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spicycreativity · 3 years

Text

Howl- Ch. 3

Chapter: 3/10

Add'l Notes: Fic is posted in full on my AO3, WizardGlick

Chapter content warnings: Depictions of alcohol use

“Nothing,” Remus pronounced. His breath ghosted over Virgil’s ear and he shuddered, pulling away so he could look Remus in the face. Remus was still in his work clothes and he smelled, not wholly unpleasantly, of sweat and dirty water.

“Nothing?” Virgil ran his pointer fingers behind both ears, just barely resisting the urge to dig in with his nails and see for himself, dammit.

“I think you’d know if aliens had stuck a tracking chip in your head,” Remus said, his own fingers dancing across the countertop toward the basket of enamel pins by the register.

Virgil ran his fingertips across his temples, still feeling for something, some marking or scar. “But if it wasn’t aliens...”

“Far be it from me to be the voice of reason,” Remus said, “but are we sure you weren’t just sleepwalking? Or high on peyote?"

Virgil continued to track Remus' fingers as he stuck his hand in the basket. "If you steal anything, it comes out of my paycheck." Not strictly true, but it would make Remus pause.

"I wasn't gonna steal!" Remus exclaimed, holding up his hands. "But now I kinda want to."

"Please don't." Virgil sighed and put his face in his hands. He'd noticed a strange metallic taste in his mouth after waking up properly, and even the desperate mouthfuls of Monster he'd been forcing down his throat couldn't seem to touch it. It hadn't touched his exhaustion much, either. Whatever Virgil had been up to last night had not been a restful activity.

"Oh, c'mon, don't freak out." Remus' hand sat heavy on Virgil's shoulder, warming him through the thin fabric of his Baphomet t-shirt. "You were probably just sleepwalking. It happens all the time. Roman used to sleepwalk all over the place when we were kids. One time we even found him asleep in the yard. Naked, just like you."

Virgil peeked over his fingertips. "Really?" Remus was not the type to lie to make someone feel better, but this story seemed a little far-fetched.

"I swear," Remus said, eyes wide with childish solemnity.

The only customer in the store stepped up to pay, and Remus stepped aside to let Virgil deal with them. He made faces behind their back, contorted himself into absurdly sexual poses and stuck out his tongue and wiggled his hips like Elvis in his prime. Virgil pursed his lips to keep from laughing. It had been a hard decision to ask Remus for help with this, but Virgil was glad he had chosen him.

Patton was a big softie and nearly as prone to panic as Virgil was. If he didn't escalate Virgil's paranoia about aliens then he would probably end up pressuring Virgil to make a police report. A useless endeavor, since no crime had actually occurred as far as Virgil knew. Roman and Janus would just make fun of him for being a tin foil hat-wearing loony. And Logan… Well. He might judge. He might not. But Virgil didn't want to look stupid in front of him. Not to mention that Logan would ask questions, force Virgil to face something he wasn't ready to face.

So Remus it was.

"Thank you," Virgil said when the customer had left and Remus had stopped gyrating his hips. "I know I'm being dumb and it was probably nothing."

"Janus isn't here right now," Remus said, pouring out the basket of enamel pins. They scattered and clicked across the countertop. "But if he was, I think he'd say--" Remus shifted his weight and crossed his arms, "'Now what did we say about negative self talk?'"

Virgil chose not to remind Remus that Bienvenue was only a few blocks away and he could easily go get Janus if he wanted. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I know it wasn't aliens."

"But if it was peyote, you do have to share," Remus said, his attention already back on the pins. He poked through them with one dirty fingertip.

Virgil watched for a moment, then joined in, turning the pins to face Remus so he could get a good look at them. Remus seemed particularly fixated on one shaped like a death's head moth. "That one's six dollars."

Remus braced his elbows on the counter and clasped his hands under his chin, lashes aflutter. "You know how you could repay me for checking your skull for alien trackers?"

Virgil nearly reached for his wallet before he realized what Remus was actually getting at. He sighed, biting back his smile all the while, and made a show of turning to inspect the rotating sticker display. "Uh-oh," he said in an exaggerated monotone. "I'd better make sure all the stickers are properly organized. Gee, I sure hope no one shoplifts while I'm doing that."

There was a brief moment of silence. It was broken when Remus, presumably done pocketing the pin, said, "So bowling night?"

"Huh?" said Virgil, trying to find the dirty joke. Maybe something about balls?

Remus pulled his phone out of the pocket of his work pants and shook it at Virgil. "Pastor Patton's little group bonding venture?"

"Don't call him that," Virgil muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, of the messages he'd been ignoring all morning, one was a new group chat. He read through the messages. "How did Patton get your number?"

"Roman gave it to him."

"How'd he get Janus' number?"

Remus grinned. "I gave it to him. No way am I suffering through some corny adult bonding shit without backup."

"Am I not backup?" Virgil asked, unsure whether he should be offended.

"You can't be backup," Remus said dismissively. "You're the bridge. You forced me 'n' Roman to reunite, you made us all hang out. You're the bridge. You won't be as mean as I need you to be."

"I'm mean!" Virgil said. "I'm so mean!"

"Say something bitchy about Patton right now. Quickly!" Remus began to snap his fingers.

"Um," said Virgil. "Uh. Sometimes-- Well, sometimes he can be kinda… Smother-y?"

"Oh, please." Remus rolled his eyes. "That was almost healthy communication."

"Fine." Virgil crossed his arms over his chest.

Remus let him pretend to be upset for roughly three seconds. "But you are coming, right? Or are you gonna spend the night playing with Data's joystick?"

Virgil's cheeks went hot. "Of course I'm com--" He paused and reconsidered his choice of words. "Of course I'll be there. And Logan will, too."

"Wonder if I can start a betting pool," Remus said thoughtfully.

The bells on the door tinkled and Virgil leaned over to see past Remus. "Hi, welcome in," he said in his best customer service voice, which wasn't very good. "Let me know if I can help you find anything."

"Just browsing."

"Alright."

"Well," said Remus, affixing the moth pin to his hi-vis vest. "See you tonight?"

"Yeah," said Virgil. "Please be nice to Patton."

Remus winked and started to back out. "Sorry! Hazing is mandatory."

He slipped out the door, leaving Virgil to marinate in his anxiety.

Although he was exhausted, Virgil went for a short walk after work. He wandered by Bienvenue and stared at the fancy suits in the window and wondered how Janus always had the audacity to dress like he was attending a funeral at a high-end night club. His feet took him forward and he smiled a little. If there was one thing Janus had in abundance, it was audacity.

He stopped again by the reflecting pool at the Plaza and read the plaque. It had very little information and devoted barely half a sentence to the supposed curse. A shiver ran down Virgil's spine. He took a deep breath and carefully did not panic. As Logan would say, he shouldn't jump to conclusions. He needed more data.

Virgil didn't want more data. He would happily chalk his misadventure up to sleepwalking and banish it forcefully to his subconscious, if only it would never, ever happen again. He shivered again despite the balmy weather and muffled a yawn behind his hand. Time to go home and get whatever sleep he could before the inevitable disaster of bowling night.

He managed to get home without hitting any potholes. Whatever stormy weather had threatened Vaillant earlier in the week seemed to have passed, and he was treated to a spectacular view of a great blue heron flying low over the road. He even managed a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up and get ready.

He chose his outfit with care, scrutinizing it through Logan's eyes. What would Logan like? What did Logan like? Virgil had no idea about his preference in men or how he slotted into it. Was it his height? His body shape? His eyes? What should he play up to make Logan like him? So Logan wouldn't regret choosing to be with him?

He dithered over this until he made himself late, and chose an outfit that he felt good in: long sleeves, long pants, the reassuring weight of his hoodie on his shoulders.

He kept it zipped up to his neck even after he entered the warmth and light of Vaillant's singular bowling alley, Gator Lanes. His friends were already seated. Waiting. For him.

Despite the wash of guilt, Virgil slowed and surveyed the scene. Patton and Logan sat on one of the low, pleather couches with a pair of bowling shoes between them. That left Roman, Remus, and Janus wedged on the other couch. They all looked like they were getting along, which was good. Roman and Remus were speed-eating French fries while the others talked.

Virgil approached from the back, gesturing for Patton and Logan to be quiet. He didn't miss the way Logan's eyes lit up; it sent a pleasant little rush of adrenaline all through his veins. When he was close enough, he leaned over and stole the pineapple off the rim of Janus' hurricane glass. It was dyed red from grenadine and tasted vaguely of rum.

"It's fine," said Janus, casually flipping Virgil the bird. "I wasn't saving that or anything."

"Guess you'll have to get another one," Remus said.

They started bickering about how drunk was too drunk for bowling night, so Virgil came around to Patton and Logan's side of the table. He kissed Logan hello while Patton explained about the shoes: "They were out of your size, so I got a size down instead of up, because I know you wear those really thin socks and I didn't want you to slip."

"Thanks, Pat," Virgil said. His hand found Logan's, somehow, and he smiled. "I wouldn't have put that much thought into it."

"That's why you have me!"

"Can we start now?" Roman asked, wiggling in place.

Patton stood up to fiddle with the control, and Virgil forced himself to nuzzle Logan's jawline with his nose. He wanted to do it, but the idea of being witnessed while he did so made his skin crawl.

Logan turned his head so they were nose-to-nose and smiled before pulling away. "Do you want me to order you a drink? We were going to, but we weren't sure what you'd want."

Roman threw a straw wrapper at them. "We're just about to start!"

"You're up second, too," Patton said cheerfully, flopping back down on the couch. "I put us in alphabetical order."

"I'll go, then," Virgil said. He squeezed Logan's hand and let go of it, stood.

"Don't forget to put your bowling shoes on," Janus said, eying Virgil's ratty leather ankle boots. Janus himself had somehow done the impossible and matched the colors of his suit to the dull red and blue of Gator Lanes' bowling shoes, making his whole outfit look deliberately tacky.

"When I get back."

"I'll go with you!" Roman got to his feet. "I already know I'm gonna lose. What's one more drink?"

"That's the spirit!" Remus said.

"Ha," said Patton, "I get it."

They turned to go, Roman bumping Virgil with his hip to prompt him forward. "So you and Logan, huh?" he said once they were out of earshot. "How's that going?"

"Fine," Virgil said, feeling the blush crawl onto his face. It was a short walk to the bar, but it suddenly seemed like miles and miles.

"You sure keep things close to your chest, don't you? Didn't say a word to me." Roman crossed his arms and looked sideways at him.

"I didn't think I had a chance!" Virgil exclaimed. "Wait. Did he say something to you?"

Roman winked at him, shushed him, and bellied up to the bar so he could order. Virgil hung back, one hand on his wallet, but Roman waved a hand. "Janus has a tab going," he said, turning back to Virgil.

"Does Janus know he has a tab going?" Virgil asked.

"Uh, yeah, it's not like I stole his card."

"It's not you I'm worried about," Virgil said, thinking of Remus and the moth pin.

"Ugh, you worry too much."

"This shouldn't be news to you, Roman, I have 'Worry Too Much' Disorder." Virgil flicked at his zipper pull. "Wait, so did Logan say anything to you?"

Roman smiled, even laughed a little. "Uh, yeah, he practically asked me and Patton for permission to ask you out. He made us promise not to tell you. Honestly, it was kinda cute how nervous he was."

"Nervous?" Virgil repeated. It was obvious now, but it hadn't occurred to him that Logan had lost just as much sleep over Virgil as Virgil had over him.

A harried-looking bartender popped up behind Roman, slid their drinks over, and vanished again practically before Virgil could force out a 'thank you.' Roman passed him his vodka Red Bull. "Let's go."

"Alright." Virgil sighed. It was probably better not to try to wring the details out of Roman, especially since he'd said that Logan had told him not to tell.

They reached their lane and he scooted in next to Logan, snuggling up a lot closer than was necessary, especially given that Patton was currently up to bowl. "Welcome back," Logan said.

Virgil set his drink on the table and began to change his shoes over. "Having fun yet?" he asked Janus. He was still a little resentful that Remus and Janus didn't think he could be mean anymore. Just because he didn't want to shit-talk Patton behind his back. Sure, Remus had been the one to say it, but Virgil had no doubt the sentiment originated with Janus.

"Sure, I guess there's a sort of primal thrill in hurling a 14-pound ball at a target," Janus said primly.

"10 pounds," Logan said.

Virgil bit down on his lip to hide his smile.

"I'm sorry?" Janus tilted his head.

Logan gestured at the bright yellow ball sitting in the ball return. "10 pounds, not 14." Patton's ball came back, followed shortly thereafter by Patton. "16 pounds," Logan said.

"Pat's strong," Virgil said, elbowing Patton as he sat down. Janus bit down on an ice cube. "By the way," said Virgil, feeling a spark of pure evil manifest inside himself. "Have you guys made cutting boards yet?" To Janus, he said, "It's kind of a tradition."

"I'd heard," Janus said, shooting him a covert dirty look.

Virgil smiled at him and turned to Patton. "Janus would rather die than say so, but I can tell he's excited."

"Oh, good!" Patton said. To Janus, he said "I was actually a little worried you wouldn't want to do it."

Virgil's killing strike was delayed slightly by Remus' reappearance and Roman's subsequent disappearance, and he knew he had to act quickly or Janus would wiggle out of it when Virgil was taking his turn. Remus finally sat and stopped crowing about his spare, which no one had witnessed. Virgil pounced. "Bienvenue is closed on Sundays, isn't it?" he said to Janus, as though the shop hadn't kept the same hours for years. "Maybe you guys could do it then."

"The weather should be clear, too," Logan chimed in. Virgil looked at him, trying to gauge if he had picked up on the game, but his face gave nothing away.

"Works for me!" Patton said. "I'm putting the finishing touches on a coffee table for somebody down south, but I can make time on Sunday."

"Great," said Janus with a plastic smile Virgil knew he usually reserved for difficult customers. The daggers in his eyes promised a thorough bitching-out later, but Virgil didn't even care. So he wasn't mean anymore, hm?

"All you," said Roman, tapping Virgil on the shoulder.

Virgil nodded and took a long swallow of his vodka Red Bull. It was stupid, but walking up to bowl always felt like walking out on stage. He knew full well none of his friends were paying attention and even if they were, their friendly teasing was nothing to worry about. They knew when to stop. But still, his heart quivered as he approached the lane. By sheer luck, he managed not to get a gutter ball, then turned and hovered awkwardly as he waited for his ball to come back.

Logan caught his eye and winked at him, not even pausing in his explanation of the physics of bowling. Virgil smiled back, and suddenly everything seemed that much lighter, that much more bearable. He really had to stop worrying so much.

#ik the aesthetic boards are reminiscent of mid 2000s livejournal fic covers but whatever it's camp and i like doing it #sanders sides #analogical #virgil sanders #spicywrites #spicywrites howl

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haikyuu-scenarios-box · 5 years

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Hi. I'm the anon who asked about au's. I'm just shy, so don't take offense my apology! You're great and friendly! I'd like a scenario request though! I've been into vampires since the Halloween season, and wanted to request one. A little late, but I guess any time is a good time, haha. I'd like it to be with Tsukishima being vampire and spending the night at his crushes house, and he ends up feeding on her in her sleep? You can do what you like with this idea! I'm very interested to see it!

A/N: omfggg i went so so overboard with this,, im just so damn weak for vampire!tsukishima. TW: blood obviously. Also, keep in mind that this request involves a character coming into the reader’s bedroom to p much prey on her while she’s asleep. There’s nothing sexual involved, but if you suspect that that type of scene may trigger you, then I suggest you either don’t read this or read at your own discretion. Ok?? ok,..,, you’ve been warned and you’re on your own now. Word count: 1,870 (lmao my bad)

UNDER THE CUT.

____________

His fingers were akin to glass; their delicacy threatened with a shatter as they brushed against the daisies. Traces of pollen were dusted along his palms, petals of ivory stroking the length of his legs. Sparse grass had buried itself into the folds that rested within his clothes, lightly pricking his skin.

Discarding the vivid memory, Tsukishima recalled that he hadn’t seen the cottage by the meadow in over a century.

To Tsukishima, those memories resembled scratched segments of dusty videocassettes. He remembered that he had a brother named Akiteru, a seamstress for a mother and a labourer for a father. Their faces, however, were permanently forgotten. It didn’t bother Tsukishima, though - he preferred it over death. If it weren’t for Yamaguchi turning him, he would have died following the pillage.

Prior to meeting her, Tsukishima never kept track of time since he had all of eternity to live. In the past year, he’d grown attached enough to maintain his relationship with her, but not attached enough to risk getting his head severed from his body. Tsukishima planned to cut her out of his life soon.

‘Look at you all zoned out,’ she teased, ‘I didn’t take you for an art critic.’

‘You want a critique?’ Tsukishima sneered, ‘this painting’s really ugly.’

‘It’s not ugly!’ she exclaimed, ‘Ojiisan gave it to me. He bought it from an artist in Nagiso long ago.’

‘Well, he had awful taste,’ he knew that that wasn’t his real opinion. What else was he supposed to say, though? That the painting of a cottage by a meadow reminded him of his first home? That he was alive before her grandfather was?

Of course not.

‘You have a lot of nerve saying that…’ she poked the bridge of Tsukishima’s glasses, ‘… when you’re the one who’s wearing those. Get nicer frames.’

‘I’m sorry I like to see,’ he sarcastically said with a smirk, ‘is this how you treat your guests?’

‘You’re the one who said my painting’s ugly,’ she shrugged, collapsing on the couch. ‘I think ojiisan said he met a vampire when he visited Nagiso.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Tsukishima sneered, joining her, ‘there’s barely any in Japan.’

‘Yes there is,’ she asserted, ‘they used to live savagely centuries ago, but they’ve integrated into human society.’

Tsukishima was almost taken aback. She was right - creatures of his kind still existed and they integrated well. Too well, to the point where they were widely considered to be an extinct being.

‘Let me guess, your ojiisan told you that,’ Tsukishima masked his surprise with a taunting tone, ‘do vampires also disappear in mirrors and wear black cloaks?’

She crossed her arms as she stuck her tongue out childishly, ‘Make fun of me all you want, but he said that he knew what he saw. A young woman in an alleyway,’ she shuddered, her spine graced by a shiver, ‘her fangs buried deeply within a mangled cat, slurping up all its blood.’

‘How scary,’ Tsukishima mocked, pretending as though he hadn’t done such a thing. He was repulsed at the idea of feeding on animals, but centuries ago, there were times where he found himself desperate. All he fed on nowadays were suicide victims beneath a nearby cliff and from blood banks. Yamaguchi did the same.

‘Whatever,’ she stood up, stretching her arms out with a yawn, ‘don’t come crying to me if you ever do come across a vampire.’

‘Because in that situation, I’d definitely come to you,’ Tsukishima sarcastically remarked, ‘I’d feel safe with your wooden stake and silver.’

‘You realise I can make you sleep on the couch instead of the guest bedroom, right?’

____________

Every attempt he made to quiet his mind had failed; it descended, further, further and further into an obsession with the possibility that a long blade would soon sever his head.

Tsukishima was never aware that she possessed any knowledge about his kind. Vampires became less of a reality and more of an old tale. Not many knew that they ate human food, drank human drinks - the only difference was that it was all tasteless and that his nutrition could only be obtained from fresh blood. Put simply, human foods were a useless filler.

Although she didn’t mention it, Tsukishima believed it was likely that she was aware of that fact. As his pupils fixated themselves to the ceiling, a year was suddenly no longer a fleeting moment to him. A year’s worth of a close relationship with a human was a long time. Especially when the human belongs to the minority that believed that vampires still lived amongst them.

Yamaguchi had warned him of this, urging him to recall when hiring vampire hunters was common practise, when suspected vampires (and any human who sheltered a vampire) were burned at the stake, begging for any form of mercy.

Tsukishima began packing away the belongings he brought with him to her home, concluding that her memory of him had to turn into a mirage, just like the faces of his family. As he made his way out the guest bedroom, he realised how he loathed how fond he grew of her. Tsukishima wanted to fully remember the arch of her brows, the lashes that curved away from her waterline, the wit of her tongue, the outline of her lips.

He passed by her bedroom, knowing that he couldn’t rely on his memories. Eventually, the centuries to come would led them to disintegrate into ashes, where they will never arise again - memories bore no similarity to a phoenix.

Turning around, Tsukishima quietly placed his duffle bag on the floor and carefully opened the door. He was unsure as to whether he could remember her once he left - but he was confident that he wouldn’t forget the flavour her blood carried.

Her body had already been lulled into a deep state of sleep - after all, Tsukishima possessed heightened senses and could hear her slow and rhythmic breathing.

The emotional attachment Tsukishima held towards her was constantly denied by him, until he envisioned his pillow beside hers. He falsely hoped to share that blanket with her for the nights to come, perhaps even bicker over blanket-stealing the following morning. Maybe she snored sometimes and he could tease her about it. Would they wake up at the same time, or would he wake up first?

Tsukishima didn’t want those thoughts to exist anymore. He wanted them to burn with intense fury and relief; identical to the burning of suspected vampires centuries ago.

She was already asleep on her side, her body facing the wall. Kneeling beside the double bed, Tsukishima warily placed a hand on her shoulder. The thumb of his other hand rested along the angle of her jaw, gently pushing her head further away from her neck. For a couple of seconds, Tsukishima merely stared at the skin he was about to pierce. She’ll keep him in mind while the marks scab over and bruise, but after that, she will forget about him; because he’ll be long gone by then.

The longer his fangs grew, the more reluctant he became to bite into her. This wasn’t going to be the first time that Tsukishima fed on someone alive - there was a time when he was forced to do so. He knew his neck anatomy quite well, he wasn’t an idiot who recklessly bit into people and accidentally killed them.

Tsukishima’s felt the tip of his fangs touch her neck. This situation lacked any similarity to his past feedings on sleeping humans, for it was completely unrelated to survival. Rather, it was a feeble to cure his illness of melancholy; the fever that forced him to breathe the air that, to him, resembled the very salts of the ocean. Every inhale filled his lungs with blue hellfire.

That was what drove him to finally abandon his loyalty to cautiousness.

Tsukishima haphazardly sink his fangs into her neck, memorising the intensity of the iron. He knew that if he were to suddenly pull his head away in that moment, he’d rip her neck wide open. But he had to bite down with that much force. He had to remember her.

As hot, thick scarlet slid down Tsukishima’s throat, he began to actually consider the consequences. With the mark, she’d easily have the power to report him. Although the probability of anyone believing her was slim, his actions were still creating the possibility of his death. For a mere second, Tsukishima even pictured himself turning her.

Once a low yelp was heard by Tsukishima’s hypersensitive ears, he rid his mind of those disorganised thoughts. He was sure that his absence of self-control had awakened her, yet he began to question whether he really was scared of getting killed. Tsukishima’s lived for centuries. He’d seen it all.

With that realisation, Tsukishima strengthened his grip and pushed her head even further away from her neck. He noted that as his gulps turned longer and deeper, her whimpers grew louder and her knuckles curled themselves into the sheets.

When he finally pulled away, he watched her reluctantly place her fingers on the wound, smearing the bloody marks in the process. Tsukishima’s lips were still warm, a crimson trail slowly dripping down his chin.

Tsukishima sat up, retracting his fangs back into his gums. He headed towards the door, wiping away the blood with the back of his hand. He forced the turmoil within his chest to be replaced with apathy, since he already knew the facial expression that will rest upon her face once she turned around - forehead wrinkled, eyebrows knitted, lip corners pulled downwards - sheer terror.

‘You…’ she trailed off, her voice uncertain, ‘… if you wanted to bite me that bad, you could have just asked.’

For the first time since Yamaguchi turned him, Tsukishima was the one stunned by a human. His eyelids drew themselves back slightly, his mouth agape with an intense confusion. Tsukishima didn’t want to look at her - he had no desire for her to see the breach of his facade.

‘I already knew.’

After a long pause, Tsukishima snapped. ‘And you didn’t tell me,’ The apathy within his chest started to dissipate, an immeasurable confusion and fury settling in. ‘Instead, you decided to have a casual conversation with me about my kind.’

‘Kei,’ she said, ‘turn around and look me in the eye,’ she’d never used his first name before. He never did, either, although he always wished their relationship would reach a point where he could.

Tsukishima obliged with her command. ‘You think I’m a fool, do you?’ his skin almost sizzled against his bones, overwhelmed by every form of hurt he’d experienced throughout the centuries. ‘All this time, you acted like you’re oblivious to what I am and spoke to me as though I’m a human.’

Mainly, it was the hurt that was buried within the sense of imminent loss.

‘Well, I’m not a human,’ Tsukishima revealed his fangs once more, clenching his teeth in anger, ‘and that means that I’ll kill you right now.’

‘You won’t,’ she said, her smile soft enough to be mistaken for a smirk. She was smug about the fact that her suspicion was true, though - this was Tsukishima’s crush, after all.

She slowly stepped closer to him until she was able to firmly press her chest against his. Tenderly placing an open palm against Tsukishima’s cheek, the pad of her thumb gently stroked his cheekbone; an attempt to induce tranquillity within him. Once her gentle gesture ceased, she hooked an index finger underneath the fabric of her shirt, pulling it away from her neck to expose the bare skin of her shoulder.

‘Drink.’

#tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu scenarios #scenario #writing #female reader #vampire!haikyuu #haikyuu au #tw: blood #vampire au #vampire!tsukishima kei

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