. He can’t hold back, he can’t -- he can’t--! It was too much! This was too much -- He can’t-- “I can’t--!!” Red flushed body burns and he’s slick with his own sweat and cum, tipping over the edge again with violent cry that shakes him to his core. Tentacles thrust hard and deep, the small bulge against his stomach visible if it weren’t for his release that fell hotly across chest and face.

Vision falls away and the tension he had held now released, leaves small thing empty and used. The things inside him twist and turn comfortably, lazily easing their way out while his waist is lowered back into the floor with a gentle thump. The others leave just as slow, taking their time over glistening body, licking across his neck and cheek where pearly white globs were smeared towards his mouth as they passed by before disappearing back into the floor, mirrors or... wherever they had come from.

So there he was left, breathless and disarray, clothes littered and torn, holy garb staring at him shamefully while he weakly sat himself up to survey the damage done. Covered in marks, ‘hickies’, bruises, sweat, oily substance, and cum, lower back tingling and feeling empty after having his insides just jumbled about; Nicholas quietly shuffled across the floor over mirrored circle to where the spell book lay, symbols and words still vivid across the page and he... tears it out.

He was going to keep this one for himself. For later. For research.

#no one fucking @ me #;; the curse of the holy ( cleric )#DONT EVEN LOOK AT ME #I feel bad for everyone on mobile #I don't have many followers on this account #but this is LONG

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vanchlo · 4 years

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The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Three, “If It Kills Me”

A story about what happens when she can’t be just his assistant anymore, and he can no longer be only her boss. Now, can they be happy with being just friends?

Read this story from the beginning here! :-)

Inspo tag here!

*NEW* Spotify playlist in the works can be found here, songs that inspire me for the story and have significance in the story c:

Warnings: one brief mention of vomiting, and some mild language.

SNEAKY PEEEEEEEEEEEK

“And Becky’s face consumes my thoughts, much like it’s been captivating my conscience as of recent. Rather unsurprisingly.

There it remains for days, much like it has been. It follows me through the air as I stare out the window, floating above the clouds. It crops into my conversations, leeching any enjoyment gathered from them. I even see it in a crowd of people inside the walls of the courtroom before I deliver my closing statement. When I look a second time, I’m disappointed to find the eyes of a stranger.

I only find a respite from longing for her face when I turn my phone off, trying to stop wondering why she won’t return my texts. That thought only sticks to all of my others during the coming week with more ignored texts, craving her voice, and sufficing for browsing her Instagram. Her face. That smile. The smell that sat in the corner of her neck. I miss all of it.”

Song Inspiration: If It Kills Me by Jason Mraz (click to listen)

“It’s like before it’s gonna storm, you know? You can’t see it, but you can feel it, like this, uh electricity, you know?” - Steve Harrington, Stranger Things

The warm rays hit my cheeks as my sandals pound on the pavement. I wonder how I could ever be unhappy given the May sun shining down on me, and walking from my favorite restaurant. Without fail, the blissful idea is stolen away by a swarm of thoughts dosed in reality. And a particular one that reminds me of what I need to do, despite the dread I’ve been feeling. Not even the former respite of Asher’s hug after our shared lunch can keep them away.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I swipe through my apps until I find the right one. Stopping in front of my gray car, I lean against the door with a huff. My thumbs hover across the screen nervously, followed by a curse under my breath. Quickly, they flit across the screen composing words in front of my eyes. Sliding into my driver seat, I stare at the screen for a moment longer before hitting send.

I wait for the chime to come, telling me I have a new message, from him. Nervousness coats my limbs and only grows worse as the minutes tick by driving home. Waiting. But when I check my phone after walking in the door, my lock screen showing my dad and I’s smiling faces is blank.

No new messages.

Sliding off my black sandals, I pad through the shared living room and kitchen area before reaching my bedroom. My laptop beckons for me across the room on my desk, and I sit down before it. I hope that maybe if I don’t procrastinate this specific thing, maybe things will turn out a little better. But as I’m opening a study guide for Family Law’s final exam, I’m proven wrong.

The chime grabs my attention immediately, making my fingers still on the keyboard. Flitting my eyes to the lavender Speck phone case, I grow antsy at wondering who the text is from. And what it says. Inhaling nervously, I pick it up and wake up the screen. The few words of a preview I see of the text cues a sour anxiousness to grow in my stomach. Bringing my knees up onto my chair, I pull them against my chest as I open the text.

Hey I’m so sorry I’ve been terrible at texting back, finals these next two weeks are getting to me. Speaking of that I realized that I have to take a final at the time we’re supposed to get lunch in a few days. I’m really sorry but can we reschedule . . . again? I was thinking in two weeks when I’m finally free from the clutches of uni????? :(

Harry

sorry cant love. im in edinburgh all that week for a case. lets talk about it when im back. good luck w finals xx

Sighing, I type up a short response, agreeing to that. With guilt casting a shadow over me, I return my attention to the lengthy study guide. The gross feeling in my stomach remains, and with its arrival, my excitement for our lunch date is replaced with disappointment. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks since we rescheduled it the first time, due to me messing up the dates, again. Peeking my eyes at my phone, I turn away and slump against my chair.

It’s been a month since I saw him last, and although we’ve sent a handful of texts, they haven’t been enough for me. Skye, of course, told me that there’s nothing stopping me from showing up at his office door, but she’s wrong. I don’t know his schedule anymore, and for all I know, I’d be waiting around for him. Plus, my appearance would just yell ‘desperate!’ Sometimes, I wonder what little world Skye is tucked away into that’s far simpler, not realizing I still have to work during the day, especially more so this summer.

But as the days drag on with chemo and radiation appointments, and lectures upon lectures, I think maybe Skye has the right idea being so optimistic. Maybe.

Over the next few weeks, I see him at almost every corner I turn, and it hurts more than it should after all these weeks. The ignored texts shouldn’t feel like a fresh stab wound when I see that Scrabble box in the family room, get on that very same lift, or walk past the nurse’s station I found him leaning against that morning. Nothing compares to the piano and the pang I feel in my chest at the sight of it. It comes every time I walk through those doors and am reminded of the intimacy held on those keys. No, it didn’t get easier after the first time being back there with my dad, or the fifth time. Avoiding that gray sofa like the plague only reminded me of the texts I sent him that went unanswered. I can’t blame him though, because like a bitch, I took a week sometimes to reply to him.

The tight feeling in my chest only feels heavier as I sit on the plaid couch in my childhood living room. I can’t even enjoy watching FRIENDS like I used to be able to, as their faces bring forth the sound of his laugh. It pains me to turn down their voices as I dig my phone out from under the cushions. I try not to let it get to me when I, once again, find no new text messages. My attempt is futile and it only causes me to take longer to open the phone app. By now, I know his number by heart, but my shaky hands cause me to mess up a few times.

Pressing the phone to my ear, all I can hear is its ringing and the pounding of my heart. As the seconds drag on, I’m almost certain I’ll hear the voicemail next. But then I’m pleasantly surprised, although the bitterness in my stomach blossoms.

“Hullo?” His gravelly voice pulls my lips into an instant smile. Rubbing the back of my neck anxiously, the words fall from my lips hurriedly.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” he responds curtly, a clattering noise heard in the background before he mutters a ‘shit.’

“I’m sorry, did I call at a bad time?” I ask quickly, regret filling my veins.

“No, yer fine. ‘m jus’ makin’ dinna.”

“Oh um, nice. What are you cooking?” I inquire, twirling the braided silver ring on my pointer finger. Swallowing, I wait to hear his molasses drawl again, like music to my ears.

“Jus’ a stir fry. So . . . why’d ya ring?” Harry responds, a coolness hugging his voice.

“Um, I haven’t heard from you in a while and wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” he hums awkwardly, followed by the sound of a door closing. Squeezing my eyes shut, uneasiness falls over me in a wave. Oddly, I wonder if all of a sudden I can’t call to say hi. “Ya, we’ve both been busy. Cases fer me, an’ prolly uni an’ yer dad’s treatments fer you.”

“Yeah,” I agree aloud, my chin falling to rest in my palm. But it leaves a second later to lose my fingers in my hair. “I wanted to tell you that I finished my finals last week, so now I just have clinical left in the fall. Oh, and my dad got to ring the bell today. He’s all done with chemo and radiation after his scans all looked good. It’s hard to believe that he’s cancer-free. His doctors will, of course, have to keep an eye on him in the future to make sure it doesn’t come back, but I couldn’t be happier.”

“Tha’s wonderful, love,” Harry coos into my ear, the first notes of happiness heard in his voice. It begins to put me at ease, and cause me to think maybe something isn’t off after all. “‘m really glad t’ hear that- well both o’ those things.”

Unbeknownst to me, I find myself nodding along with his words as if I needed his confirmation. But his words stop there, and the sickening feeling that something is wrong settles back in. A small ‘yeah’ stumbles off my lips as my fingers form into a fist in my lap, debating what to say next. Or if I should ask what I’ve been wanting to say the entire time.

“We weren’t able to get ahold of each other a few weeks ago to reschedule lunch. Would you still like to?” Going out on a limb, I let the words fly.

I watch for them apprehensively, uncertain if they’ll take flight. The loud sound from his side, the subsequent shuffling, and a voice saying his name shoots them down hastily.

“‘m sorry, I gotta go. ‘ll text ya ‘bout gettin’ lunch,” Harry remarks, his words stringing together swiftly. I barely have the chance to say an ‘okay’ before he abruptly hangs up, sewing together an unwanted thought for me.

Tossing my phone to the other end of the couch, I fall back against the cushions. Turning up the volume of the telly, I avert my gaze back to the make-believe world I’ve always taken comfort in. As the phone call gnaws away at my insides, planting insecurities every few steps, I let the characters whisk me away. Even if their faces and familiar jokes will now never stop reminding me of him, and something I let go of that I didn’t know I had. I only feel worse when I realize that I knew then that he’d never send that text, and I think he knew that, too.

“Staring at it isn’t going to make it ring, y’know,” somebody states, pulling me from my webs of thoughts.

Lifting my attention away from the black screen in my hand, I catch Myles looking at me impatiently.

“Wha- ‘m sorry. I was listenin’.”

“Then what’d I just say?” he requests, the hand propped against his chin rising in a silent question.

My lips fall apart to welcome my voice, but nothing comes out. Shrugging, he receives his answer and replies with a disapproving glare.

“Hare, this is important stuff. We’re leaving for Edinburgh tomorrow for the case, it’s a huge one.”

“I know, My. Jus’ repeat what ya said, please,” I huff, batting a hand at him. His eyes roll into the back of his head when he leans back in his leather chair.

“I swear to God, Harry, I-.”

“Stop,” I retort, growing annoyed.

He plays with the point of his quiffed blonde hair before clearing his throat. Although I try to listen the second time around, my gaze is lulled back to my laptop screen. My fingers itch to touch the keys and type up words, and when Myles begrudgingly answers his ringing phone, I find my chance. Sliding my silent phone into my pocket, I click on the blue thought bubble, only to be met with disappointment. Brushing it away, my fingers fly across the keys and my words are sent with a soft hum. Soon, Myles hangs up the phone with a perturbed sigh and resumes the conversation we were having. Again, I try to return to the bubble we share and the words that occupy it, but my mind is consumed with the anticipation of that coveted ding. And with Becky’s face, much like it’s been captivating my thoughts as of recent. Rather unsurprisingly.

It crowds my mind when I wait for the boarding call, tapping my fingers along the screen and watching the words be sent off. I only find a respite from longing for her face when I turn my phone off, trying to stop wondering why she won’t return my texts. That thought only sticks to all of my others during the coming week with more ignored texts, craving her voice, and sufficing for browsing her Instagram. Her face. That smile. The smell that sat in the corner of her neck. All of it. I miss all of it. It gnawed away at me slowly, and terribly, burying doubts beneath my defenses. They sprang up when I least expected them, and when I thought about sending just one more text. A few words wouldn’t hurt anything, I thought, but at the same time, I distrust the ultimate impact they could have.

The pounding jars me from my reverie, bringing me to my feet slowly. Padding past the television and kitchen area, a yawn jumps from my lips. Another pound lands on the door, dragging my brow into a knot.

“Oh, shuddup!” I exclaim in disbelief, wrapping my fingers around the smooth metal of the door. Yanking it open, I find the grinning bearded face of my mate standing on my stoop. “‘m not goin’, Rore, I already told ya this.”

“C’mon, Harry, I’ll look like a right idiot being there all alone,” Rory responds, his steps telling me he’s following me inside once I turn around. “Help a mate out here.”

“Ya, ‘coz ya were so helpful tha otha day when I asked ya t’ consult with me fer the Starkey case.” Scoffing, his words pause between his lips as I fill a glass of water from the attachment on the fridge. “Why’re ya goin’ anyways, since it sounds like sumthin’ yer dreadin’? And since when d’ya even go t’ these sorta things? Last place I thought ‘d see you at, Rore.”

“I don’t, but it’s for me sister’s showing. I can’t miss it, she’s me baby sister. I’d hear about it from me mum for weeks.”

Snorting, I have to pull the glass of water away from my lips.

“Hope ya bloody choke on that water, mate,” Rory scoffs, only making me laugh harder. Water flies from my lips as I’ve forgotten the glass on the marbled countertop. “Are ya coming or not, Harry? Ya know it’s a good place to pick up chicks, too. They blooming love these art gallery places.”

Recovering from my fit of giggles, I turn my head to find Rory waiting with the question in his eyes. He huffs and riffles a hand through his tousled blonde hair a few shades lighter than that which covers his face. Shaking his head, he wiggles his head at me.

“I’ll consult with you on the next case, or even give ya first pick,” he whines, folding his hands together under his chin, as if he’s praying.

“‘m yer bloody boss, I always get first picks,” I murmur, a smile cracking at the end of my words.

“Oh, fuck off, would you?” he spits, pushing at a chair in front of the seated bar attached to the kitchen island. Clucking his tongue, he messes with the collar of his navy blue blazer thrown over a bloody Zeppelin shirt. Yeah, you sure look artsy there, Rore. But with the next words that fly from his sailor’s mouth, he pins me down. “What’re ya gonna do here anyways, sit and watch the bleeding telly all in your lonesome when ya could be with me getting damn a date?”

Biting my lip, my house slippers come into my view and when Rory’s eyes find them, a laugh explodes from his lips. “Go hurry up and bloody change before you’re too far gone, mate. I’ll be in the car,” he titters before his voice falls with a delighted sigh. Delight found in my pain.

“Two cases, Rore. Any two cases I want, ya consult with me on. Ya got it?” I argue, following on his footsteps.

“Whatever makes ya feel better, mate. I know you'll be thanking me later tonight.”

“Doubt it,” I mutter, watching him open the door, sure there’s a sly grin covering his face.

I turn to jog up the stairs until I arrive in my bedroom. Quickly, I toss on skinny jeans, a Keith Haring shirt, and a mustard button up smattered with faded white flowers. I look rather artsy, I reckon, I decide as I look at myself in my bathroom mirror. It’s an easy feat when you’re standing next to wannabe Rory over there, though. After taming my hair and finding a pair of shoes, I pad down the stairs.

“Alexa, turn off all o’ my lights,” I announce, slipping my wallet and phone into my pocket as my hous darkens around me.

“Take fucking long enough?” Rory groans when I slide into the passenger seat of his silver Sentra.

“Shuddup and drive, will you? So we can get this ova with.”

“If you’re gonna be an ass tonight, then just go back inside,” he almost laughs, beginning to back away from the towering walls of my house.

“Talking ‘bout yerself, are ya now?” I quip, bringing my phone from my tight pockets, tapping in my passcode.

“I’ve noticed, y’know,” he mumbles, barely loud enough for me to hear him. Looking up from the bright screen, his eyes don’t stray from the road. “There’s a girl, isn’t there? Or there was?” he continues, a man I’ve come to love over the last three years he’s worked with me. And somehow I thought I had fooled him, but it turns out, I haven’t. I can’t even fool myself.

“Sumthin’ like that,” I whisper, my attention straying back to the conversation lit on my screen. Another day of the ball being in her court, and she just leaves it in the bloody corner, neglecting it. “I see why ya wanted me t’ come now . . . jus’ don’ try t’ set me up with yer bloody sista. She’s like twenty.”

His hearty chuckle fills the space around us, the words of a song from Death Cab for Cutie lurking in the background. “I won’t, but y’know she’s not gonna let ya out of her sight, mate. She’s had the hots for you from day one.”

“Oh God, Rore, what’d I let ya drag me into here?” I joke, my lips curling into a nervous smile. But the smile feels good, and it feels even better when her name disappears from my screen, and I forget my phone in my pocket.

“What happened to making me dinner?” I whine from the couch, crossing my left leg over the other under the comfort of my blanket.

“That was when you were busy, and well, the other day when I was feeling generous. Not today, missy,” Skye scoffs, the sound of the fridge shutting marking her words. Something lands in my lap with a plop, startling me.

“Wow, how gourmet. Why thank you, I definitely don’t need to make dinner now,” I joke, picking up the wrapped piece of string cheese.

“I know you’re still going to eat it. Just eat cereal or something, you hobo. I’m going to bed at a decent time, unlike somebody.”

“Hey, it’s a Friday!” I argue, pressing the page down button on the remote, waiting for something to catch my eye on Netflix.

“Yeah, and some of us still have a job on Saturdays!” she calls from her journey down the hall.

“Party pooper!”

She remains silent on the defensive line, and so does the list of boring content on the television screen. Relenting, I click over to My Stuff and press play on the next episode of FRIENDS. Relaxing into the cushions, I unwrap the cheese and slowly eat it in strings. Giggles flow from my lips watching the scene unravel in front of me, and some eye-rolls because of Ross or Monica. After a while, my legs stray to the fridge, and I return to the tan sectional with a bowl of Cheerios. The milk threatens to spill over the side when I sit up suddenly, almost yelping in laughter at the scene when Monica and Rachel lose their apartment to Chandler and Joey. The sugary Cheerios soon disappear, and the milk follows them as the episode nears the end.

Placing my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, I hurry back to the sofa to catch a Phoebe scene. My cheeks warm with a smile, but they soon grow cold when my thoughts have to interrupt with a memory of his face. That god awfully sweet smile adorned with his cherry lips and precious dimples. Without knowing what I’m doing, the cartoon looking app appears under my nose, and pictures fill my feed. I take a second look at a few of them that catch my attention, the angry voices of Rachel and Monica tickling at my ears.

Soon, the search bar materializes and although it feels wrong, I type in letter after letter to create his name. I can’t remember the last time I glanced at his profile, just to catch a hint of him. Finding the profile I’ve become familiar with, I tap on his picture and wait for his profile to load. Glancing away, the tv captures my attention once more as I scratch at an itch on my leg. Yawning, I rub at my eye before it falls back to the blindingly bright screen. Blinking hard to clear the haze from my vision, I scroll down to see what new pictures he’s posted, although they’re usually few and far between.

I find the most recent picture I recognize and tap through them. Picturesque shots from high in the clouds. His unbelievably adorable niece. Food-grams. A picture of a homemade pizza is making my mouth water and is still stuck in my mind when I happen upon the next photo, and the most recent one. The moisture in my mouth is wicked away, suddenly bone dry when the image in front of my eyes slowly registers with me. But I can’t believe it, even though I’m seeing it. I don’t want to see it, or believe it. The moisture reappears in the corners of my eyes quickly as a sourness quickly knits together in my gut. The image shakes in my hands and then blurs in my eyes, accented by the thrashing of my heart inside of my chest.

“Skye!” I shout, the words leaping from my lips with little success.

My lip wobbles and I feel my entire face collapse from pain, disbelief, the whole shebang. The sob screaming from my lips is muffled by my fingers coming to my mouth.

“No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter, inhaling fast and feeling the tears in my throat. Because I can feel it everywhere in my body - the pain. In my eyes, my stomach, my hands, and my chest. The sight of Harry’s lips touching that of another girl’s sends knives into my heart, and my stomach roiling. “T-this can’t . . . ,” but my words escape me, because the multitudes of feelings punished with anguish and despair course through me.

“Skye!” I yell again, not realizing that I’ve gotten to my feet. I stumble at first, feeling the weakness reach my legs. Her name leaves my lips wet with tears as I run past the kitchen and down the hall.

Pushing open her door, darkness meets my eyes, and I swear in that moment it swallowed me. Hitting me, I grab the doorframe and feel my forehead fall against it. Leaning there for support, the sobs roll through me, the very reason still clutched in my hand.

“Whaaaaat?” she groans tiredly from her bed across the room.

But I only reply with a sob of her name, hiccups havocking my chest. My hands claw at the wall, darkness coating my eyelids.

“Ree?” Skye asks groggily, the click of her lamp following her words. “What happened? Are you alright?” she hurries, the pillowy patting of her covers being thrown back meeting my ears.

Her arms wrapping around me are almost numbing, and do nothing. And feel like nothing. But when I feel my head meet her chest, the slowed-down world I lived in for those few seconds vanishes.

“Skye, I-. . . ,” I attempt, once again falling up short as tears suffocate my voice, much like they’re making me feel. Shakily, I press my phone into her hand as I try to find safety in her arms.

I wait and then am rewarded with her intake of breath followed by a sigh. “Holy fuck,” she whispers, and retaliates by pulling me closer against her. “Come here, Ree.”

She walks me over to her bed and helps me under the covers until I’m surrounded by them, and her arms.

“Who i-is she?” I demand sloppily, searching for something to hold onto and to anchor myself with. I’m compensated with the smooth fabric of her shirt that I cling to the back of, my head falling into her hair. The mundane scent of strawberries wafting from her body tries to relax me, but to no avail.

“Ree-,” she begins, but I don’t let her start, let alone finish.

“I want to kn- I need to know,” I respond, sniffling against the warm expanse of her neck. There’s shuffling next to me before she sighs, and I sense the light of my phone. Tapping prods at my hearing as I try to form coherent thoughts.

I’m met with images of him. Harry. His dark curls, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and the high-pitched giggle that accompanied my tickling as well as his own. The intruding memories rack my body with shaking sobs, pressing my lips together as new tears gush over them. My belly contracts with each sob, and I don’t even register the cramping in my hands from holding on so tightly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Skye hums warily from above, pulling my head into her neck, leaving her arm there to shield me from her words. Or the image that I can’t remove from my mind even if I tried. It’s burned there indefinitely now.

His arms in a blue button-up surrounding her and his lips enveloping hers. A smile creasing his cheeks with happiness, and spreading to those of her dark cheeks. Her curvy body pressed against his, flowing ebony curls tickling her chocolate skin.

“Tell me.”

“Okay,” Skye caves, the tips of her fingers running marathons along my back, in attempts to calm me down. But I don’t know if the tried and true will work this time, although it has for every other, even when my dad’s life was painted with the C-Word. “She’s a London based artist, does some sculpting and gallery work locally. According to her Instagram account, anyways.”

“I asked . . who is she?” I repeat, my voice wavering under the dominance of the tears.

“Her name’s Bailee Taylor.”

“W-what does her page look . . . like?” I request, exhaustion blanketing me, and only adding another feeling to the rest. Blinking away the tears, I try to take in a deep breath, but my memories hit me with the safety I felt in his arms. Unwaveringly.

“It looks like they’re . . dating,” Skye announces quietly, squeezing me around the middle. The confirmation I didn’t know I’d been searching for hits me like a train, knocking the air out of me again. And all of a sudden, hatred pulses through me, asking me where to lay it. Where to feel it. “There’s a few pictures of them on her feed, looks like they met maybe a few weeks ago.”

“Why?” jumps from my lips finally, taking a nosedive to join a sea of unanswered questions. The word shakes the second it leapt from my tongue, and somehow it hurts more than all of the rest. “I h-hate him,” I cry, my nose smushing against her skin when I try to hold onto her tighter than I already am.

“No, you don’t,” she coos, raking her fingers through my hair slowly, and carefully.

“I know, b-but I wish I could,” I answer, the memories dancing through my head at hyper speed. Falling asleep in his arms, and waking up in them. The tickling fight. The almost kiss. The Scrabble game. Waking up to find him waiting there in the doorway. Him coming back even after the way I treated him. Finding him standing there at the front of the lecture hall. The reprieve of being in his arms again after so long spent away from them. And then, like a wall, my mind runs into the strings of unanswered texts. The canceled lunch dates. The both of us ignoring the other’s texts, but then at the end, it was him. It was him who was awkward during the last phone call. He hung up on me abruptly, and I heard somebody else was there. Was it her? It’s possible they would have already been together by then. He said he’d text me to set up lunch, and he never did.

“It won’t make you feel better,” she murmurs, cupping my head with her palm. The sound of tears edging at her words only makes mine come harder, and the feeling in my gut grows louder.

“Then what will?” I beg, wondering if I’ll ever forget the taste of the salty tears. A taste I thought I could forget just late last month when my dad was cured. News that I told him, and had been impatiently waiting to do all day. “I thought I was just feeling okay again, Skye.”

“I know, Ree, I’m so sorry,” she returns, placing her cheek against mine, the first tear peeking through in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

I unpeel myself from her anxiously, kicking away the blankets before my feet land on the floor.

“Where are you going?” she almost demands, the sound of her following me far away.

“I’m gonna be sick,” I confess, rushing down the hall before falling to my knees in front of the toilet. The Cheerios and milk from earlier make a reappearance, along with the string cheese, and mushy contents of my other meals.

Running a cold cloth along my face, Skye kneels in front of me, her face painted in sadness.

“How can it hurt so much, Skye, when he wasn’t even mine?” I croak, focusing on the lone tile in our bathroom that doesn’t match the rest of the flooring.

“I think you’re wrong, he was yours, Ree.”

“I was so close. I fucked up, again,” I weep, my lips collapsing with yet another sob.

“Don’t say that, don’t,” she insists, tucking her hair behind her studded ear when it goes every which way with the shaking of her head. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is. She’s so pretty . . Of course she is,” I remember aloud, breathing in quickly before the tears take hold of me once more. Closing my eyes, I reach out for her and let my head rest against her shoulder.

“She really isn’t, Ree. A big pair of tits doesn’t make you pretty, and anyways, you’re far prettier. He could do much better, like you.”

“You’re just saying that,” I confess, trying to swallow, but my throat has tied itself into knots with the thoughts of him. And when that word falls out of bed inside of my head, I find that it can hurt worse. “I was his Becks, Skye, I thought it was right there. That it was gonna happen for us.”

“Oh, Ree,” she cries, sniffling against my hair when she pulls me against her. “I know, I’m so sorry . . so sorry.”

Nodding into her chest, it feels right as her necklace digs into my wet cheek. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, and so does every other part of my body in some way. Somehow I let her bring me back to her bed, and hide me away in her arms. My head swims with questions, then fleeting hatred for him, and inconsolable longing the very next. I shed a tear for his smell, his contagious smile, that Scrabble game we’ll never finish, the churros I’ll never be able to eat again without him ruining them for me, the color of his eyes I could never forget, and the lost feeling of his lips I never got to kiss. The list miles long of things I never got to say to him, or do with him, or make him feel. Because now she does, and she isn’t me.

“I-I thought . . that he felt the same way about me, and that somehow he knew that I loved him.”

A whimper escapes Skye’s lips as my tears fall into her neck, adding to the puddle I’ve shed there.

“What does she have that I don’t? Am I not interesting? Does she have a nicer body than I do? Am I not pretty enough? Was I not nice enough or appreciative of him?” I weep, the questions flowing off my lips from the recesses of my mind. My name greets my ears firmly, but I ignore it. “I was trying to answer his texts when I could, but things got so busy with uni and my dad. All the driving, the tests in both places, and I couldn’t keep dates right in my head. Maybe if I’d texted him back sooner that one time, or made the lunch date on the right day the first time-.”

“Becky, don’t do the ‘ifs’ thing,” Skye urges, pulling the covers further up our shoulders before returning to combing my hair back again and again.

“But I can’t stop thinking about what went wrong, a-and how much I miss him, Skye. I miss him a hundred times more after seeing that picture,” I reveal, falling into her, my lips meeting her shoulder. My teeth dig into my skin and I let them, numb to the pain as the same word is too busy with my mind. “I don’t know if I ever wanna see him again.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to, I’ll always want to. Like something inside of me will always want him.”

The sunlight streaming in through the windows is the first thing I see when I awake. Ducking my head back under the covers, I pull them over me with a groan. The blissful ignorance of the first few minutes after waking up follows me, until it all comes crashing back.

“Are you awake?” a voice murmurs, sleep clinging to it.

“Unfortunately,” I whisper, staring into the muted light underneath the gray covers.

“I can stay home if you want me to, I was just making some breakfast,” Skye responds, the tapping of her feet along the floor following.

“No, don’t cancel your hair appointments because of me. I’ll be . . I’ll be fine,” I tell her, but then the tears greet me good morning.

“Oh, Ree, I’ll cancel and we can watch movies all day, or FRIENDS. Whatever you want,” she announces. The bed falls to one side when she sits on the edge, and I feel her hand find my back.

“Thanks, I was hoping you’d say that,” I return, turning around and sitting up to dive into her arms. “I was hoping I had dreamt it all and it was just a bad dream. But my life is the bad dream.”

“Oh, Ree,” she coos, surrounding me with her arms. “I know this is cliche and it doesn’t feel like it, but it’ll get better.”

“I don’t know about that. My life is a running joke lately because it feels like it’ll get better, and then it just gets worse.”

“Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it, Becky?” somebody asks. Looking up from my cupcake, I find the face of Sophie.

“Yeah, end of next week,” I answer, picking an orange sprinkle from the white frosting to eat.

“Do you have any big plans?” my boss asks as she places her lunch in the microwave.

“My brother and I hang out every year, we’re twins.”

“Oh, how fun! I remember meeting him once when he brought you lunch one day,” she smiles, turning to face me as she waits in front of the humming microwave.

I just nod and dip my finger into the frosting, feeling it melt on my tongue a second later.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Yep, just tired is all,” I fib, taking a bite of the carrot cupcake, although I’m not wrong when I think about it. Skye has been a lifesaver for the last two weeks helping me get back on my feet. Thinking back on it and all of the tears leaves a funny taste in my mouth, but I try to brush it away with a forced smile.

“How old will you be this year, Becky?” Sophie asks, pulling out a rolling chair to sit to my right at the long table.

“Good old 26.”

“Wow, still a spring chicken, I’d say,” she comments, bringing a quirky smile to my lips. I almost follow her laugh with mine. “Well you know what, an early birthday present from me is you can have the rest of the day off. You always do a great job, Becky, and so you deserve it.”

“Sophie, I-,” I begin, my jaw falling to the floor.

“I mean it, go. Get out of here. Go do something that makes you happy, love, it looks like you need to,” she smiles, squeezing my arm from across the table. Standing to my feet, profuse ‘thank yous’ leave my lips before I leave the break room.

I drive around with my windows down, unsure of where to go instead of home. Before I know it, I find myself walking into my favorite little coffee shop. I’ve always loved to hang out here with a cup, reading a book, doing homework, or just relaxing on one of their sofas.

Soon, I sit down with a Cubano sandwich and an iced cinnamon roll coffee, my very favorite. Pulling a book out of my work bag, I crack it open to the first page, unable to remember when I last had the time to read a book for fun. The words of Ruth Ware stare back at me, slowly drawing me into a made-up world, and away from the desolate one trying to swallow me.

Quickly, I’m grateful for the respite from the thoughts mucking up my mind. Instead I lose myself in the sentences that spin a scary story, thanking my old self for stashing something besides a romance in my bag. That’s the last thing I could even think about indulging in right now. For some reason, the mystery entices me, a genre I’ve always had a love for. I think, especially now, it’s the aspect of being able to solve a mystery, and to fix a problem. If only I could do that now, I wish silently with a spiteful snort.

Placing my empty plate on the return area by the cash register, I return to my cozy spot on the couch and to my book. Losing my fingers in my hair, I prop my head up and open the book to where I had left off. Soft indie music trickles from the speakers as conversations float around me. Several more sofas are dotted around the large room and booths, as well as tables varying in sizes. Friends play board games borrowed from the shelf by the fireplace, and others do schoolwork or actual work. A laugh from behind the counter echos through the room, right as the bell on the front door jingles. Although across the room, I can hear the voices floating in from the sidewalk. Cars honking and birds chirping. The sounds make me itch to leave the air-conditioned room, and bring my reading outside into the June sunshine.

The words covering the pages root me to the spot, but they can’t protect me from what I hear. It’s a voice that I know inside and out, from the shortened words to the often used words. My vocal cords soon begin to tangle into knots in my throat at the mere noise. Beneath my baby blue blouse, there’s a clobbering in my chest as the voice grows near and then stops. Instinctively, hair falls through my fingers as I lower my head, wishing to remain unseen. Unknown.

I can’t stop myself, and there I am looking up to see that crinkly-eyed smile through wrenching tears.

Harry.

23 notes · View notes

who-is-olivia · 5 years

Text

Track 1. Meet Me in the Hallway

Harry Styles x OC

Harry confronts Olivia but she shuts him out of their house. [3.4k]

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: sexual language

December 2017

Olivia hits the last high note of the song, ending it with a bang. Only when her work is done does she look beyond the stage lights into the crowd. They adore her. She looks to her right and finds Frank messing with his pedal, the sound was a little off. The dress he wears tonight is stunning, and for a moment she feels a spike of jealousy. When he looks up, he smiles at her and she does it back.

“Alright everyone, you’ve been amazing tonight but this is the last one” she looks back under the crowd’s manifestation of disappointment and checks if the band is good to go. With the drummer’s queue, she focus on the melody, closing her eyes to get the tune right. She and the music are one in the same, the way her body moves with each note truly entrances the audience.

When she opens her eyes it’s impossible to notice anything but a pair of green eyes staring at her intently. She’s at a loss for words. He wasn’t there before, she would have noticed. His short hair has spots of snow, a long navy blue coat wrapped around his body. If his intention was to be incognito, he did a terrible job because no one in the crowded pub looks as handsome as he does. In any other situation being speechless would be acceptable, but in this case she’s standing in a stage with a spotlight shining upon her. Frank frowns at her, looking at the crowd, then back at her. When the crowd begins to fuss, he stops the performance.

“What’s going on, bug?!” he asks, covering the microphone.

“Backstage, come with me” she pulls him out of the stage, leaving Sarah behind.

She shuts the door behind Frank but it doesn’t have a lock, so she clumsily sticks a chair under the knob.

“What the fuck-“

“Harry is here, I have to go!” she explains, putting on her coat desperately.

“No way, we haven’t finished the set!”

“I don’t give a fuck” she looks for her purse.

“Oli, listen to me!” he holds her by the arm, “I called him”

“What?! Are you fucking insane?! How could you do this-” she pulls her arm violently away from his grasp before someone knocks on the door.

“Guys, open up!” Jim calls.

“What’s going on?!”

“This is ridiculous” Frank reaches for the chair but she holds him back.

“Frank, no! Please!” he’s forced to look at her. “I’m not ready to tell him!”

He sighs, letting go of the chair and rubbing his forehead nervously. “Oli, if this was the other way around he’d never hide it from you. He never did, not even once!” she shakes her head, this can’t be happening. “Talk to him”

“I...” she stutters, eyes brimming with tears. Her imagination takes the worst of her, making her see a heartbroken Harry crying alone on his kitchen floor, like one of the times she’s found him there. Calling her ceaselessly, his chest aching in anguish, desperate to reach her. But then other images haunt her, images of him turning his back on her, cold to her touch, his eyes aloof as if they see through her. “I can’t”

“Fuck this” Frank pulls the chair at once, letting both Jim and Sarah in. She stares at Frank disappointedly but with soft understanding. He had to put up with her problems for a long while without asking for anything in return. He got this incredible drummer to play for them in a small celebratory gig he’s been looking forward for so long and she ruins it. It’s only fair he’s upset.

“What was that?” Sarah asks angrily.

“Harry’s here” Frank replies.

“So what?”

“I have to go” Olivia takes her bag and pushes through the small gathering. She takes the back exit to the dark streets, pushing her steps a little faster. All the memories she tried to bury resurface violently, and she finds herself breathless on the winter air. She and Harry leaving Jamaica together, sharing the same first class seat as she slept over his chest watching Wall-E, his sleepy fingers gently caressing her temples as to not mess up her hair. Him pleading for her to stay in London for a few months while he finished the album, arousing another fight about their life together, the way he barely ever raises his voice during an argument, making her feel always as the bad guy. His meek crestfallen steps away from her building, turning her heart into lead so heavy she couldn’t move.

“Oli” she looks back, there he is. She wants to run but stops. To say her guilt is holding her back is a decent enough excuse, but she knows it’s not true. Seeing him, despite all the heartache, still lights a fire in her chest. However broken she might be, he’s still Harry, and he still makes her weak in the knees. Olivia expects the worst, but instead of cursing and raging at her he delivers a shy smile, bringing out his dimples. “Hey”

She freezes, only mumbling in return: “Hey”

“‘S been a while”

“Yeah... look, I-“

“I just want to talk”

“I don’t”

“Please, I just want to know if you’re alright”

“I’m not” Olivia whimpers, “there, now you know” she turns and rushes back to her flat with him tight on her footsteps.

“Oli, wait!” he pleads, following her inside the three-store building. She’s fast to climb the stairs but he is a close second. When she comes to open the door, her nervous hands betray her and she almost fails to unlock it. By the time Harry arrives, she shuts it. “Please Oli, listen to me” she covers her ears like a child.

She knew this was coming. Her silence was unusual, soon enough he’d be suspicious. Not even an argument as crude as the one they had could keep him away from her. Now that he’s here and she has to confront the truth so urgently she wants to avoid it even more, so she keeps shutting him out both internally and externally.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you but you’re acting strange” he tells from the door, “Frank just called me and he said you had something to tell me, I suppose if he called me it’s important...” he heaves, trying to catch the breath he lost on the stairs, “but even if it isn’t, I just need to see you, love” he supports himself on the door and slides his back on it until he’s sitting on the floor, resting his head against the wood in frustration. It’s agonizing having her so close to reach yet so impossible to touch. “I though we were on the same page after Jamaica, but if something changed... are you sick? O-or in debt or anything like that, I need you to tell me, anything is better than let me fill in the blanks”

The hands that covered her ears now cover her mouth, trying to muffle her panicked breath. It’s almost as if the truth is begging to come out. It breaks her heart to keep him out.

“Please open the door. I’m not going anywhere so you might as well just let me in” she lifts her bloodshot eyes to that shadow on the door. Hesitantly, she takes small steps towards the knob. Her hand lingers on the cold piece of metal but doesn’t turn, instead she falls with her back on the cold tainted glass. He feels the shifting on the wood but it doesn’t shake his faith, he needs to try harder. “You looked beautiful on that stage tonight, I almost feel bad for sweeping you away” there’s no reaction, only the sound of her heaving breaths. “Was it something that I’ve done?”

“No!” she cries in a small voice.

“Did you do something?” silence, “You’ve done something and you’re afraid I won’t like it?”

“More or less” she wipes her nose carelessly.

“Is that why you won’t return my calls?”

The moment of calmness ends and she feels her constricted sinus itch once more as the tears threaten to spill, “I’m scared...”

“Are you scared of me?” he cries, heart tightening from just imagining the scenario-

“It’s not that”

“If it’s not me, can I least help you, love? You know I’ll always have your back” she nods silently and take a deep breath. She still feels the impulse to cry but shoves it aside, maybe if they talk it will take the pain away. “Just tell me, please...”

“Haz...” she shuts her eyes and just blurts out, “I’m pregnant”

His eyes freeze at a bit of the carpet floor in awe as he tries to process the information. His frown slowly rises as a quivering gasp escapes him, thrilled with the actual meaning of what she just revealed. He feel so ecstatic but at the same time so disappointed that he can’t share that moment with her.

“Please say something?” she begs as her imagination tricks her with a thousand different scenarios of his reaction.

“Oli... that’s amazing!” he turns to the stained glass, “That’s amazing! Oh my-“ he chuckles, feeling the tears fill his gaze. “How far long?”

“9 weeks”

His joy falters, this is the most important stepping stone of his life and he’s already missed a third of it. He can’t miss the rest, “So... Jamaica?”

“Yes”

“Oh my... Oli please let me in, I need to see it-“

“I don’t... I don’t want to” she chokes again.

He frowns at her reaction, anticipating the worst: “Oli... do you want to have this baby?”

Her lack of an answer pretty much says it.

“Oh no, no no no...” he presses the glass where her body is leaning on it, cold sweat running down his spine. “Please love, don’t do this to me...”

“I haven’t done anything yet” her voice turns cold.

“Then why are you hiding behind the bloody door?” he asks in despair but she can’t answer. There’s no logical reason: he already knows, there’s nothing he can do to stop her, she’s not afraid of him... yet, she feels guarded by it. Harry sighs in frustration, a huge weight in his heart turns his legs to mush in anguish. “Olivia! For fuck’s sake, talk to me!” he cries.

“I don’t wanna talk anymore-“

“Why don’t you want the baby?” he presses, “I’m just trying to understand! Are we too young? You think w-we can’t afford? I need-“

“You can afford it Harry, I can’t! If I have the baby, this is it for me, how can I work and take care of a baby at the same time?” she blurts, shouting at the glass behind her.

“I’ll be right beside you”

“It’s not the same. You can give your time, your support, but I have to give up my body. I don’t want the swelling and the big boobs and the pain...”

He melts at her words, although many people would consider her dread to be selfish he can empathize with a fear as human as childbirth itself. Losing your physical form and a part of your identity is devastating. He can’t imagine how Oli feels about it, considering her experience with her parents and how she got lost between two people who didn’t really want her. If that’s the only reference she has, there’s no reason to bring a child in to this world. “It’s ok love... If you don’t wanna have it, I won’t make you”

“... but do you want it? The baby?” she whimpers.

“I do” he cries a bit, trying to give up on the idea is harder than he thought would be. “Ever since I met you I’ve been building this up in my head, planning every step forward and even when I think it won’t work it just keeps getting better. And I did all of that with this picture in my head that one day we’d build a family”

She slowly eases into a curious frown, her eyes fixed at a spot on the floor as she can’t help but imagine: “How’s the picture?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said you had a picture in your head of our family, how is it?”

He chuckles, wiping his cheeks. “There’s a few. My favorite one is you and me sleeping in the bed, and then the baby wakes up and comes to our bedroom. It tries to climb over the bed but it’s still too small and clumsy, so I have to wake up and pick it up and then it snuggles between us... and it smells like that oil you use when you shave your legs” he recalls the days when she shaves her legs and tries to shove them over him so he’ll feel how smooth they are, and after he feels it his hands always smell like lavender.

“It’s baby oil” she adds, “but go on”

“Alright... it’s got this cute little onesie but she’s heating up because of your radiator-“

“She?” he freezes.

“Always picture a baby girl, don’t know why” he confesses, reminiscing first time he had this epiphany back when he asked her to marry him. “She looks exactly like you, couldn’t tell it’s mine from a distance but-“

“She has your eyes” he agrees, “You stole that from Harry Potter, it’s not fair” they both laugh through their strain.

“Just to be fair, she’d also have my dimples which I believe is a genetical advantage”

“Show off”

His elation slowly fades as he remembers her leaning to another scenario, “It would be beautiful Oli. She’d never need anything, we’d take her anywhere, we would spoil her so bad...”

She feels the impact of his words on her soul, it soothes her to know this baby will be looked after and loved and yes, even spoiled. She wants that vision to be true, if they were in a different financial situation it might be just a reverie but they can actually make it happen. “Harry?”

“Hm?”

“If I told you I want to have the baby, what would happen next?”

“I would probably take the keys out of my pocket and open the door-“

“You’ve got keys?!”

“Of course I have keys, this is my house!” she laughs letting that tension escape.

“Then why are you out there?!”

“I was hoping you’d come on out” she nods, relishing in how ridiculously respectful he is. “But if you’re still wondering, I’d kiss you until I can’t breath, I’d probably talk to your belly in a way that’ll make you slightly uncomfortable-“ a neighbor steps out the door to walk his dog and find Harry sitting on the floor beside the door, “Evening”

“Evening” the guy waves awkwardly and leaves with the dog.

“What was that?”

“Neighbor... you know what? Why don’t you open the door and I’ll show you instead”

“That’s better” she gets up and turns the key, opening the door for him to walk in. He comes through and helps her shut the door behind him as he pulls her in for a hug and embraces her tenderly, her touch making his heartbeat soar. He nuzzles her temple pressing a gentle kiss against it before leaning in for a kiss. She cups her jaw and deepens the kiss, smashing their faces together with the intensity of their yearning.

He breaks it in a smile, urging his chest to calm down or else she’ll notice the heave of butterflies taking flight in his stomach. How come he has kissed the same lips so many times and yet it feels electric every time? How come he knows every inch of her skin and still he feels sparks rise wherever her tender touch connects them? When they part he can still feel her in the swollen skin. Maybe that sums the nature of his love for her: even when she’s not there, she’s still an entire sensation that dominates him and, at the same time, gives him peace.

“‘ve been dying to do that for weeks, you know?” he doesn’t let her answer though, stealing another kiss from her. She breaks it so she can take a good look into his lovingly smile. His eyes then dart to her stomach as he reaches down and kisses that bit of skin picturing their baby in there also glad to meet him.

“It can’t hear you yet so don’t waist your words” she reminds him.

“9 weeks huh?” he strokes the back of her knee, still crouched in front of her tummy. “Can’t believe I lost it”

“All you missed was me throwing up everywhere, nothing exciting” she tries to be dismissive but he’s not feeling it. He wanted to be there, holding her through it. Just the reverie of them sharing a bed like they used to makes him light-headed. “Now we’ll get to the fun part: the cramps, the ballooning, mood swings...”

“We’ll work it out”

“Maybe... I don’t know Harry, I’m so fucking scared” she tries to hide it but it’s inevitable.

“Love,” he gets up and tips her chin towards him, “A kid is a huge ‘maybe’: maybe we’ll fuck it up, maybe we’ll work it out... but if we get this chance, can you believe that? We actually get to raise a beautiful kid just the two of us, isn’t that amazing?”

“It’s pretty amazing” she smiles shyly. “Maybe that’ll push us to be up to the task”

“Right?!” she nods enthusiastically and he cups her cheek, “We gotta get better and we will”

She takes a calming breath and nods again, “Can’t believe you’re actually here”

“‘f course I am!” he pulls her to their living room, “‘s my house!”

He gloats endlessly about the place, but it means so much to him. He and Oli built it together out of their pockets and planned their entire life in it. The flat feels like a safe-house for their relationship, the only place they can be together and grow.

“Oh, sure, the house” she rolls her eyes playfully but he pulls her by the waist and kisses her cheeks earnestly. He rests his bottom against a decorative table and holds her within his reach. He slowly tugs on her shirt and pulls it up until her stomach shows, sliding his cold hands over her warm skin. With his eyes closed, he tries to feel the bump as he rests his head against her shoulder. Olivia loves the goosebumps it causes, having his touch so unashamed on her.

“There’s something you might need back” he fumbles his coat pocket for a rose golden ring with flowers engraved on it. “Only if you want it”

“Of course I want it” she allows him to slide the metal band on her finger and admires it from a short distance. She then runs her knuckles over his cheekbone, relishing on the small hairs of his face as he tries to kiss them in place. “Should get married before I start to show”

“Why?”

“Don’t know if we can have a wedding night if I’m too far long...”

“Oh... you mean we don’t get to fuck if you’re too pregnant?”

“I don’t know how the physics works, what if it harms the baby?” she teases him.

“We should get married right now, is there any restrictions this far long?” he asks in fake hurry and she cackles at him.

“I don’t think so”

“Hm, good” he leans his kisses down her neck and she doesn’t have the strength to push him away. She comes undone beneath his touch as she knew she would if she talked to him, specially when she’s this sensitive. “We could technically get married right now”

“Can you at least call Anne first? She might want to know she’s about to have grandchildren”

“Bloody hell, you’re right” he recomposes, taking a small distance but holding her hand still.

“Should we tell anyone else?”

“Not right now, let me just...” he kisses her hand and sighs, “Let me just enjoy this, just you and me, eh?”

He smiles fondly, it’s not hard for him to picture them as parents. Harry always wanted kids, he’s always been good with them and this is a welcome surprise after being in a relationship for so long. He was afraid that their small affairs with other people would eventually rob them of the chance of having a child out of their love but this is perfect. And it’s also so frightening, he wants the baby so bad he’s already willing to lay down his life for it. If anything goes minimally wrong, nothing else will do.

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advernia · 4 years

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fic: the world in her heart, her heart in his hands

— there’s uncharted territory on the far side of the moon, like that forest near some village and that cottage on a hill. - the queen of hearts/alice the second.

1: yEEHAW you're welcome + thank you for requesting such a cute prompt!!! hope you enjoy this one! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ — additional post-reading notes here!

t h i r t y —

They land near a tree.

He lands first, light on his feet and grass crunching under his weight. When he raises his head to look up at the sky, there's a whole canvas of twinkling stars high above his head; but a mess of dancing blonde hair and multiple layers of blue cloth are about to fall upon him instead.

So he extends his arms and opens his hands, and within seconds there she lands - one arm comes across the fabric of her blouse and fingers grasp firmly onto the shape of her shoulder, while the other arm now supports her skirts and the back of her knees.

"Really now," he sniffs, looking down at her face that's covered by her hands, "is that what you're supposed to be doing when falling down from the sky? Close your eyes and wait for an inevitable impact?"

An eye tentatively cracks open, peeking out from lithe fingers. "Maybe - I mean, people normally don't just fall from the sky, Jonah."

"Do you realize that your statement loses all credibility when it's you of all people who says it?"

She huffs, a comeback at the ready but then the unfortunate oak tree behind them abruptly cries out in anguish: something crashes through its many fine layers of flourishing leaves, breaks loudly through a series of its branches, then announces its grand landing with a triumphant thump on the ground.

The pair just stare at the object for some time, stray leaves now floating about and around them.

"... What exactly did you pack into that suitcase?"

t w e n t y n i n e —

The clock tower she calls the Big Ben is a magnificent structure - it stands impressively high and complete with a spire that could reach the heavens, whatever mechanism keeping half the building alight makes its copper paint body shine a regal gold, and each detail of the four clock faces it has are visible from even quite a distance. He watches the hour and the minute hands of the clocks meet at the twelfth hour, and what happens as a result is a resonating chime from the tower that he's sure could reach every corner and alley of the city.

The deep boom echoes reaches deep in his ears and echoes in his very being, not so insufferably loud but the bell's melody that pours out from the tower is almost spellbinding. He's standing very still until she tugs lightly at his sleeve, taking the opportunity to slip her hand into his and twine their fingers together.

"If you keep on staring with your mouth wide open," she giggles, urging him to move forward, "something might just land on your tongue!"

He wrinkles his nose, a touch of heat spreading in his cheeks. He pulls their shared suitcase along, and they continue with their trudge through the otherwise empty cobblestone street.

"Wha - could you not exaggerate? My mouth was not wide open at all!"

"Yes, yes. Now, let's try finding an open inn first, shall we? It's nicer if we tour the streets of London during the day, and even better if we're both well-rested!"

The first inn they find is run by an aged couple - she's asking about the rates while he takes a look around the place, starting with the room's general structure.

Four wooden walls surrounding him, floorboards under his feet, lamps attached to a high ceiling - it's nothing new but at the same time it is, with how everything appeared... inexact, rough around the edges. If one would take time to observe the carpentry, nails on the same board took a different alignment to that of the other boards surrounding it, and every board didn't share an equal standard of security or alignment to the floors or walls at all. Then there's the ceiling, with some parts of its expanse decorated by planks over planks creating odd patch-like shapes... were those meant to cover holes? If so, it was a temporary solution at best, and it sacrificed any semblance of aesthetic in the process.

A true result of manmade labor, he supposes. The Land of Reason wasn't familiar with the luxury and convenience of magic, after all.

Even the sheets and covers drawn over their bodies were a touch different to his skin too - it wasn't a lack of warmth or comfort, but perhaps an issue of sensation. The air he breathes feels a tad too thin in his lungs, the noises outside their window unfamiliar and borderline grating, beams of weak light that managed to pass through the curtains forming shadows that were rather odd and suspicious.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her face coming into his line of view and slowly edging closer. The crease of her brow and the blue of her eyes are big and wide, and somehow it makes him wonder.

Is this what you felt the first night you fell into Cradle?

"I'm fine," he whispers, body moving closer to her side of the bed. "I was just wondering if you have an itinerary prepared, that's all."

"I wouldn't say it's an itinerary, but I do have a couple of locations in mind," she grins from ear to ear. "I've been thinking about them for a while now, and I think they're places in London that would interest you the most!"

"Is that so?" a mild discomfort ebbs away into a tinge of amusement, giving way to memories of staged dates that make him smirk. "Are you truly going to impress me this time?"

She seems to have understood his reference, because she's grinning more like a loon now. Her forehead presses lightly against his, her reply oozes with a nice confidence.

"Of course I will - just you wait and see!"

t w e n t y s e v e n —

It's their third day, their third sunrise in London - he finds the complementary teas that the old couple brew during breakfast to be quite wonderful, and he's wondering about what blend would be served today when she suddenly pulls him over to sit in front of the vanity, a question on her lips.

"Can magic crystals alter appearances - of course they can! Why are you..." he trails off with a frown, brows knitting together as arms cross themselves across his chest. "... Wait a minute. Are you suggesting I alter my appearance?"

Her smile reeks of guilt. "Maybe I am? Look, I know you intended to use those crystals in case of an emergency - "

"So are you implying that how I naturally appear is some form of an emergency now?"

"Ahhh - you saw what happened yesterday when your hat was blown away by the wind! People couldn't just stop staring at you and the color of your hair, even when we were practically running away from the Trafalgar Square!"

"Ah, that? Can you blame them? If anything else, I'm delighted to have effortlessly achieved that kind of effect on the citizens of London!" he shrugs casually, then his lips quirk upwards. "Hm, by some chance... are you also jealous of the attention I received from all those women?"

"Jeal - I am not!" she huffs, turning her head to the side. She's mumbling something to herself as her arms cross themselves across her chest too, and that makes him chuckle.

"... Really?"

"Really!"

"Hmph. Alright then, can you at least explain why - " he leans forward, one hand reaching out to gently take hold of her chin and turn her head to face him, " - your cheeks are as red as a rose?"

He holds his gaze and his grip on her with a smug smile lighting up his fine, very fine features.

Despite the embarrassment burning even further in her cheeks, she couldn't bring herself to look away.

The group of ladies seated at the table right behind them are staring while chatting, most definitely. She puts her teacup back down on its saucer and the china rings out, maybe a bit louder from what was considered to be polite - of course, he catches onto this and looks up from the newspaper he insisted on reading daily, those golden eyes set on her.

You and you alone, he promised.

"What's wrong?" his voice calls, bringing her back to the present.

She glances at that eyebrow, at his hair - what used to be silver was now a lustrous shade of inky black, a normal color to be seen walking around the streets of London. But that, combined with his ever so-noble bearing and a form-fitting suit of dark navy blue, made him seem... much more striking to the public eye, for some reason. The occasional passerby would even stop in their tracks and gaze at their direction with pointed looks, voices loud enough to be heard!

Royalty, she heard some say. A dapper gentleman, others would coo behind their feathered fans.

So much for being inconspicuous, she muses. Despite the not-so-subtle attention though, something like pride bubbled inside her.

"Nothing," her expression smooths into a smile, then she directs her energy and attention to her food instead.

t w e n t y t h r e e —

They end up in the London Library two hours after breakfast.

It's a curious establishment open to the public that smelled of aged paper, dried inks, and cheerful sunlight streaming from large windows - occupying both sides of the room and reaching as high as the ceiling, every section of tall shelves that extended from the entrance to the end of the hall are filled with books of various shapes, spines, and sizes; and positioned carefully in the middle of the room are two long rows of chairs and desks waiting to be used. They go through each topic and sections of every shelf, made possible with the aid of a ladder - she points out what's fictional and what's not, and when he pulls out a book and goes through its contents out of sheer interest, she reads along with him in silence.

They fail to realize that they spend their time reading well into the afternoon.

"Alright - so from my understanding, you're saying that the current monarch, Queen Victoria, rules over these group of countries; and as a whole it's referred to as... the United Kingdom?"

"That's right. And in this part of the map, in the country of England... here's London! It looks pretty small, doesn't it?"

"It really is... and to think that London is just one of the many areas around the country! Have you gone to other places around England?"

"Mm... just a few. Okay, let's start around here - there's the towns of Taunton, Bridgwater, and Glastonbury that are pretty close to the village I was born in, and..."

e i g h t e e n —

Repeated clanging of high-pitched bells rattle the group of birds that roost on tree branches, and the great noise is accompanied by the sharp squealing and creaking of metals till only the faint hiss of steam being released into the air remains. She pays no mind to the sudden disturbance to the peace of their sunny picnic in St. James Park, and instead proceeds to taking a bite out of her sandwich.

He's quite intrigued, though.

"Another mechanical beast has returned to the station, I see."

She manages not to choke on the lettuce.

"It's called a train, Jonah."

"I know. And if you have to be so technical about it, it's also called a steam locomotive, powered by a mechanism known as a steam traction engine."

"... I'm sure I asked this a few times now, but do you want to ride one?"

"Well! Since you keep on insisting, then I guess it wouldn't hurt to ride on that just once. Do you have a destination in mind, though?"

"Hmm... that's a tough question! Going up, we can visit Cambridge, Peterborough, or if you're alright with a longer ride, Nottingham! There's also Brighton, Winchester, and Southampton below... oh, or maybe Swindon, Gloucester, or Bristol! There's a chocolate industry in Bristol that I've always been curious about, and..."

"Anywhere sounds fi - oh, wait. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the town of Glastonbury is close to Bristol, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Oh, but there's a train that goes from London to Glastonbury, you know - do you want to take that one instead?"

"Not exactly. You see, I've been thinking about this a few days before we were to visit the Land of Reason..."

f o u r t e e n —

Her hand, warm as always, touches his forearm. When he turns his head to look at her, she's smiling softly.

"Are you nervous?"

He clears his throat, takes hold of her gloved fingers and squeezes. "Maybe. At least tell me that is going to be nothing similar to that terrible bus ride last week."

Her laugh sounds kind - she rests her head on his shoulder, thumb tracing soothing patterns onto his hand.

"Riding a train is much more comfortable than falling down from the sky, though. Oh, and it's better than teleporting using magic, too! No dizzying side effects."

"That's simply because you're not used to it," he rolls his eyes, but his lips are no longer a taut line. "Perhaps when we get back to Cradle, you should try getting accustomed to it."

She hums for a bit, but it's soon drowned out by a simultaneous ringing outside of their coach - seconds later there's the angry hissing of steam that joins the chorus of bells, shouts, footsteps; and on impulse he finds himself sitting straighter in his seat.

She chuckles, pointing to the blinds drawn over the windows. "Is it okay if I pull them open?"

He takes in a deep breath before nodding firmly.

"Yeah - it's fine."

n i n e —

Above and beyond his reach is the seemingly neverending stretch of a vibrant blue sky, no clouds drifting about and a bright sun leading their way.

Surrounding him are open lands of verdant green; from the swaying grass growing all around the mountains to the strange plants forming unkempt bushes away from the paths and to the groups of trees with their leaves clumping around each other. On occasion there would be a house standing tall or the body of a train moving towards some distance, but those sights would eventually be replaced by more views of the nature landscapes.

His boots follow the traces of a well-worn path that had long imprinted itself on the ground, each step a dull thump to the soil. Walking beside him, her boots make the same sound too; light and matching his pace.

They suit her better, modest blouses along with those skirts that go just a little further past her knees but not extending to her ankles or length on level with her feet. The fashion that women from London and Bristol adapted were skirts that were domed and bell-shaped, along with those tight bodices that would reach high up their necks. He has to admit though, seeing her dress similarly to the trend for weeks was unusual and... fascinating, especially when she started smoothing her hair into a neat bun that would rest at the nape of her neck.

The high ponytail she donned right now made her look equally adorable, too.

"Okay, now that we're walking from Bristol to Glastonbury, just like you asked..." her voice adapts a sing-song tune, "What do you think of the countryside?"

"It feels better, somehow. I don't mind the hustle and bustle of busy streets, but it's also comforting and necessary to have a change of pace," he turns to her, watching her blonde hair bounce along to her movements. "Are you really okay with walking all the way, though? That Bristol innkeeper mentioned that we would take at least eight or possibly ten hours on foot."

She puffs her cheeks and chest out with pride. "Of course I am! I'll have you know that I prefer walking to riding buses, carriages, or trains!"

"Is it because the fares can get too expensive?"

"There's that, but it's mostly out of personal preference!"

"Hmm, you sure sound confident. Does that mean I don't need to carry you even if you get tired?"

"Don't be silly - we can stop and rest in the villages we'll come across along the way! Besides, carrying me and pulling the suitcase along in this heat? That would be terrible!"

"Are you underestimating both my strength and stamina? I've gone through worse trials - why, I wager that I can carry you and the suitcase all the way to Glastonbury without a single stop for rest!"

"...! As if I'd actually allow you to do that!"

s i x —

There must've been some sort of celebration going on.

It's late and they're about to return to the inn, but then ecstatic voices, lively claps, united stomps of feet, and a happy number played out by the strings of guitars and violins catch their attention and have them looking their way to the Glastonbury town square; eyes wide open as they watched the spectacle not so far away from where they stood.

Pairs of men and women dance to the beat of the surrounding audience's encouragement and to the melody of a song, nimble footwork and spins of cloth all seemingly in sync. It's the pair in the middle that catches her eyes, though: she notes that the man is dressed in a dark suit, while the woman in a flowing dress of white with a veil on her head that's as long as her hair.

It's a wedding, she mouths.

That would explain the petals of colorful flowers thrown in handfuls, the great smiles and pelts of laughter, plentiful tables of food and tankards of ale on the sides, pretty lanterns and gas lamps burning their brightest to illuminate the whole square. The blanket of stars in the night sky seemed to agree with the occasion too, with even the smallest of constellations twinkling in their best light to congratulate the newlywed couple.

Jaunty steps and lively music played on as they continued to watch from afar - children close to the square catch them staring though: without even realizing it, they've been surrounded by the chirpy munchkins that tug at their hands and push at their backs, and they don't stop their assault until they've stepped into the square and are swept into the flow of the dance.

He had to hand it to those little brats, they went away as quick as they suddenly came.

"... Is this a dance commonly performed for weddings here in England?" he whispers as he mimics the movements of the pairs nearby - three quick steps forward, a dramatic sway forwards to draw one's face teasingly close to their partner's, then an abrupt retreat backwards in five strides. She chuckles as she chases after his trail in a series of twirls, and when she extends a hand to rest on his left shoulder, she also draws her face close and together they sway sideways.

"No," her voice is airy as he spins her once, and when they're facing each other again she's grinning. "This is a folk dance."

The men began to let go of the hands of their partners, and he finds himself doing that same motion too - her fingers slip away from his grasp and he watches her twirl away from him this time; her loose hair, skirts, and stray petals billowing around her frame as she went.

He doesn't need to glance at the pair across from them to know that he was to follow.

f i v e —

This is it.

They've arrived.

The wooden walls of the cottage on the hill are painted by the deep hues of sunset reds and golds.

Together they stand in front of a closed thatched door: she lifts her right hand up, curls it into a fist, knuckles about to rap on the surface.

But for some reason she stops halfway, lips pursed and gaze downcast. He waits for a few seconds before reaching out for her left hand, squeezing lightly.

She looks at the fine silver strands of his hair, the gold of his eyes, the confident smile on his lips.

He nods once, slowly but surely. She takes a deep breath before nodding back, then her knocks echo on the wood.

They wait for the door to open.

They wait for their future.

When the door creaks open and a middle-aged man comes into their view, he hears a year and a half's worth of emotion catch in her throat.

"Father," her voice cracks.

z e r o —

Her parents did tell him that when she was younger, she enjoyed camping by the village's woods.

A long time has passed since then - the little girl had grown into a lady and the woods have flourished even further too, but it doesn't surprise him at all that she seemed to still know her way through and around the winding forest paths. They leave the comfort of their shoes and a roaring campfire behind them for all that matters now is the grass and soil under their bare feet, slivers of moonlight passing through the numerous crowns of seemingly endless trees, and the touch of her hand pulling him along to her whims.

It's almost shameful, how he just allows himself to be swept along by another's pace. But in this forest and in this world; no one recognizes him as the Queen of Hearts of Cradle's Red Army or as the rightful heir to the Clemence family's long-standing legacy. Here and now, he's just a man named Jonah Clemence; a mere visitor to the Land of Reason, a man who willingly chose to stumble into the world - the wonderland - of his beloved.

He chose to fall because he wished to see the beauty of her world with his own eyes, to stand in the park that had changed her life and explore anywhere else beyond that point. And well enough, he's gone through a city and towns of various shapes, sizes, and stories to tell. He beheld and found himself fascinated by preserved landmarks and proud monuments even if he couldn't properly comprehend their exact significance, stared at paintings and sights bursting with all sorts of colors and depth that he's never encountered before. He witnessed variations of how the sun of her world would rise higher and higher on the horizon, observed how the stars would gradually take their proper places in a dimming sky.

He chose to fall because he wished to gain an understanding of her world and to see how different it was from his own, to surrender himself to the culture of a land where magic didn't exist and science reigned instead. Many, many, things have baffled him and caught him off-guard; ranging from all sorts of areas like social standing and etiquette, currency and pricing, languages and speech patterns, beliefs and philosophies, and the list went on and on each day that passed by. Books, newspapers, observations, and her explanations could only tell him so much, and when he finds himself at a loss and no closer to a satisfactory comprehension; he develops a greater appreciation for the similarities in both worlds that he always managed to discover when he's at the peak of his frustration.

He chose to fall because he wished to have a taste of the flavors she enjoyed the most, to know the origins of the occasional odd recipe she would cook up. It's strange how even something plain like water tasted and felt different from how his tongue recalls it to be; and there began his exploration of various cuisines, treats and desserts, beverages, aromas and textures that were as vast and variable as a painter's color palette. Each meal or snack brought about another interesting point of craftsmanship and consistency to ponder about, carved new flavors and aftertastes that made themselves memorable in his mouth.

And most of all - he chose to fall in hopes of seeing the place where she was born and raised, to walk the road leading to that cottage on the hill and to finally meet her parents.

A month's worth of time - years worth, even - simply wasn't enough for him to fully experience, see, feel, and savor whatever her world had to offer.

It wasn't enough time for him to learn, too - he's still in the process of pronouncing all those new words right, forming a clearer picture of the Land of Reason's extensive history, wrapping his head around the starkly different perspectives on what was called religion, analyzing the workings of the militaries throughout every country and continent.

But he's been welcomed into her village, introduced to and was warmly accepted by her parents - so that felt like more than enough time well-spent.

He's running in the woods.

The air rushing by is cool against his flushed skin, grass brushing against his toes soft and tickling, heartbeat roaring almost pleasantly in his ears. Tonight he relives the brief period of freedom he had as a boy, blood singing with the revival of childish enthusiasm and youth.

He's chasing after the fluttering ends of her white summer dress, after the locks of her blonde hair and her moonlight-touched skin, after the echoes of her giddy laughter and lighthearted taunts. It's like she's reliving her time in the woods too, and in an instant she is fleet-footed and so charmingly carefree.

He jumps over the roots of aged trees; she swings away using tall branches. She attempts to crouch and hide behind bushes and tree trunks, but he's already running towards her even before she can try. There were those close calls where he was sure that she was within his reach, but then she always managed to surprise him and slip away from his grasp.

They forget how their chase began in the first place and lose track of how long they have been running and running, but eventually they find themselves right back where they started: back in the clearing where their shoes are neatly set beside each other and where their campfire weakly burns, fireflies have appeared in their absence and taken residence around the area. They're a rowdy bunch that keep frisking up and down then left and right, go up in the sky then swoop close to the ground, and she becomes the first onlooker to the odd motions of their dance.

The moment she stops and stares is the moment he rejoices in the sweet joys of his victory - he finally, finally, gets to hold her; reaching out quick and circling his arms around her waist, pulling her close, and pressing her back flush against his chest. He buries his head on her shoulder and in the canopy of her hair, breathing in her distinct scent mixing with sweat and ears ringing with the sound of her surprised yelp. She squirms a bit but it's not enough to make them stumble and fall to the ground, to make them land on their unfurled sleeping bags that he insisted to be put very close to each other.

They just stay like that for a few seconds.

"You..." he breathes out when he finally lifts his head, and when he does she turns her head to see his face. "... you'd better not start running away from me again."

She giggles, resting her arms on his own. "I won't. I'm all yours, Jonah - and I always will be."

The bright full moon shines down on her face and illuminates her smile, highlighting the loving sparkle to the blue of her eyes.

There they were, standing in the middle of a sudden firefly-infested clearing, man and woman acting like silly children: they're both slightly out of breath, their skin is all sweaty, their hair and clothes are in mild disarray, and the soles of their feet caked in greens and browns.

She's a mess - the both of them are.

But that doesn't stop him from pressing his lips against hers, relishing her taste on his mouth, on his tongue - as if giving them some privacy, a modest cloud drifts by and covers the prying eyes of the moon, making the groups of fireflies silent witnesses to a love that transcended two separate worlds, swords and magic, conspiracies and a war, and most of all, of judgement and status.

When the cloud floats away from the moon their lips pull apart too - they share a knowing smile before they simply lean on each other and cuddle close to their mingling warmth, his arms still around her waist and the tips of her fingers drawing shapes on his skin.

They bask in the comforting silence, in the light of the moon and in the midst of jittery fireflies until his ears catch a play of strings - they're gentle and almost languid, the brief pauses in between plucks building up into a crescendo that smoothly shifts to the pace of an adagio, only to recreate the playful effect of the crescendo just a couple group of notes later. It's another tune he's unfamiliar with, but he supposes that it isn't unpleasant to his ears.

She could hear it too, her feet starting to tap along to the melody - seconds later he feels the shift of her waist as she sways, so he releases his hold on her and instead spins her around to face him.

The sound of the guitar still creeps into the forest, fireflies still flicker around the clearing with enthusiasm, their sleeping bags are still cold and their campfire has gone out.

"I recall someone saying that she would teach me the steps of her village's folk dance," he chides lightly.

She blinks for a moment, then a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.

"Someone has a sharp memory!" her hands draw themselves together into a soft clap. "Well then, does the good sir want to start learning now?"

He lets out a laugh, executing the elegant flourish of a bow before taking her hand and brushing his lips over her knuckles.

"Only if the lady would be so kind as to start teaching me," he says with a wink.

The laughter that tumbles out of her lips sounds like bird song.

30 days remain before the next full moon...

#ikemen kakumei #ikemen revolution #ikerev fanfic #jonah clemence #ikerev alice #awawa posted thru mobile bc i forgot to queue this yesterday sobs #i'll go over this after my rounds... tumblr mobile might've botched formatting lmao #on another note: i do hope everyone + loved ones are doing well & making an effort to stay physically + mentally healthy! please take care!

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perspective-series · 5 years

Text

Rooftop Perspective 4/25

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: slight fear, and mention of people drinking/drunk

(Check the reblog for the links to the previous chapters!)

“What about your family?” Patton asked quietly.

Roman sighed. “They are...gone.” Gone with all the other giants he had ever known. He was sure they were out there, somewhere. But it was too dangerous for him to go out and look.

“I’m...sorry to hear that.” Patton offered his condolences.

Roman nodded before clearing his throat and putting on a smile. “It’s alright. But enough about me, what about you? What are you doing in this little human town?”

“Oh, I came here for college.” Patton explained. “I wanted to get my degree at a smaller university so I could get out in the city. I’m a horticulture major, which means I’m studying plants.”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “Plants huh?” Roman quickly looked at the ground, eyes searching as he reached his free hand down there and picked something up. He looked and it before grinning and holding it out for Patton to see. “What’s this?”

“Uh...that, that would be a... bush.” Patton tried not to let his surprise be too evident on his face at how easily Roman had ripped it out of the ground. It was easily as large as Patton himself.

“Oh.” Roman looked at it again. “I thought I had picked up something else. Oh well.” Roman shrugged, throwing the bush away. He turned his attention back to Patton. “What about your family? Oh, and how did you and Virgil become friends? From what I heard, the two of you seem pretty opposite of each other.” It was one question that nagged at him the entire time he had been watching the two of them.

“Oh, my family’s pretty normal by human standards. Just me and my parents, I never had any siblings.” Patton shrugged, trying not to listen to the thud as the bush hit the ground several hundred feet away. He winced, wondering vaguely how much damage Roman caused to the ecosystem on a daily basis.

“And opposite is a...strong word.” Patton gave an awkward chuckle as he thought of his best friend. “Virgil and I actually met at University last year when we moved into the same building. We may not have known each other long, but we just clicked, you know? We keep each other steady. He keeps me grounded and I keep him positive.”

“Wow.” Roman loved hearing about human’s lives. But...well, he just wished he could have that as well. “Sounds like the two of you really are the best of friends, huh?”

“Mhmm.” Patton smiled fondly, laying his chin on his knees. His smile slowly faded as he remembered Virgil was probably still waiting for him on the roof. At this point Virgil was probably worried.

“I should probably get back to him, actually.” Patton admitted, sitting back up.

Roman blinked. “Aww, come on, not yet.” Roman poked Patton in the stomach. “We were having fun!” He didn’t want this to end, this was the most he had talked to anyone in...well, forever.

“Woah!” Patton, not expecting the sudden poke, toppled backwards. He sat up, pushing himself up with his arms propped behind him on Roman’s palm.

Roman grinned at Patton’s reaction and this time poked him in the side.

“Roman-” Patton tried to sound stern, but that was hard when you were vainly trying to keep a giant finger from poking into your side and sending you toppling again.

Roman chuckled and this time pinched Patton’s middle between his pointer and thumb, lifting him up into the air. He made sure his other hand was underneath, just in case. This was probably the most fun he had had in a long time. Even more fun than messing with those drunks.

“R-Roman!” Patton quickly tried to grab onto Roman’s finger, not wanting to fall. His eyes were wide once again as he dangled, his stomach still slightly queasy from being lifted so fast.

“Oh, you’re alright. I’m not going to let you fall.” Roman promised. He took pity on the human though and set him back on his other hand. He wasn’t finished yet though as he brought his pointer finger down on Patton’s head and started to pet him. “You are just so cute.” Roman couldn’t help but say again.

“Uh...thanks.” Patton ducked instinctively as Roman’s finger came near his head, but thankfully Roman’s touch was actually surprisingly gentle. Clearly all that practice he had handling drunk party goers paid off.

Patton was glad to be back on the relatively solid ground of Roman’s hand, but he was still nervous about the fact that Roman kept dodging the issue of Patton leaving.

“You’re welcome.” Roman chuckled, dropping his finger. Roman started flexing his fingers over Patton’s body. Not completely covering him, but almost.

Patton gasped, closing his eyes and curling in on himself slightly as Roman’s fingers surrounded him. The Giant had officially turned from chatty to playful, and Patton was worried that it could quickly become dangerous.

“I want to go home!” Patton called out, eyes still squeezed shut.

Roman froze, slowly moving his fingers back to their original position. He looked at Patton sadly. “But I...I thought we were having fun?”

“We- we were!” Patton opened his eyes when he felt the shadow retreat, sitting back up. “And you seem very nice Roman, but...well, it’s very late and it’s cold and I’m tired and Virgil’s... probably looking for me by now.”

“Oh…” Roman sighed, knowing Patton was right. It was already pretty late and Virgil was waiting for him. He didn’t want him to worry. “Okay...I’ll take you home now.” Roman stood up, feeling sad as he started to walk back towards town.

Patton gripped one of Roman’s fingers, trying not to think about how much higher the fall was now that Roman was standing up. Or the fact that his stomach was once again rocking with Roman’s steps.

Instead Patton chose to look up at Roman thoughtfully, even if he could only see the bottom side of the Giant’s jaw from this angle. Patton truly felt bad. Roman hadn’t meant any harm, and it was clear that Roman was in desperate need of some companionship. Patton turned back to face forwards, biting his lip in thought.

Roman walked until he saw the town in sight, he stopped, looking down at Patton. “I shouldn’t talk when I’m right in town so I guess...this is goodbye…” Roman really didn’t want to say goodbye, but he knew it wouldn’t be good if he kept Patton against his will.

“...I could come back tomorrow?” The words left Patton’s lips before he even fully registered what he was saying.

Roman’s eyes went wide, not sure if he heard Patton right. “W-What?”

“I mean, if you wanted.” Patton looked up at Roman shyly. “I could meet you in the woods? O-or on the roof again, if you prefer.” Now that he knew the Giant wouldn’t try to keep him, Patton was more okay with the idea of spending more time with Roman. Not to mention, Patton’s heart was crying out to him to help this poor soul.

“Yes! Yes, I would love that Patton, so much.” Roman suddenly felt like crying, but he kept his tears at bay. He wouldn’t have to say goodbye after all. “The woods can be a little dangerous for a human, so if you want I could pick you up at the roof again? Same time?” Roman was trying his best not to jump up and down with excitement.

“Sounds great!” Patton smiled up at Roman, trying to focus on his own excitement instead of his nerves. At least Roman was happy.

“I guess this isn’t goodbye then, but a see you tomorrow!” Roman grinned. He then moved the rest of the way to Patton’s building and set him on the roof after another quick check around the area. He was thankful this area was so dead. He waved goodbye to Patton before quickly retreating back into the woods. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Patton waved almost mechanically back at Roman, watching the swaying of the trees to indicate the Giant getting further and further into the woods. Had that just...happened? And had he really just agreed to do it again?

Patton did a mix between a groan and a yawn, realizing just how late he had stayed out with Roman. He trudged down the stairs, barely making it to his own apartment. He collapsed onto the bed, ready to try and fall asleep.

#g/t #sanders sides #perspective series #rooftop perspective #part 4 #thomas sanders #infinitesimal!sides #royality #roman sanders #roman #giant!roman #patton sanders #patton #human!patton #rp #au

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the-writing-dump-bin · 5 years

Text

Open Arms

Gyro Zeppeli x female reader (song used Open Arms by Journey) hope you all are as thirsty as I had been for this cowboy.

N*S*F*W +18

The door sounded with loud pounding as you beat your fist on the wood. It was only ten o'clock, someone had to be awake. If not, they would be from your relentless pounding.

"Okay, okay! I'm coming, stop banging on the damn door!" The door opened and you saw Johnny on the other side. "Y/N?" He asked in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Is Gyro home?" You asked, barging your way into the apartment.

Johnny sighed at your forcefulness. You were always welcomed in their shared apartment, having been friends with them for so long, but sometimes showing up unannounced at night made Johnny a little annoyed. "He's in his room. And please, come in."

"Thanks." You said, making your way down the hall. Knocking lighter this time, you tapped your hand on the door. When you heard his voice telling you to come in, you opened the door gently.

Gyro was laying on his bed casually as he watched tv; dressed in only sweatpants. When he saw you enter, he sat up a little and looked for a nearby shirt but couldn't find one. He was about to cover himself up a little by crossing his arms over his chest until he saw how flustered and angry you were. "Y/N? What's wrong? What happened?"

"Mark! He's a fucking jerk!" You had been dating this guy for a few months, but the last couple weeks had been nothing but arguing and yelling.

Being your best friend, Gyro had heard everything that you complained to him about horrible dates over the last couple years. Secretly, Gyro adored you, but he was always too afraid to tell you how he felt, so he kept himself in the friend zone in fear of losing what he already had with you.

"I suggested that we work on this by going out to dinner tonight but what does he do? He starts going off at how my life is going nowhere with my writing and that I need a new profession." You paced near the foot of his bed, waving your arms as you voiced your complaint. "Then, he starts looking over at a table of girls and gave them inviting looks! Seeing this, I threw my drink in his face and stormed off. I didn't want to go home, in case he decided to follow me there, so I came here. I hope thats okay, I know its late and I didn't call first."

"Of course it is." Gyro said, shuffling his body to the side a bit. He waved a hand at you, telling you to come over. You made your way over and cuddled into the left side of his body, putting your arm over his stomach and your head resting on his chest. You two had been in this position before; it was his favourite. Feeling you close to him brought him warmth throughout his body. Pulling you closer, he used his left hand to stroke your hair.

Gyro always gave you comfort when you were feeling down. Whether it was because of work or because of failed relationships, he was always there to make you feel calm and happy. Snuggling into him, you could smell his refreshing scent of fresh linen. Did he always smell this good? With your head resting on his chest, you noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt. When you walked in, that didn't seem to cross your mind over how worked up you were. You've seen him without a shirt countless times, but cuddling like this made your heart skip.

The only light that filled the room was from the tv, making Gyro's toned body look incredibly irresistible to you as the shadows danced across the valley of his abs. Your body relaxed as you focused the feeling of Gyro's gentle strokes through your hair. The touch so caring and loving; not one of your ex's ever gave you such affection like this. Turning your head slightly, you nuzzled his chest, brushing your lips softly on his skin.

Gyro's eyes went wide when he felt your action. His heart picked up pace and his hand stopped in mid stroke, fingers tangled in your hair. "Wh-What are you doing?" His face flushed red and his cheeks heated.

What were you doing? You weren't exactly sure. But something about Gyro's care for you made you realize that he was the only man to make you feel like you mattered in this world. He always supported you in anything you did. He never made you feel bad about your passion for writing and loved reading your stories; giving you feedback when you needed it. You pulled your hand back from around him, resting it on his stomach as you moved your kisses upward to his neck. "Gyro..." You whispered breathlessly.

The air in Gyro's lungs felt like it had been knocked out of him when he heard you breathe his name. The feel of your touch sending shivers through him. He had always dreamt about you two together, but you had just broken up with your boyfriend. "Y/N..." He said quietly, feeling your lips move up again towards his jawline. "You're feeling sad, you're not thinking straight."

Your hand moved up his body, resting on his collarbone. Your own body was turned into him, almost laying right on top of his. Looking deeply into his amazingly green eyes, you said "No, Gyro, I am finally seeing what's always been in front of me." A finger caressed his cheek. "You've always been there for me, supported me in anything I did, made me laugh when I wanted to cry. Without being together, you have shown me more care and love than anyone I had dated." A tear ran down from your eye. "I-It's always been you."

His heart started to ache when he heard your words. He always wanted to be with you but settled with being friends. His life felt so empty and cold when you weren't around. Bringing up his hand, he wiped away the tear that fell from your eye; a loving sigh escaped from his mouth. "Y/N..."

Your noses touched, eyes darting around each other's face, waiting to see who would make the first move...which ended up being the both of you. At the same time, your lips connected with his in a slow and gentle kiss. Gyro's hand slid behind your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. He longed to feel you this way and now it was happening. Your stomach did flips of excitement as your tongue prodded between his lips, wanting permission inside, which he gladly let you enter. "I've thought about this a lot." Gyro confessed between kisses, his hand flexing lightly in and out of a fist.

Slowly, you moved so that you were straddling his waist while he was still propped up against the headboard of his bed. Moving your mouth from his lips to his ear, you whispered "What else have you thought about, Zeppeli?" A growl emitted from the blonde male as you returned to his mouth, your hands splayed out on his chest. When your nails dug into his pectorals, it caused Gyro to take a sharp inhale through his nose and grabbed at your back, balling his hands in your shirt. "Tell me everything you thought about. I want to hear it. Did you think about these?" You pulled your shirt over your head, your beasts resting perfectly in your laced bra.

Gyro stared, entranced by your beauty before him. With a single finger, he traced the outline of your garment. "I have." His thumb formed small circles around your nipple through your clothed breast, making you whimper. Using his free hand, he reached around and undid the clasp; the straps slid off your shoulders with ease. Moving his hand away, the rest of your bra fell on top of him, which he threw away with haste. He took a moment to burn your image into his head before he pulled you so close that your bare chest was against his.

Your head nuzzled in the space between his neck and shoulder while he held you, breathing in your scent. In this moment, nothing was said, just the sounds of your breathing and the rise and fall of your chests. This felt so right. How could you had been so blind to this perfect man that was already in your life? Gyro's arms squeezed tighter around you, like he was afraid to let you go. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked you quietly. Sitting up so you were face to face with him, you simply said 'yes' and began to kiss him again.

You could feel Gyro becoming harder underneath you with every time your lips connected, causing your hips to move minutely over him. In a swift move, you felt a hand slide into your pants, making you squeak out an 'oh'. His fingers rubbed you softly. "I've thought about this, too." He said, feeling how wet you were. He was making you a panting mess as you were on your hands and knees over him. "God...look at you. So damn beautiful." He could see the pleasure across your face as you moved your hips over his hand.

Slipping a couple fingers inside, he made your eyes roll back. "Nnnngh!" Your mouth found his nipple and you started sucking and licking. Gyro could tell you were getting close to your release with your walls contracting around his fingers. "That's it, my love, look at me. Look at me while you cum." You did as you were told and stared up at him with your mouth in an open pant. He pressed his hand against you as you rode out your first orgasm caused by him. "Fuuuuck." He hissed, pleased he could make your face like that.

Your arms and legs felt shakey and that you could collapse at any moment, but Gyro flipped you over onto your back and pulled off your pants and underwear, leaving you completely naked. "Shit..." He ran a hand through his hair. Having you like this before him was a dream come true. Pulling his sweatpants off, he climbed on top of you, caging you with his arms. His long, blonde locks fell over you like a curtain. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gave him a few more kisses.

Gyro started to line himself to your entrance when you pulled your head to the side. "What about Johnny?"

He looked at you with his brows knit together and blinked. Scoffing, he said "I was...kinda hoping this could just be the two of us."

"Not like that, you moron. I mean, what if he hears us?"

Gyro smiled. The thought of him making you scream with ecstasy as you two were flown into the heavens made him want the whole world to hear. "Let him." He entered you slowly so he wouldn't overwhelm you while you adjusted around his cock. "Oh my God." He said while he inched in. "You make the best faces." Once he was fully sheathed inside, he started a rhythmatic pace, sending jolts into your core.

Getting faster, Gyro pulled your legs up and pinned them to the bed, spreading them wider. The sensation was incredible as he pounded his long, hard cock inside you. You balled your hands into the sheets. "Oh! Oh! Ah ah ah! D-Dear God, Gyro! Fuck me! Nnnnnnngh! This feels so good! Why haven't we done this before!" He was a much better partner than any other lay you had before. Pulling his head to yours, you looked him straight in the eyes. "Cum inside me. I want to be filled by you."

"Oh, you got it, babe."

It was his sole mission to bring you over the edge with him. He kept going, not stopping until you were both thrown into bliss. Then there it was. Both of you seized as you pressed your hips to each other, trying to keep the orgasm going for as long as you can. His cock twitched inside while your walls twitched around him. Coming down from your highs, Gyro collapsed on top of you, still inside your pussy. Pulling up his head, you kissed him hard. "Gyro... I love you."

Gyro was exhausted, but manage to grin as he panted to catch his breath. Resting his head on your chest, feeling you heart beat, he closed his eyes and sighed. "I love you, too. Don't think that that was all that was gonna happen tonight. I want to keep going."

Grinning yourself, you stroked his hair. "Well, I'm not going to say no to that."

#jojo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jojos bizarre adventure #my fic #my writing #writing #gyro #gyro zeppeli #n*s*f*w #readmores

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musingmycelium · 5 years

Text

sweet song

satinalia exchange gift for a good friend ;) im so glad i got to write this for you!! ❤❤❤

Krem's lucky he has good balance. With the way the chair wobbles under him as he tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to peer around the stairs to watch Maryden sing he needs to have it. And he can’t help but look. The firelight almost causes her skin to glow rosy gold, catches in her dark hair and the way her eyes shine as she sings, it's enough to-

Wood creaks under him as Krem all but topples backward off the top of the chair. Catching himself with a hand in the last moment, wrist aching as his hand connects with the wall at an awkward angle, and he can hear Bull’s laugh across the room. Bastard.

It isn’t like Bull hasn’t made a fool of himself in front of people before. Although Krem guesses those are more on purpose than not. He sighs, rights the chair and sits back down in it, properly this time. He can’t see her anymore, but if he’s telling the truth he doesn’t really need to. The sight of her before the fire is, distracting and definitely something he thinks about often. Not that Krem has done anything about the way her voice filling the tavern makes his chest feel too tight and too light, or said anything about how her smiles can cause a blush to cover his whole body.

Not yet, anyway. Krem has a plan, and he means to follow through with it. He just… Has to figure out how. Time’s running quite short, tonight there’s going to be a small Satinalia party at the Herald’s Rest and Krem still doesn’t know what he should get Maryden, or even if she’d accept anything from him.

At first, he thought it would be easy. She’s a minstrel, get her a journal or a new set of strings for her lute. But those sounded empty and Krem wants to be thoughtful damn it. He wants to see Maryden blush, he wants to make her smile, he wants to see the softness in her eyes generally reserved for those times she’s singing to be directed just at him.

So he sighs. And he walks over to where Bull is sitting at a table with what has to be the Rest’s largest tankard sitting in front of him. And as Krem rounds the corner he finds Dorian is sitting there as well, great. “Krem-puff! Finally decided to find a decent chair did you?”

“My chair is already decent, I’ve got a question.” There’s a nervousness gnawing in the pit of his stomach and Krem doesn’t care for it one bit. But he takes Bull’s raised eyebrow for a go ahead and strangles the butterflies in his gut. “Uh, so. The Satinalia party, tonight.” His tongue is twisting around itself and Krem thinks maybe he should just go outside and pretend he never heard of this party instead of asking Bull for romance advice. “I, uh, wanted to -you know- get a present, a thoughtful present but... I, uh, don’t actually know what to get… Her…”

Raising his own, much smaller glass Dorian gives Krem a verifiable look. One elegant eyebrow raised ever so slightly, glass tipped in Krem's direction, red wine nearly spilling but not quite. “Thoughtful presents generally require more than an afternoon’s work.”

“I didn’t ask you Altus.” Krem gives him a look back.

Bull just nods, as if he was almost expecting this of them and Krem narrows his eyes at him too. “Listen Chief I didn’t come over here for bullshit I w-”

He’s cut off with a laugh, Bull shaking his head slightly. “Nah no bullshit, this is important.” At least he looks like he’s going to be serious, with the way his face scrunches up. “Well, Krem-sickle, the first thing about getting someone a gift is you gotta know what they want. Don’t look at me like that- so you know she likes writing and singing since you watch her do that every day. Do you know, anything else about her?”

Krem opens his mouth to say ‘of course he does’ and then shuts it after he can’t think of a single other thing he knows she enjoys. His brows bunch together and he crinkles his nose. Bull watches him think in silence, a smirk forming on his face. “I know she likes writing and singing, it’s not like there’s much else to do here is there. I thought, maybe she’d like a new journal?” Saying it out loud makes him cringe. It’s so insincere, careless almost. “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it. But I don’t know what else to do.”

Bull keeps nodding and Krem’s stomach is in knots. “She’d appreciate it, new journal new quill, something to use.”

Before he can keep going Dorian interrupts with a snort. “Get her something no one else can.” A delicate sip of his wine, eyes looking over the rim at Krem. “Woo her, you’re a sharp young man surely you can think of something. Read her poetry, pick her flowers, write her something. Creative types drink it up.”

If his knee-jerk reaction is anything to go by this is a horrible idea. Everything from his hair to his toes is going numb at the thought of it. Him? Writing poetry? Picking flowers? Krem almost tells Dorian he’d rather run himself through with a rusty training sword but then he stops to think about it. It was what he wanted to do, wasn’t it? Put thought into a gift Maryden would remember and hopefully enjoy.

And if he makes a fool of himself maybe he could recover from that.

Or maybe he could also fake his death and make a new start in Antiva.

“That’s. Not bad Altus, not bad.” Never let it be said Krem was too proud to give credit where it’s due. Even if it does curdle the words in his mouth. He has a couple of hours, it wouldn’t take him too long to do something like that, would it? Better get started now just in case, Krem leaves the table with a nod in the direction of the other two still sitting there.

The party starts at sundown, Krem heads to his room and hunts down some paper and a quill. If he’s quick he might even be able to get there before the others and give it to her without anyone else seeing. And he’ll be quick, even with his stomach trying to turn itself inside out, Krem can do this!

He absolutely could not do this. Crumpled paper is scattered about his room, in various states of tatter, and a near-empty bottle of ink rests near his elbow. This is hopeless, Maryden does this for a living she wouldn’t want whatever half-assed shitty poem he could cobble together like a child. What an idiot he is, sitting here with ink stains on his hands, he’s a mercenary what in Andraste’s name is he doing trying to write poetry ?

Krem groans, wads up the paper he was currently using and throws it backward behind him, not wanting to look at the ugly chicken scratches and horribly clunky phrasing any longer. Drops his head onto the desk, hard wood against his skin. All he wanted was a simple present! How did he manage to muck it up so badly?

There’s a cool breeze coming from the direction of the door and Krem turns sharply towards it, not wanting anyone to see the mess he’s made. But there isn’t anyone there. Krem huffs, relieved and embarrassed and definitely probably almost late for the party. He stands, stretches, maybe he just shouldn’t get Maryden anything after all. She could do better than him anyway.

A ghost of a thought across his mind, ‘but she wants you’ . Krem rolls his eyes, he’s been daydreaming too much lately. Been thinking about the firelight in Maryden’s hair and on her skin too much. Thinking how the way her eyes sometimes catch his and a smile grows on her lips. He sighs again, he really is in too deep.

Distracted by her enough it takes Krem an embarrassingly long time to notice there is a freshly picked amaryllis, blood red and shining. Narrowing his eyes at the flower he gingerly walks over and picks it up by the stem. He definitely did not pick it, but he can’t think of who would, or why. But he thinks of Maryden in the tavern, of the way she would be readying her lute in front of the fire, and of the party about to start. And he thinks of the smile she would give, just for him, if he gave her a winter-blooming flower.

Leaves with it held in front of him, butterflies returning to his stomach in full force. Walks down to the Herald’s Rest anyways, enters to the sound of laughter and flutes. Not Maryden’s music, too fast and too untrained, Krem looks around to see if he can find her, amaryllis moving behind his back.

Finds her standing just off next to the fire, lute in hand, where she’s in just enough shadow to be overlooked for now. Perfect. Quietly, Krem makes his way across the tavern and with his chest about to burst he tries to clear his throat softly. “Maryden?”

She looks up, eyes wide and dark in the flickering firelight. “Krem? Are you here to make a request, I’m not playing ye-”

“Oh! No, I, um, I’m here to- I mean I came over-” Tripping over himself, making an absolute fool of himself. “I just, sorry let me start over.” Krem takes a deep breath, pulls the amaryllis out from behind him held delicately by ink-stained fingers. “I want to give you this, I had- Um, I tried to write you a poem but, turns out I’m not as good at it as you are.”

Maryden smiles and its better than anything Krem has ever been able to imagine. All at once each of the butterflies in his stomach take flight, leaving him breathless and light. Heart hammering in his chest, a slight blush rising in Maryden’s cheeks. “How sweet of you.”

Her fingers brush against his as she takes the flower from his slack grip. Holds it up to her nose and takes a deep breath, her eyes falling shut only to open a moment later and connect with Krem’s. The warmth in them, brown turned honey-gold by the fire, causes his heart to flip in his chest.

“You know, in Ferelden we have our own Satinalia flowers.” A smile with a hint of teeth, “And if you look up, we happen to be standing under one of my favorites.”

Of course Krem looks up. Spots the sprig of green leaves and white berries tied together with a red bow, one of many hanging from the rafters.

“Mistletoe.” Maryden’s soft fingers against his chest starling and new, Krem jerking his gaze back down to face her. “Do you know what happens when people stand under mistletoe Krem?”

Her fingers against his neck now, curling around the back to pull his head down. Krem gulps, hard. Heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, heat across his whole face. “They kiss.”

Maryden smiles and tilts her head so her lips are ghosting over Krem’s. “That’s right, they kiss.”

Soft lips tasting of cider, of warm firelight and music. Krem gasps, air leaving his lungs in a heady rush. Time freezing, halting around them as Maryden presses her lips against his under the mistletoe with a flower stained with ink held in her hands between them. Heart bursting in his chest, butterflies fleeing to his veins and the whole of him feels like he could fly.

Moments passing too quickly when Maryden pulls back slightly, “Happy Satinalia Krem,” Murmured against kissed lips, half-lidded eyes and a smile brighter than any hearth.

“Happy Satinalia Maryden.”

"When the party is over you absolutely have to read me your poems."

What fool Krem is indeed.

#dragon age #dai #krem x maryden #krem #maryden #my writing #this is was so fun and sweet and im so stinking happy i got to write it

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firebirdsdaughter · 5 years

Text

Random Writing A Little More Than A Tidbit…

… Ah, weather. The true villain of Toku. XD

I’ve actually wanted to write this for a while, but could never really figure out the details. It came out a little longer than I was expecting, but what can you do. DX

The context in this is really vague, but I think the situation is pretty clear?

Also, I apologise for the poor depiction of first aid. DX I am a bad. >.<

And my weirdness w/ names strikes again… ^^;

Rain pelted down so hard it was like pushing through a wall, and she was soaked to the bone, her sneakers soggy and full of water—but she didn’t stop, fighting her way through the downpour.

She was going to find him.

Once, when she was younger, a classmate had invited her to their birthday party out of some sort of pity; because her father had been out on an excavation, she’d ended up in a carpool with several other kids. At the party, she’d hidden in the corner by herself, because she was generally invisible to everyone else. But she’d been so quiet, that when it came time to leave, the carpool had left her behind. No one had noticed. Her father had had no way of knowing, and none of the others or their parents had given her a second thought. No one had looked for her. She’d been left for hours and hours, crying to herself for most of it, too afraid to ask for help. Eventually, an employee of the establishment had noticed the distressed child, and the phone calls had begun—her father had been forced to leave the site to come and collect her. It was the most terrified and lonely she had ever been in her life, had made her determined to never be forgotten again, for any reason. But she had been safe inside, in a warm place where she could sneak food from other tables, with soft places to sit and curl up. Somewhere someone eventually noticed her.

She knew what it was like to be left and forgotten—though she suspected that it was less that the others didn’t care or didn’t want to look, but more that they couldn’t. But his situation was even worse than hers had been in another way—he was somewhere outside in the worst storm they’d seen in months, and also badly injured; the chances that he had made it to shelter were too low to think about. More than likely, he was still on the street somewhere, in the torrential rain, still bleeding—or possibly even unconscious in some corner. If he had passed out somewhere where he was hidden from view, it would be much too late before a passerby found him by chance, like the employee had noticed her all those years ago. No, his only chance was someone looking for him.

His only chance was her.

So she kept scouring the city, combing through alleys, going street by street. Lightning and thunder crashed through the darkened sky in quick succession, meaning the storm was right on top of them. She’d been on her feet so long she was beyond pain, and was equally numb to the chill from the rain. Her hair and clothes where plastered to her head and back, her bag was also soaked through, and she kept having to squint water from her eyes. She checked every shadow, every cranny—even places where she knew very well he couldn’t possibly be. But she’d figured out a while ago that he was the type to hide everything; more than likely, he would’ve been heading for some place where he wouldn’t be easy to spot before his strength—even he couldn’t have gone this long in that condition—had given out. He would hurt his own chances like that.

Then, in a flash of lighting, through the heavy sheets of rain, she spotted something familiar—a small, red and silver dinosaur face, attached to a hand, sticking out from around a small structure protruding from the side of a building in a tiny alley. She got a mouthful of water when she cried out, rushing forward, skidding to her knees in a puddle when she tripped from trying to crouch down and move at the same time.

It was him—just as soaked as she was, but looking significantly worse for wear, slumped against the side of the structure. His hair was no longer perfectly smoothed back from his face like usual—it seemed that it had been a mess before, and the water had just made it worse, pulling clumps of it down his forehead and into his eyes. He was either unconscious or almost so—she feared for a moment he wasn’t breathing, but when she moved closer, touching his shoulder, she found that he was—but the rise and fall of his chest was so slight that it was almost invisible, and seemed to be getting weaker. His shoulder was cold under her hand, even to her practically-numb fingers—there was a bruising scrape on his cheekbone, and blood smeared at the corner of his mouth, standing out against his frightfully pale skin. Looking further, she found a worse wound—a deep, ugly, and deceptively small thing, cut right through his vest and shirt in the side of his abdomen, mixing the water dripping and streaming off his clothes with blood. There was no telling how much he’d already lost, seeping away with the rainwater, or what internal damage had been done—the thought made her stomach tie knots, her heart leap into her throat. He needed help—but in the current situation, she had no idea how she could get it to him.

Another crack of thunder and lightning, however, reminded her that, first, she had to get him out of the storm. They couldn’t go back to the house, not with that… Person there. She cast about, blinking through the rain again, she searched around them for something, somewhere to go to get out of the weather. Finally, she saw that one of the shutter doors on the back of a particularly rundown building bordering the alley, not too far from them, was half open. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Gingerly, she got to her feet, making sure not to slip in the puddles, and moved in front of him, pulling his arms over her shoulders. It took all her strength to leverage him onto her back—and then each step forward was a struggled under his weight. But she persisted, and eventually, got them to the door, squeezing through. The place was dark, and musty, and looked abandoned. There were large, dusty boxes littered about, aimlessly, some of them tipped over or collapsing into themselves and onto each other. There must have been cracks in the roof, because water was dripping down from above—but it wasn’t that much, and was significantly better than being caught in the downpour itself. She found a reasonably dry, almost cozy spot between two of the boxes, neither of which didn’t look like they were going to topple over, and shuffled awkwardly around until she managed to set him down—whirling around quickly once his weight was off her back so that she could lean him against the wall as gently as possible, without banging his head any more.

When she felt like she’d managed to position him at least as comfortably as possible, she peeled her bag off her back, opening it and rummaging around. Everything inside was wet, but her emergency medical kit was lined in plastic, just in case; she got it out and opened it up, surveying the contents. It was mostly small stuff, for bumps and scrapes she got while filming—bandaids, cotton, tweezers, scissors… But also some gauze and tape. So maybe… She cobbled all the gauze she had together, along with the tape, and her water bottle. Carefully wetting a small clump of the gauze, she set about trying to clean the wound, pulling his shirt and vest out of the way. Once she’d done that as best she could, she folded the rest of the fabric into a pad and taped it tightly over the wound. It wasn’t much, but hopefully, it could at least slow the blood loss. After putting his clothes back in order as much as she dared to avoid making things more awkward than they already were, she went back to her kit, fetching a cotton ball and a large bandaid. Putting some water on the cotton, she turned her attention to the graze on his cheek. The bruise around it had turned dark red a long time ago, and she tried to be as careful as possible when cleaning.

She’d only just started working, however, when his eyes fluttered open. “What… Are you…?” His voice was weak and breathless, and his eyes unfocused. But he was awake.

When he tried to look around, though, she reached up to hold his head still. “Don’t move! I’m almost done.” He tried to squirm more, looking vaguely confused, but she put her hand on top of his head to hold it still until she finished cleaning; then she picked up the bandaid with the other hand, and somehow managed to get it free of the paper and stick it over the scrape without letting go of his head until it was done. “There.” She told him, and set about cleaning up, as well as taking all her wet belongings and spreading them out to try on a capsized box.

He frowned faintly, one hand drifting up slowly, like through water, or as if he wasn’t quite certain it was his, to feel the bandage on his face. His blurry gaze moved back to her—or, rather, somewhere over her shoulder. “What…” He tried again, then had to pause and take a few deep, agonised breaths to continue, “What are you… Doing… Here…?”

“Looking for you.”

He met her eyes for a moment, frown deepening in confusion, then made a dismissive sound and looked away for a moment—until something dawned on him, and he dragged his head back up. “… The others?” Then, hope edging into his tone, “… Touwa?” She opened her mouth, but her voice caught in her throat and she didn’t know how to answer. But it seemed her hesitation was enough—a stab of pain shot through her chest when his face fell, and he slumped back even more against the wall. “… I see.”

“It’s not like that!” She insisted quickly, hurrying back over to kneel by his side. “I promise.” She reached out to touch his shoulder, trying to be comforting. “They’d be here if they could, they just… Couldn’t get away.”

He attempted to flinch away from her hand, but it quickly turned into a wince when he twisted the wound in his side. “… Forget it. For… Forget me.” He sagged even more against the wall, his breathing becoming even shallower.

“No.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, whether because he didn’t want to raise his head again or he lacked the strength to do so. “I don’t want to.”

His head moved like he was shaking it again, but just barely. “Why… Why would you… come for…?” He trailed off.

“Because we’re friends.” She was trying to keep her voice as light as possible, trying to put something like a smile on her face. There was no point in making him feel worse. Slipping a hand forward, she settled for gently touching his arm with her finger tips. “It’s gonna be okay. Really.” She wanted to believe it, too—but his breathing was still shallow, weak, and irregular, and his face was drawn in pain, even while laying still.

“… I’m sorry…” He breathed suddenly, surprising her. “About… About… Before.” His voice was less than a whisper, but she didn’t doubt the sincerity of the apology at all, or what he was referring to. “… I’m… I’m sorry.” He gave another soft, painful sigh, closing his eyes.

Biting her lip, she squeezed his forearm slightly. But the moment stretched on, and his eyes didn’t reopen, and she realised that he had gone still again. “… Hey.” She grabbed his shoulder again, and this time, he didn’t even react to that. “Hey. Banba. Banba!” When there was still nothing, she hurriedly felt for a pulse—she found one, pitiful and feeble, but there. It wasn’t too late yet. After hesitating for a moment, she leaned close, awkwardly almost wrapping her arms around his shoulders in kind of half a hug, clutching tightly. “… Don’t worry. I’m not gonna leave you, no matter what.” Moving back, she located her phone amongst her things, and did her best to wipe off the screen so it would work. They didn’t have many options—she certainly couldn’t call an ambulance. If Kou and the others where two hundred and nine, Banba had to be older than that, and who knew what else might be strange about their physiology. If they went to a hospital, they might never get out. That left only one choice—call home, and pray her father was around to pick up, as she suspected that person would listen in too closely on any conversation the others tried to have.

So, hand trembling slightly, she dialled the number, shuffling back over to sit by his side again, her other hand moving to rest on his arm again—unsure whether it was a desperate attempt to comfort him or to reassure herself. Regardless, she leaned back against the cold cement wall, and listened to the phone ring.

And waited.

Who is the person? I have no idea. The original seed of this idea was that the person who betrayed Banba showed up, and somehow the whole thing backfired on him? But that’s a fairly hazy setting? Basically, that person is dangerous, has it out for Banba for some reason, and Ui doesn’t trust him at all, but trusts Banba.

Make any sense?

#Random Writing Tidbit #Kishiryu Sentai Ryusoulger #my precious Dino Children #my precious grumpy big brother in shining armour #my precious loudly dressed vlogger daughter #(Ui gets her own precious tag now! ^^)#I wanted to write something w/ the two of them #^^#I dunno #I like it :)#Birthday Sentai #Dino Dragon Knights And Their Cat

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ahumanintraining · 6 years

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i met you when i was 18 Adam had thought that getting over Shiro would be the hardest thing he'd ever done. But that was before death took away any semblance of doubt. — adashi. [ao3 link]

Once, Adam believed time was money — that every second needed to be spent doing something, being productive, getting ahead in life — but now, he knows time is anything but something that can be bought with all the riches of the worlds.

Time couldn’t be earned. Time couldn’t be deserved. Time couldn’t even be begged for, prayed for, traded or exchanged for — all the happiness of life, all the worth of the universe would not equal a second, or even a split moment extra with Shiro.

He learns this through the flickering headline on the television screen. It reads in all caps, the letters scrolling across the bottom of the screen under a neatly dressed broadcaster, who says those same words and some extra details in a solemn and serious face — in exactly the same tone as all the other news items of that morning.

Kerberos. Mission failure. All crew members. Inconclusive. Most likely dead.

Time is inflexible. Time is relentless. Time is unforgiving.

Adam knows this now.

And he knows that just as much as he cannot bargain for more time with Shiro, he can neither plead for less time missing him.

He really doesn’t need it.

Therapy, that is.

But eventually, other colleagues notice that he hasn’t taken a day off from work, that he is still operating like nothing ever happened. His friends are worried about his flat answers and his furrowed eyebrows, the growing shadows under his dry eyes and the extra few drinks he swallows down in the evenings.

Everything’s fine. Really.

He’s managing just fine. He makes it to work on time, and not one of his students has failed their mid-year evaluations.

But eventually, one way or another, they all try to convince him to do something about his grief, probably talking amongst themselves and delegating each other to “accidentally” run into him in the elevator or drop by his apartment unannounced with some extra portions of food or inviting him over on the weekends to hang out — all the while giving their own spiel about how hard it is or how they can’t imagine what he’s going through.

And eventually, Adam gives in.

“Fine. I’ll go to therapy session.”

Iverson gives him a soft smile, reaching his hand out to rest on Adam’s left shoulder. “I think that would be best,” he says. “I’ve lost people before too. I know it’s hard.” A pause. “And for you, especially, since you were… together, to say the least.”

“Right,” Adam replies. He’s not sure what else to say. “I’m sure therapy will help somehow.”

It doesn’t, and Adam knows it the moment he sits down.

He’s sitting in a circle of six or seven people, one of them the supposed therapist. Everyone seems to have been here before, because they all look at him for a little too long when he enters the room.

He looks around too. He doesn’t know a single soul in here, and honestly, thank god that’s the case.

He introduces himself, and the therapist gives him a warm smile.

“Welcome,” she says.

And then they go around the room introducing themselves. There’s someone that lost their husband to cancer, someone that lost both of their kids in a car accident, someone that lost their grandmother to multiple medical comorbidities.

At some point, it’s his turn.

“Who are you thinking about?” she asks.

He furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean? I’m not thinking about anyone.”

“What are you thinking about then?”

Adam hides a frown. He re-crosses his ankles and leans back into the chair, which creaks against his weight. The chair is one of those ones that were ubiquitous in public schools in the early 2000s — those shitty plastic chairs with metal legs, uncomfortable no matter what position.

He takes a short inhale and then holds the breath in his chest for a second, thinking.

“I’m not thinking about anything,” he finally says. “Just… I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t think this is helping me.”

“What makes you think that?”

What the fuck kind of question is that?

He snaps his head up, meeting the therapist’s eyes dead on. He chews on his words before he replies.

“I don’t know.” The words come stiff from his mouth. “I’m not feeling any better.”

“That’s okay. You can leave if you like. You don’t have to stay if you don’t think it’s helping you.”

He shakes his head. “No, this is supposed to help, isn’t it?” He looks for affirmation around the room, but everyone else’s eyes are blank. “This is therapy. It’s supposed to work.”

The therapist nods patiently — but her calming air only pisses Adam off. “It works for many people, but many people also do quite well without it,” she says. She gives him a small smile, folding her hands neatly together on her lap. “You can stay for as long as you like. If you don’t want to participate today, you don’t have to.”

“Well then, what would I be doing here?” he retorts, his hands splaying in frustration.

“Everyone grieves differently,” she tells him. Her zen is infuriating, even if he knows that she’s just trying to do her job. “That’s the advantage of doing this as part of a group. You see that right in front of you.”

He hates this. He hates everything about this.

“This is bullshit. I thought this grief therapy shit was supposed to make it easier. I want to fucking move on already. I want to be fucking done with this.”

“Therapy can make things easier, but therapy doesn’t change the grieving process. Everyone grieves differently, and therapy is supposed to help you develop strategies and techniques to make the grieving process easier.”

Adam shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his arms again. “Whatever,” he says. “I don’t know why I’m here. Everyone told me to come so I did. That’s it. And now I know for sure I don’t want to be here.”

“If you’d like to leave, you can leave,” the therapist repeats. “I’m not going to make you stay if you don’t want to.”

This time, he does.

There’s some Spanish saying that goes something like how only a nail can drive another nail out, and Adam guesses the adage is supposed to apply to relationships.

One day when he’s desperate, he tests that wisdom.

He signs himself onto a dating app, bullshits his way through the stupid profile questions, puts up a generic picture of himself and then swipes through a selection of names and faces. He doesn’t really give too much thought into it. He just needs someone — anyone — to forget. He doesn’t need this person to replace the empty hole in his heart, much less occupy it for the future — he just needs to cut the aching in his chest and the bitter taste on his tongue.

The very next evening he has a date. His date suggests a place he’s never been to before, and honestly thank god, because the last thing Adam wants to do is go to a place haunted by memories he’s been struggling to let go.

His date is nice, friendly, and has a good sense of humor. Adam knows this, but he isn’t in the mood to laugh or play along. His date is empathetic and understanding, and when Adam mentions that he’s going through a rough patch in life, his date immediately forgives him for not being completely present. His date is soft and gentle and even asks for permission to kiss him. Adam allows a tight embrace and leans in to meet lips, and for a moment, he thinks that this will be the moment he gets over Shiro —

But then he looks deep into the dark brown eyes staring back at him, and they don’t look at all like Shiro’s eyes.

Of course they don’t. They’re not Shiro’s eyes.

“Sorry,” he mutters through his lips, backing away.

“What?”

“I… I can’t,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.”

Alone on his way home, he deletes the app from his phone on his way home.

Shiro was supposed to die anyway, Adam reminds himself.

Shiro wasn’t always going to be forever.

Shiro never told him exactly how much time he had left — however much his doctor predicted for him to have — but Adam always knew that it was probably less than five years.

Shiro would have told him otherwise — or at least so Adam thinks.

And Shiro would have also said yes when Adam got down on one knee, instead of looking at him with wide forlorn eyes and an unsaid no on his lips.

It’d make it harder for you, he had said. I don’t want you to be alone. I want you to find someone else. I want you to be happy.

“Fucking idiot,” Adam mutters, to no one in particular. “You can’t make all the decisions.”

He looks up from staring at the floor. What time is it? He doesn’t bother checking his watch. His eyes scan his living room, the amber sunset light casting a forlorn yellow tinge and long shadows over everything. Dirty dishes and carry-out containers stacked on the coffee table, some crumbs of many somethings sprinkled over the carpet, unwashed clothes draping over every other surface, stacks of paper tossed on whatever free space is left.

Completely a mess.

Very unlike him.

Damn Shiro, Adam thinks. He’s changed him. He made him love when he hadn’t even been looking for anyone, and now that he’s gone, he’s made him someone he doesn’t want to be — an emotional mess.

Shiro’s also made him come back to the group therapy — something he didn’t plan on doing or intend to do when he woke up that morning.

“It’s good to see you,” the therapist says as he walks in.

He makes eye contact with her, but otherwise says nothing as he mechanically walks over to the back end of the room to unfold himself a metal chair. As he brings his seat to the circle, people move their chairs over to fit him in, the worn-out rubber bottoms of their chairs squeaking against the gym floor.

“We were just getting started. Why don’t you start off the introductions? Do you mind?”

Adam presses his lips closed.

“It’s Adam, right?”

He unclenches his jaw. “Yes.”

“Who are you thinking about, Adam?”

“I don’t want to talk about him. I just want to get over it.”

The therapist smiles gently at him. Always that gentle and soft smile. Seeing the length of her patience tired him.

“You will,” she assures him. “With time.”

He rolls his eyes, scoffing to himself. “I thought you said this was supposed to help you find techniques to manage grief,” he replies. He pauses because a hard ball suddenly forms tight in his throat. He drops his head down. “…And that’s what I want to do. And I don’t want to talk.”

He doesn’t see it, but he can sense that the therapist is nodding. “If you don’t want to talk today, that’s perfectly fine with me, and that’s perfectly fine with all of us, right?”

Adam doesn’t lift his head but his eyes carefully scan over the group around him.

Everyone nods.

Don’t expect me to be here when you get back.

I’ve got a class to teach.

How could he have let those be the last words he said to him?

He hates that he ever said them. He hates that he ever thought of thinking to say them. He hates that he ever even thought of them in the first place.

He was being selfish, he realizes now. He was being greedy.

Adam can’t help the doubt that creeps into his head.

Maybe if he had said better words, Shiro would have stayed. Maybe if he had thought just a little longer, Shiro would still be with him.

Maybe if he had been more understanding, more patient, more compassionate… Maybe if he had been better, Shiro would be in his arms now. Alive.

Those words were his desperation come alive, his denial that things were bound to end. Those words were the very last thing Adam thought he could do — the very last thing he could do for just an extra moment, an extra few seconds with him.

It’s now he realizes he would have done anything for Shiro to stay.

Even break up with him.

He doesn’t really remember where he put the rings.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

He knows they’re in his bedroom closet on the top shelf, just above his two black suit jackets, on top of the extra and ever-unused guest bedsheets and towels, inside of a large blue-topped plastic storage container under other empty product boxes and manufacturer papers that he never had the heart to throw away — specifically under the packaging of his headphones and sunrise alarm clock. They’re each in a black velvet-lined mahogany ring box, engraved to match. Sterling silver, with the inscriptions of their names on the inside.

They’re silver. Silver like Shirogane.

Just like they had discussed. Just like they had planned.

Everything was exactly as he had wanted.

The only thing out of foresight was his answer. Shiro didn’t even see the rings before saying no to them.

Adam knew Shiro long enough to know that he could not control any of Shiro’s choices — and maybe Adam should have known then that maybe that was a sign that they were never meant to be forever.

“Who are you thinking about?”

Who is he thinking about? Who else is he thinking about?

“Takashi—” and his voice collapses.

Takashi. The name rolls off his tongue so easily — as if he’s said it in a good morning every day, as if he’s said it between long kisses late at night, as if he’s said it casually between conversations with friends, as if he’s said it over a phone call back to his family — instead of slapping photo frames face down, deleting old texts and emails, putting everything that ever reminds him of anything into the trash or a storage box he locks away from himself, and waking up every morning with tired, dry, and edematous eyes he could barely see out of —

“You’re thinking about Takashi,” the therapist repeats back to him, cutting his thoughts.

His voice croaks. “Yes.”

“Can you tell us about Takashi?”

Adam lifts his gaze off the floor. He meets the therapist’s eyes first. He looks to the person to the right, then the next person, and then the person after. Their eyes are all the same — kind, attentive, caring, supportive, unjudging.

His silence prompts another question from the therapist.

“When did you meet Takashi?”

Adam blinks, opening and closing his mouth once or twice before forcing the words off his chest.

“I met him at the Garrison.”

#adashi #shadam #voltron #took me forever to write this #dfjiodsjfs #—adashi #—voltron

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