#but otherwise. that sure was a season of television huh!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crossbowking · 3 years

Text

What Comes After

Summary: (Set mid season 5) The reader falls ill while on the road after Terminus - but Daryl refuses to lose anyone else.

Prompt: "Do you believe in heaven?" - Heaven Anon

A/N: Hello, my sweets! I'm so glad I was able to finish up this story and have it ready for y'all this weekend! Thank you so much for all your continued love and support! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts about this one!

Happy reading! :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

“Do you believe in heaven?”

The sudden question, the unexpected break in silence that’d hung heavy around the dimly lit campground caught Daryl totally and completely off guard.

He glanced down, surprised to see your bleary eyes trained on him, stark against the pallor of your complexion. His hand hovered between you, the damp rag he held balling up in his fist. “The hell kinda question’s that?” he snapped before internally cringing — he hadn’t meant for the retort to sound so sharp.

But you remained unfazed, the ghost of a smile flickering over your lips. “There’s nothing good to watch on television these days,” you quipped, your voice croaky and soft as you shifted on the tree trunk you rested against.

Daryl snorted a soft breath, shaking his head as he reached forward and dabbed the cloth against your forehead, growing serious once more. You were burning up — he could practically feel the heat radiating off your body, small beads of sweat forming above your brow. But he quickly wiped them away, as if he could just pretend they weren’t there.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he patted the rag gently down the sides of your face, letting his own guise drop while you weren’t looking.

The group had been on the road since Terminus fell, walking aimlessly day in and day out. Things had rapidly gone from bad to worse — between Terminus, the loss of Bob, Beth, and Tyreese, and now this, the future for the remaining survivors was becoming alarmingly bleak.

You started coming down with something a few days back. It’d been brushed off as a cold, exposure to the elements, lack of basic supplies, but now you were getting worse — so much worse and far too quickly.

At this point, Daryl was worried you wouldn’t even make it through the night.

You were important to the group — you were family — but the archer saw the way the others looked at you. Like you were a time bomb waiting to go off, like at any moment you could turn and put the rest of them in danger.

Their concern was warranted, their trauma valid.

But he didn’t have to like it.

So instead, he’d made you his priority — the only thing he was able to control. He watched over you, made sure you got to rest when you needed it, all the while searching anywhere and everywhere for anything that could help heal you. Keeping you alive, making sure you got better had become his purpose — otherwise, he’d sink into the darkness that lingered, he’d give in to the swell of grief that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

After everything that’d happened, he couldn’t lose anyone else.

He couldn’t lose you.

A visible chill rolled through your body as you curled inwardly, your features skewed in pain. Daryl watched as you buried yourself deeper beneath his leather jacket, the one he’d draped over you despite the muggy night air.

He pulled away then, picking up the near-empty canteen of water he’d propped up beside him, quickly unscrewing the cap and holding the dampened rag near the opening.

But then you grabbed onto his wrist, your grasp weak and clammy, and his eyes met yours.

“Don’t,” you shook your head once. “Save it."

Daryl ground his teeth together, his jaw clenching — because damn it, you were right. The water supply your group had managed to scrounge up was rapidly depleting and soon enough, there’d be nothing left.

The archer slowly twisted the cap back on and set it aside, feeling utterly and completely helpless.

“So, do you?” you suddenly asked.

Daryl glanced over at you, brow furrowed. “Huh?” he grunted in return.

“Believe in heaven,” you clarified, the look on your face giving the archer an uneasy feeling.

His eyes narrowed as he tried to gauge what exactly you were getting at. “Why’re ya askin’?” he rasped, figuring it was better to get straight to the point, rather than waste time you may not have.

It was your turn to look away, your gaze faraway as you stared off towards where the rest of the group slept. “Just curious, I guess,” you murmured absently. “You know…about what comes after.”

Reading between the lines, Daryl felt a swell of anger — red-hot, forming in the pit of his stomach and dispersing through the rest of his body, setting his nerves ablaze. “Ya ain’t dyin’, Y/N,” he growled indignantly, keeping his voice low as to not wake the others.

“But I am,” your eyes snapped towards him, the fire in your gaze reminiscent of who you were just a few days ago before you fell ill. But just as quickly as the intensity rose, it dimmed, somehow making you appear even more exhausted than before. “And it’s only a matter of time until —”

“Would ya quit —”

“I need you to promise me something,” the words spilled quickly from your lips as you sat up straighter, teetering slightly.

Daryl reached out, grabbing onto your shoulder and steadying you, your flesh warm beneath his palm. “Hey —”

“Please, just — just listen to me,” you urged, shadows from the firelight flickering across your ashen features.

The archer slowly let go of his hold on you, sitting back on his haunches. “Alright,” he finally relented, nodding once.

You huffed a small breath of relief, seemingly taking a moment to gather your thoughts before regarding him solemnly. “Daryl, if —” you faltered, your eyes suddenly clouding with emotion as you appeared to struggle for the right words. But then you sighed and the archer could’ve sworn a little bit of life left you on the exhale. “Just don’t let me turn, okay?” you whispered, your voice hitching towards the end. “Please, don’t let me turn.”

Daryl held your gaze a moment longer before ducking his head down, effectively concealing the flash of hurt that flickered over his face. He pushed away the burning feeling behind his eyes, the prickling at the tip of his nose because how could you ask that of him? How could you just…give up?

But when he looked back up, about to ask you just that, he noticed your features suddenly crumple.

The facade you’d been wearing to keep your own fear at bay began to crack and Daryl found himself moving towards you on impulse.

Any inkling of insecurity dissipated as the archer finally gave in to the need to be close to you — a feeling he’d shoved away time and time again. He maneuvered himself to your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you towards his chest. You fell weakly against him, allowing him to half-hold, half-cradle you, as though his body alone could shield you from the sickness that was destroying yours.

“It’s alright, I got ya,” Daryl rasped because he didn’t know what else he could possibly say to make what was happening okay. “I got ya,” he rumbled as he wound his other arm around you — your flushed cheek resting in the crook of his arm, your back pressed against his chest, your hands clinging desperately onto his forearm.

Your cries were muffled against Daryl’s skin but he simply held on tighter, giving you the space you needed to grieve and breathe and feel.

When your hushed sobs eventually died down, neither of you spoke. The silence that fell between you carried, mimicking the stillness of the surrounding forest as you held onto one another in the safety of the shadows.

“I dunno what ta’ believe in,” the archer murmured suddenly, unsure where the unexpected confession came from. The words had just sort of…tumbled out of him.

But he could tell by the way you stiffened in his arms that you were listening.

He cleared his throat, resting the back of his head against the tree trunk, staring up at its darkened, unmoving branches. “I ain’t stupid enough ta’ think there’s, ya know, pearly white gates or — or some asshole that sits on a damn cloud or nothin’ like that.”

You huffed a light breath and Daryl felt the corner of his mouth quirk.

But then he grew serious once more, chewing on the inside of his cheek, thinking carefully. “But, uh, I guess — I guess there’s gotta be somethin’,” he rasped. “Somethin’ after all a’ this, ya know?”

You hummed softly in response, your thumb brushing absently back and forth against his forearm, raising goosebumps beneath your touch. “Well,” you cleared the fatigue from your throat, wincing slightly. “I guess we’ll find out,” you mumbled faintly. “Sooner or later.”

Daryl heard the tinge of defeat in your tone, something others surely would’ve missed, and glanced down at the side of your face. “It’s gonna be later,” he rumbled as you craned your neck to look up at him, your eyes red-rimmed and glassy. “Much later, ya hear me?”

A somewhat bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you nodded once, sniffling softly before you turned your face away once more. “Can I tell you something?” you whispered after a moment.

Daryl bit back the ‘always’ that rose to his lips. “Mhm,” he grunted instead.

“I think you’re my favorite thing,” you murmured, your voice so quiet he nearly missed it.

But then the archer stilled, feeling a funny sort of warmth flood his cheeks. He couldn’t see your face and he didn’t dare look down, but the sincerity in your tone sent his heart thrumming. He quickly deflected the swarm of emotion clogging his throat, hoping you couldn’t feel the sudden racing of his pulse. “Think that’s the fever talkin’,” he countered evenly, the slight waver in his voice betraying him.

You snorted softly through your nose, but remained quiet otherwise, nestling closer against him without another word.

When the archer felt your breathing even out, he looked down, sneaking a glance at you. The side of your face was illuminated by the dwindling fire, shadows dancing across the curves and dips of your features, your eyes closed, lips parted, steady breaths tickling the hair on his forearm. He slowly unwound one arm from around you, careful not to jostle you awake, and gently brushed away the strands of hair that’d fallen over your face, before wrapping it securely around you once more.

He sighed, making himself comfortable against the large tree trunk he leaned on, watching the flames from the campfire flicker off in the distance.

As the night carried on, Daryl’s arms grew tired.

But nothing would deter him from holding you — not after having denied himself of it for so long.

And so he sank into the feeling.

Maybe there was a heaven after all.

Fin.

A/N: *sniffle* Okay, okay, I know I promised y'all 'tooth-rotting fluff' but this was the best I could do today lol I hope you enjoyed!

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

569 notes · View notes

elianamarie-blog · 4 years

Text

The Things You Give Pt 13

AN: Another part is up! Let me know what you’re thinking of the series so far because I’m thinking of ending it soon because I’d hate for it to go on longer than needed. But I am having a lot of fun writing it and love hearing back from you guys! Thank you all for those that have been reading since the beginning and if you’re just finding the series, welcome! Enjoy!

Steven Hyde x Reader

October 15, 1978

The Forman Kitchen

Point Place, Wisconsin

The morning at the breakfast table, things still hadn’t changed between the three teenagers, but they were at least able to be around each other without fists flying, so y/n took that as a plus. Y/n could barley eat though. She had woken up feeling sick to her stomach; the thought of food repulsing her. She nibbled on her toast and couldn’t even sip on her orange juice without wanting to vomit.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Kitty asked concerned. “You’ve barley touched your breakfast.”

Y/n groaned. “Just feeling a little sick is all.”

Kitty hummed and pressed the back of her hand to y/n’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm. Maybe it was something you ate.”

Y/n groaned again and put her head down. “Maybe.”

“Hey Dad, can you pass the bacon?” Eric asked, stretching arm out.

Y/n gagged and groaned. “Please don’t say bacon.”

Eric smirked and grabbed a piece, biting into it. “Mhmmmm…bacόn.”

“Please stop,” she grumbled, her stomach churning.

“It’s so juicy and chewy and the fat at the end is the best part,” Eric continued, laughing.

“Oh, God! Did you have to say that?!” she screeched as she made haste to the nearest bathroom. She could feel the contents of her stomach rising before she made it to the bathroom.

“Did you really have to do that?” Kitty asked, disappointed.

“Yes,” Eric responded. “Yes, I did.”

Kitty shook her head in disapproval and brought her fork of food to her mouth.

Red glared at his son before returning his attention to the newspaper.

“What?!” Eric asked. “She started it!”

“Oh, boo hoo, she broke your dolls,” Red mocked.

“G.I Joes,” Eric corrected.

“Whatever,” his father answered. “Whatever she did isn’t worth making her throw up over.”

Yes, it is, Eric thought.

Y/n returned to the kitchen, her skin ashen and her eyes sunken. “I think I’m going to go back to bed so I don’t barf all over the table.”

“Well, okay honey,” Kitty said getting up and taking her plate to the sink. “I’ll bring you some soup later, okay?”

Y/n shook her head, making a face of disgust. “Please, Mom. I can’t even think about food right now.”

“Well, you have to get some food in you,” Kitty responded. “Otherwise you’ll get even more sick.”

Y/n nodded. “Okay. I just really want to go back to bed.”

“Okay sweetie,” Kitty responded, rubbing her daughter’s shoulder. “We’ll see you later.”

Y/n nodded and stole a glance at Hyde before she made her way upstairs.

“Eric, I need you to mow the lawn later,” Red demanded as he finished his breakfast.

“What? Why can’t Hyde do it?”

“Because unlike your sorry ass, I actually have work,” Hyde replied.

Eric glared at him before turning back to Red. “Why do I always have to do it?”

“Because I said so!” Red barked.

--Time Skip—

“So, you think you got food poisoning, huh?” Donna asked that night over the phone.

Y/n nodded before she realized she was talking over the phone. “Yeah, I do. Every time I move, my body screams at me. My back is hurting so much. And my stupid cramps aren’t helping any either.”

“Have you been throwing up that much?”

“Yeah,” Y/n replied, wiping her sweaty and oily hair out of her face. “I think I pulled a muscle in my back or something because of it. Even my boobs hurt.”

“Nausea, back aches, and tender breasts,” Donna counted off. “Hey, you may be pregnant.” Donna chuckled at her own joke.

“Ha ha,” Y/n chortled. “You’re funny. Definitely not pregnant.”

“Yeah? And how do you know?”

“Because I’m supposed to be getting my period in a few days. These could be symptoms of PMS. Or maybe both.”

“Supposed to,” Donna pushed, putting emphasis on her words.

“Shut up,” Elena laughed. “Stop saying that. I’m not pregnant. Eric would throw himself off a cliff if that happened. Or Hyde. Or Eric would push Hyde off a cliff. One of the three.”

Donna chuckled. “But seriously, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just can’t do much for a couple of days.”

“Okay, well if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks Donna,” Y/n said. “I’m going to go to sleep. I’ll talk to you later.” “Alright, rest easy. Talk to you later.”

Y/n hung up the phone before turning back around and falling back asleep, feeling her stomach churning. Pregnant.

The word echoed in her head as sleep quickly enveloped her. --Time Skip—

“Guys!” Kelso called as he barged through the door in the basement. “The Omen is on TV right now!” He hurriedly made his way over to the television set, switching on the movie.

“Kelso, what the hell, man? We were watching that!” Hyde piped up. “C’mon, it’s Halloween season!” Kelso argued. “Tis the season to be jolly!”

“That’s Christmas, moron,” Jackie said from behind him.

“Well, whatever! I think we should get in the spirit.”

The gang groaned as they leaned back into their seats.

“Hey, where’s y/n?” Hyde asked.

“Oh, she’s upstairs sleeping,” Donna answered nonchalantly.

“Still? It’s six o’ clock,” he responded. “She’s been upstairs since this morning.”

“Well, food poisoning is a real bitch,” she replied. “And so is PMS.”

“Alright, TMI,” Eric said and got up to turn up the volume on the TV.

“Oh, Eric, don’t be such a prude,” Fez said. “It’s completely natural. In my culture, we honor women whenever they go through their monthly ordeal. It’s kind of a big deal. We thank the gods and celebrate their womanhood. Then, we bring them flowers and chocolates and some candy too. Or whatever else they’re craving. They get a week off and can stay at home in bed while their husbands, brothers, fathers, or sons take care of everything.”

“Wow…can I join your culture?” Donna asked.

Fez chuckled. “Sure, if you feel like eating bugs for breakfast.”

Donna grimaced. “Never mind.” She turned to Eric. “Why don’t you do that for me?”

“Because a woman shouldn’t bleed for seven days straight and still live,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, I don’t trust anything that can bleed for that long and not die,” Kelso said.

Hyde looked at him amused. “You can’t even be with a woman for seven days straight, let alone be there for her during her monthly problem.”

“Not true! I was with Jackie for three years!”

“And you cheated on me at least once a month!” Jackie responded. “Hey…wait a minute!”

“You guys, women are sacred. They need to be honored and cherished during this time because the pain they go through, we will never understand,” Fez said gently.

“We don’t understand?” Hyde said. “Have you ever been kicked in the nads?”

“Okay, sure, but imagine getting kicked in the nads for at least 3 days straight,” Donna responded.

“Oh, God!” Eric said, squirming in his seat. “I can’t even imagine that!”

“Well, sometimes, it’s even more painful,” Jackie added.

“What does it feel like?” Kelso asked, staring at her.

“Well, it can feel like someone is taking a knife to your pelvis and slowly twisting it,” Jackie responded causing all the men in the room to squirm, except for Fez.

“Fez, man, how are you not effected by this?” Kelso asked.

“I grew up with five sisters,” he responded, shrugging. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

“Are you guys seriously talking about periods?” Y/n asked as she slowly made her way down the stairs.

“Hey, you’re up,” Donna stated. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty lousy,” Y/n said. “But I’d rather be miserable with company than go through it alone.” She plopped down on the couch next to where Hyde was sitting.

“Are you going through your…girl problem?” Kelso asked nervously.

“What? No,” Y/n replied. “I mean, I could be, but it could also be food poisoning.”

“Well, what did you eat?” Hyde asked.

“Nothing out of the ordinary and nothing that you guys didn’t eat,” she replied.

“Must be the PMS thing then,” Donna said, laughing when Eric shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Can we please stop talking about my sister’s cycle? It’s giving me a very vivid image that I’d rather not have.”

“Y/n, do you need anything?” Fez asked sweetly. “Chocolate? Water? A hot water bottle?”

Y/n smiled at him. “Why, yes, Fez. That would be lovely.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back!” Fez beamed and hopped out the chair to run out the door.

“Hey, man, why are you taking care of my chick?” Hyde asked, stopping Fez at the door. “That’s my job.”

“Then why aren’t you doing it?” Fez shot back.

Y/n’s mouth fell open in a laugh as she covered it with her hand. Donna and Jackie tightened their lips to keep themselves for laughing.

“’Cause she didn’t ask,” he responded.

“She shouldn’t have to,” Fez said calmly. “You should just do it for her. That’s how you keep your woman happy.”

“Then why couldn’t you keep Jackie happy?” Hyde quipped.

Y/n gasped. “Steven!”

“No, no it’s okay,” Fez said, oddly calm. “You know, Hyde, normally that would bother me, but not today because I’m not the one having another man making my woman happy.”

Hyde grabbed the nearest object—a magazine—and threw it at Fez, but before it could hit him, he slammed the door shut; the magazine hitting the door with a thud.

“He’s right, you know,” Y/n responded with a smile.

“Do you really feel that way?” Hyde asked her.

Y/n shrugged. “Not really. It would be nice though.”

“I see,” Hyde said and stood from his chair, stalking his way to his room.

“Steven, wait!” she called after him. “I wasn’t being serious!”

He flapped a hand at her without turning to look at her and slammed his door.

“Wow,” Jackie said, puffing out her cheeks. “That escaladed quickly.”

Y/n shrunk down in her seat, feeling guilty. “What else is new with this group?”

“This is great!” Eric beamed, causing everyone to stare at him in confusion. “Now Hyde is mad at you too! Not just me.”

Y/n groaned and stood up slowly. “You’re an immature dillhole. I’m going back to bed.”

“What should I tell Fez when he gets back?” Donna asked.

“That I’m upstairs and he can come up.”

“I don’t think Hyde will like that very much,” Kelso mentioned.

“Who cares?” Eric griped.

“Look, I’ll deal with Hyde later,” Y/n responded, ignoring her twin. “Right now, I just want to feel better.” She trudged up the stairs, leaving the group alone.

“What a mess,” Donna said.

“Tell me about it,” Jackie responded. “Eric, are you still mad at them?”

“Of course, I am!” he responded, surprised that Jackie would ask him such a question. “How can I not be?”

“Well, you can try not being mad,” Jackie suggested sarcastically.

“Eric, give it a rest, yeah?” Donna said. “It’s been over a week.”

Eric growled and leaned back in his seat.

“He was supposed to be moved out by now,” he mumbled.

“Shut. Up. Please,” Donna snapped. “He literally has nowhere to go. You have to be a real prick to throw him out on the streets. It’s not like he murdered your sister.”

“You just don’t get it, Donna!” he whined. The whole group groaned.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah we don’t get it because it’s not our sister and we would be pissed too if Hyde was nailing her, blah blah blah. Seriously, Eric, I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say we’re sick of hearing about it,” Kelso said, irritated. He just wanted to watch the movie. Why wasn’t anybody respecting that?

Eric furrowed his brows at his friends. “You guys really feel this way?”

“YES!” Jackie, Donna, and Kelso said in unison.

“Oh. Well, then, fine,” Eric grumbled and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Donna asked.

“Since you guys are tired of hearing about it, I’m going to go somewhere else.”

“Oh my God, you are such a drama queen,” Donna groaned. “Just sit back down and watch the movie with us.”

“Nah, I’m good. See you guys later.” With that, he grabbed his coat and shut the door, leaving the three teenagers left to watch the movie.

“He’s gotten more annoying than usual,” Jackie commented.

“You know, Jackie, normally I would be offended by that, but this time I have to agree with you,” Donna responded.

“Well, now we can watch the movie,” Kelso said.

The three sat in silence on the couch until Kelso tried to sneak his hand up Donna’s leg.

“Kelso!” Donna screeched as she slapped his hand away.

“Damn, Donna! I was just looking for the remote!”

“The remote is on the table, you idiot,” Jackie pointed out.

Kelso looked between the two girls with a hurt look. “Women are mean!” He stomped out the basement, forgetting the movie.

The girls looked at each other and shrugged, returning their attention to the TV before Donna got up to change it back to the channel they were watching.

--Time Skip—

Y/n stared down at the home pregnancy test, shock filling her. Positive. The test was freaking positive. She was going to be a mother. Oh God, how would everyone else react? What kind of mother was she going to be?

“Oh, Y/n, how could you?” Kitty asked from behind her, hurt playing on her face.

“Wait, Mom--!” Y/n tried to call after her mother before Red showed up at her side.

“How could you be such a disgrace to the family?!” Red shouted, his face turning pink. Kitty turned to her husband’s side and started sobbing. “Look what you’re doing to your mother!”

“No, but Daddy—” Y/n said, tears welling in her eyes.

“Wow, you’re such a whore!” Eric laughed as he suddenly appeared by their parents’ side. “And here I thought Laurie would be the one to get knocked up from some rando.”

“What?” she asked her twin, tears cascading down her pale cheeks.

“Wow, little sister, you certainly top me,” Laurie said, smirking.

“Laurie?” Y/n questioned.

“I’m leaving you,” Steven said coldly, appearing in front of her. “You were just a fling. You knew this from the start. I can’t have a baby with a loser.”

“You said you loved me!” Y/n screamed.

“I lied,” Steven said and smirked. “I only strung you along so that I could nail you. Now, look at you. You’re fat and alone.”

Y/n looked down and saw that her stomach had enlarged. “What?” she whispered.

“We can’t have you in the family,” Kitty suddenly said. “We can’t have a whore in the family.”

“You have Laurie!”

“At least she didn’t get pregnant!” her mother shot back. “You and your mistake can get out of our house, out of our lives. You’re no longer welcome!”

“No, Mom! Please, I need you. I need Daddy and Steven, please. I can’t do this alone. I need you more than ever.”

She went to grab his hands, but he jerked away from her. “Well, you’re gonna have to do it alone.”

Tears cascaded down her face as she tried to blink them away, but as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared. Suddenly, Y/n found herself sitting alone in a total darkness, a single light shining above her.

“No,” she whimpered, looking around. “No. No. NO!”

Y/n jerked awake, sweat coating her forehead. Her breathing was slightly heavy as she glanced at the clock. 2:08AM. She sighed and fell back onto her pillow, fingers threading through her sweaty and knotted hair. She couldn’t believe she’d been asleep for eight hours.

Her room suddenly flooded with light as Kitty, dressed in her pink robe, hair a rat’s nest, stood in her cracked door. “Y/n, honey, are you alright? I heard you yelling.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Y/n replied. “Just had a nightmare.”

“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” Kitty replied and moved closer to adjust herself on the bed. “You know, when you were little, you would get nightmares all the time. And the only thing that would soothe you and get you to go back to sleep is when I would gently caress your hair until you fell back asleep.”

Y/n smiled softly. “Too bad I’m older now, huh?”

“Oh, nonsense,” Kitty said and leaned over, caressing her hair back. “You’re never too old for your mother’s love.”

Y/n smiled and turned on her side, facing Kitty.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asked her daughter after a moment of silence.

Y/n thought about it for a minute. She actually wanted to talk to her about it, but she knew if she did, she could open up something that she really didn’t want to. Even if it were just a dream, Kitty would know that it was something much deeper than that.

“No,” she responded after a beat. “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Of course sweetheart,” Kitty cooed. She continued to smooth Y/n’s hair, effectively calming her down. Fifteen years later and it still works.

Y/n could already feel sleep overcoming her again. “Thank you, Mommy,” she mumbled as her eyelids grew heavier.

“You’re absolutely welcome,” Kitty responded and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Y/n whispered before falling asleep once more.

⧝⧝⧝

Y/n woke up the next day, just as horrible as the day before. She dragged herself out of bed and trudged downstairs to see her family eating lunch.

“Morning Sunshine,” Kitty cheerfully greeted her. “You must be really sick to sleep in till noon.”

Y/n grunted back and grabbed some orange juice and sat down. The smell of their lunch making her nose curl, repulsing her.

“How’re you feeling, kitten?” Red asked.

“I’m okay,” Y/n responded. “Could be better. Still feel kinda nauseas and tired.”

“You want some dry toast?” Kitty asked. “You haven’t eaten much.”

Y/n nodded tiredly and put her head on the table. “I’d love some actually.”

Kitty smiled and got up, popping bread in the toaster. “Oh, your foreign friend dropped off some stuff for you. I left it here on the counter.”

“Hm?” Y/n hummed, looking at Kitty.

“He said something to do with your menstrual cycle, so he dropped off a hot water bottle, some midol, and a box of chocolate.”

“Oh, come on, Kitty, not while we’re eating!” Red exclaimed, disgusted.

The whole time, Eric and Steven had been quiet. Steven glared at the gifts through his aviators. Eric rolled his eyes and continued to eat his lunch.

“What a sweet boy!” Kitty laughed. “You know, I don’t think I’d mind if you ended up with him.”

Y/n smiled as Kitty set a plate of two slices of dry toast in front of her.

“I’m going to make you some tea as well. You gotta get some liquids in you,” Kitty stated.

“Kitty, don’t put ideas in her head!” Red said, throwing down the paper he was reading.

“What do you mean by that?” Y/n asked, offended. “Is it because of his skin color?”

“What?” Red asked, scrunching up his face. “God, no! I don’t want you dating anybody. You’re too young.”

“Dad, I’m eighteen,” Y/n deadpanned as she nibbled at her toast. “Eric and Donna have been dating since they were, like, eight.”

“No, we haven’t,” Eric argued.

“Shut up, yes you have,” Y/n said.

“Eric’s different,” Red continued. “Eric is a man, or as close of a man as he can get. Besides, Donna is the best he’s ever going to do.” He started laughing, but he was the only one who found that funny.

“Thanks Dad,” Eric deadpanned.

“Red Forman!” Kitty exclaimed.

“What? It’s funny!” Kitty gave him a hard look making him shut up. “Fine, it’s not.”

Y/n managed a small smile before bringing a piece of toast to her lips. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not even seeing anyone.”

Eric stopped mid-bite to give side eye to his twin sister. Y/n returned a hard, cold stare to her brother as if to say don’t you freaking dare.

“So, Fez gave you those huh?” Steven asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Y/n replied. “That was really nice of him.”

“Yeah, real nice,” he responded slowly.

“It was,” Y/n replied, staring at her boyfriend in suspicion. “You got something to say?”

“No, why would I?” he responded. “Why would I have anything to say that my best friend is flirting with my…other best friend?”

Kitty stood at the stove as she waited for the tea to heat up and squinted her eyes at Steven before looking to her husband who was giving him the same look.

“What’s your deal, Hyde?” Y/n asked him, growing annoyed with him.

“Oh, nothing,” he responded. “I’m just saying that he’s never done this for another girl before unless it was Jackie.”

“Steven, what’re you getting at?” Red asked him.

“Oh, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me, Y/n?” Hyde said, staring coldly at her.

Y/n returned the glare. “If you’re insinuating that Fez likes me, you are terribly, terribly wrong.”

“Then why would he do it for you?” he asked impatiently.

“I don’t know!” Y/n responded, flabbergasted. “Because he wants to be nice?”

“Nice, ha!” Steven hollered, causing everyone to look at him in surprise. “Guys don’t do things just to be nice.”

Y/n gave him a look. “Why do you care so much what he does?”

“Yeah, Hyde. Why do you care?” Eric asked with a smirk.

Steven realized what he was doing and looked at everyone who was looking at him with furrowed brows. He straightened his posture and looked down at his lunch, clearing his throat. “I don’t. I just find it rather odd.”

“And if Fez does like me, what’s it to ya?” Y/n asked, cocking her head to the side.

“It doesn’t,” Hyde replied coldly, taking a sip from his iced tea.

Y/n lifted an eyebrow at him before finishing off her toast.

“Is there something going on between you two?” Red asked.

The couple stole a glance at each other before looking to Red.

“No, not at all,” Y/n replied casually.

“Why would there be?” Steven asked.

“I don’t know. You’re acting weird,” Red commented. “Stop it.”

Steven grinned at him. “Yes, sir.”

“Here’s your tea, sweetheart,” Kitty said, bringing over a mug of tea. “And I put in some honey, Honey.” She laughed at her own joke.

Y/n chuckled softly. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Oh, by the way, Sasha called for you yesterday,” Kitty said, sitting back down.

Y/n perked up. “She did? Why?”

“I’m not too sure. She wanted to talk to you about something, but I told her you weren’t feeling well. So, I took down her number and told her you’d give her a call back when you feel better.”

“Yeah, I’ll call her back once I can stop vomiting.”

“And yet, you’ve been able to achieve that this whole time,” Eric said sarcastically. “Must feel nice to finally be able to achieve something for once. Congrats, sis.”

Y/n glared at him. “If I could control it, I’d do it on you right now.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Kitty cut in. “Finish your lunches.”

“I can’t. I’m going downstairs to watch TV,” Y/n whimpered.

“Okay. Don’t forget your tea!” Kitty called out.

Y/n turned back around and grabbed the warm mug between her cold hands and made her way downstairs. On her way, she grabbed the midol and the hot water bottle.

At this point, Steven was seething as he watched his girlfriend take Fez’s gifts.

“Alright, well, I’m heading out for a few,” Steven announced, quickly getting up. “Thanks for the lunch, Mrs. Forman.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, dear,” she responded.

“Wanna come?” Hyde asked Eric.

Eric looked up at him. “What for?”

“Just come on,” Hyde pushed and grabbed Eric by the shirt, tugging him out the door.

“But I’m not finished!” Eric whined.

“You are now,” Hyde said before closing the sliding door.

“What’s with them?” Red asked.

“I have no clue,” Kitty responded, not caring. “They’re always up to something.”

Outside, Eric shoved himself out of Hyde’s grasp. “What the hell, man?”

“Get in the car,” Hyde ordered, unlocking the El Camino.

“What? No,” Eric said, standing in his place.

“Get in. We have to talk.”

Eric crossed his arms. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Great. Then you can just listen,” Hyde responded standing in front of the driver’s side door, waiting for Eric to get in. His arm rested on top of the car casually as if not a care in the world. “You going to get in?”

“Why should I?”

Hyde groaned. “Just get in the car, man!”

“Are you kidnapping me?” Eric asked as he slowly made his way to the passenger’s side.

“Of course not.”

“You gonna take me to the middle of nowhere, take my clothes after you convince met to skinny dip in the lake, and abandon me while I walk around naked and afraid like last time?”

Hyde rolled his eyes. “I came back for you, didn’t I?”

“Three hours later!”

“For the love of God, just shut up and get in the car!”

“It was so cold,” Eric whimpered as he slid in the front seat and shut the door. “Where are we going?”

“For a drive,” Hyde responded and backed out the driveway. Once they were on the road, Hyde broke the silence. “Listen, man. This whole thing between you, me, and Y/n has gotten way out of hand.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“What happened to you shuttin’ up and letting me talk?”

Eric sighed, making a face. “Fine.”

“Look,” Hyde began. “I know you’re pissed off at us for dating and going behind your back—”

“And lying.”

“…Yeah, and lying about it. But I need you to know that everything I said is true. Y/n is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and when I say that I will do whatever I can to make her happy, I mean it. And this whole ending a friendship over it is stupid.”

Eric stared at Hyde in disbelief. “You’re serious about this? About my sister?”

“Yeah, man. That’s why I’m here talking to you,” he responded and turned onto the main road. “I know we could’ve gone around it differently, but come on man, what would you have done? You’ve been saying that we need to put ourselves in your shoes, well put yourself in our shoes. Imagine if Donna was my sister, but you really liked her. What would you have done?”

Eric was silent for a minute. “Well, we probably wouldn’t be friends considering you kissed her and tried to get with her.”

Hyde gave an exasperated sigh. “Man, will you focus?”

Eric thought about it for a second. “I guess I can understand that.”

“And I want you to know that I won’t disappoint her. I will take care of her and make sure she gets everything she wants and needs. I’m not going to be like the rest of my family and be a deadbeat and end up in prison. I will do good for her.”

Eric turned his gaze to him and suddenly felt an anchor of guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. “Oh, man. Look, Hyde when I said that…I didn’t mean it. I was angry and—”

“It’s fine,” Hyde said, cutting in.

“No, no it’s not,” Eric turned to face him. “It was wrong of me to say that to you. It’s just that…she’s my sister, man. My twin, you know? My favorite sister. I can’t help but feel, you know, maybe a little overprotective of her.”

“No, but you were right,” Hyde confessed and turned onto the highway. “I probably was headed down that path anyway. But being with her has actually made me want to be better.”

Eric looked at Hyde like he had two heads. “You look like my friend, but you don’t sound like him. Where’s Hyde?!”

Hyde chuckled and turned off the highway, noticing Eric calling him his friend. “I know. It’s sickening.”

Eric laughed and turned back around, facing the front. He noticed they were entering downtown. “Hyde…where are we going? This isn’t just a drive anymore.”

“You’ll see in a minute,” he said and continued down a narrow road before stopping in front of a super store. He turned the car off and sat back quietly. “Just so you know, this wasn’t easy for me to talk about it. So, if you tell anyone, I’ll deny the whole thing.”

Eric nodded and looked at Hyde seriously. “I’m still not happy about it, but I guess I don’t have a choice but to accept it. You two really do seem happy.”

Hyde nodded and looked down. “We are, man.”

“Just…don’t hurt her,” Eric said. “Then I’d have to kick your ass and then I’d end up getting my ass kicked and then Red will kick my ass for getting my ass kicked and then he’d hunt you down like a dog and then he’d kick your ass.”

Hyde sat there in stunned silence. “Wow…that’s…detailed. How long have you been sitting on this?”

“Pretty much since I found out.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Eric replied. “Also, one more thing. I don’t wanna hear or see you and my sister doing anything. The image of you two doing anything makes me want to hurl.”

“Deal,” Hyde chucked. “So, are we good?”

Eric looked at him for a moment and grinned. “Yeah, man, we’re good.”

Hyde nodded and the two boys lifted their hands, bringing each other in for bro-hug.

“Can I just ask you one question, though?” he asked.

Hyde hummed.

“Why her? Why Y/n?”

Hyde sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. She’s different. She’s smart and actually funny, interesting, and genuine. Really sweet and cares about others beside herself. Besides, she’s smoking hot.”

“Well, I’d never thought I’d hear my best friend put my sister and ‘smoking hot’ in the same sentence,” Eric retorted and pretended to gag. “Really, really unpleasant.”

“I know. I just said that because I think it’s funny,” Hyde laughed.

Eric slugged him in the shoulder. “And every time you say stuff like that, you’ll get hit.”

They laughed lightly together before Eric slapped a hand on Hyde’s shoulder. “And, uh, don’t worry about my parents. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks, man,” Hyde replied. “Well, let’s go inside.”

“Why are we at this one?” Eric asked, joining Hyde outside the car. “You know there’s like three different stores in town. Why this one?”

“Because this is the biggest one in Point Place and they have everything I want.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll see.”

As they entered the store, Hyde went for the first thing he saw: flowers. Specifically, half a dozen red roses. Then he went towards the freezer section, grabbing a pint of her favorite ice cream: mint chocolate chip.

“Ice cream?” Eric questioned.

“I heard chicks really dig ice cream during their…problem time.”

“Yeah, Donna eats like four of those.”

“Damn,” Hyde sighed. “I’m, uh, I’m not very good at this. All I know is I want Y/n to feel better and I was kind of a jerk earlier.”

“Yeah, about that,” Eric piped up, browsing the ice cream flavors. “Why were reacting that way?” Eric’s eyes grew a fraction wider. “You were jealous, weren’t you?”

“What? No. I don’t get jealous.”

“You so did!” Eric laughed. “You hated that Fez bought all that stuff for her because you felt like a bad boyfriend for not thinking about it earlier!”

“You wanna get your ass kicked this early in the day?” Hyde threatened.

Eric continued to laugh at him. “Just admit it. You totally did.”

Hyde rolled his eyes as he found his way to the soft drink section and grabbed a few bottles of ginger ale. “Okay, fine, maybe a little. But he shouldn’t have been hitting on her. She’s my chick. I should be the one getting all the stuff she needs.”

“And that’s what you’re doing now,” Eric stated, looking around. “Is that why you brought me here? To help you find stuff that she would like?”

“No,” Hyde answered as they entered another aisle. He found a tin box of saltines and bent down to grab them. “I know what she likes; I don’t need you for that. I mainly brought you here so that we could sort crap out.” He picked up a box of assorted chocolates, something he knew she’d like.

“You trying to tell me something?” Eric smirked, causing Hyde to chuckle. “Don’t you think you maybe going a little overboard?” He asked when he noticed Hyde putting everything in the basket.

“Maybe,” he answered honestly and led Eric away from the grocery section. “I just want her to know that I care.”

“Well, she’ll definitely get that message,” the twin responded and noticed where Hyde was leading them. “Seriously? Condoms?”

“You don’t want me to knock her up, do you?”

“I’m still trying to accept you two and by you doing this in front of me is really bumming me out.”

Hyde laughed cruelly. “That’s kind of funny.” He quickly grabbed a pack and threw it in the cart. “Just don’t look at ‘em.”

Eric sighed and looked away. “What else are you giving her?”

“Besides a good time?”

Eric dramatically screeched and squirmed. “Please. Stop. Saying. That.”

Hyde burst into laughter, laughing at his friend’s discomfort. “That will never get old.”

“You’re a sadistic son of a bitch, you know that?”

—Time Skip—

Y/n laid on the couch in the basement, wrapped up in a blanket, mindlessly watching tv. She was in and out of consciousness for the good part of the afternoon. Even though she was sick, she was still upset about her little dispute with Hyde.

When did he become so jealous? Why would he think that of Fez? And worse of all, why didn’t he trust her enough? It hurt, but she was more curious as of why. She could feel her stomach beginning to churn again as it was ready to bring back up what she brought down earlier.

Please, God, no. She quickly sat up, the room spinning for a minute, before she ran back to the bathroom and found herself with her head in the toilet. This had to be the forty-fifth time in the last couple of days of her spending time kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach into the light green basin.

She held her hair back as tears pricked the corner of her eyes. It hurt so much and all she wanted in that moment was just to stop. What in the hell did she catch that made her feel this violently ill? After she was sure she was done, except from the dry heaving, she wiped her mouth and flushed the toilet. She sat against it for a little while longer, wishing her stomach would calm down enough for her to get a good sleep in. She couldn’t help but let a few tears escape. Her back was hurting, her body was aching, and her throat was burning. And on top of all that, she started cramping earlier in the day and the pain hadn’t subsided.

“Y/n?” she heard from the basement living room.

She groaned in response and heard footsteps approach the door to the tiny bathroom. She twisted her face in pain as another surge of nausea reared its ugly head. Hyde appeared in the doorway just as he saw her turn her pale and tortured face into the basin once again. He could hear her whimpers through each retched gag.

“Awe, Doll,” he cooed and knelt down beside her, rubbing her back. He gathered her long hair in his hands and tried to look anywhere besides the toilet. He gently shushed her and reassured her that he was there now for her.

Once she was finished, she fumbled for the handle, and pulled down. Hyde handed her some tissues to wipe her mouth. She gratefully accepted it and sat up fully, leaning against the wall.

“What’re you doing here?” she croaked. “I thought you were pissed at me.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he responded and helped her off the floor. He wrapped a protective arm around her waist and guided her back to the couch where Eric also sat.

“Are you here to fight? Because this isn’t how I envisioned our first fight.”

He gently sat her on the couch, handing her the blanket and chuckled. “No, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then what?”

“Mainly to give you these,” he responded and handed her the roses.

Y/n’s face softened as she weakly grasped the flowers in her fists. “What’s this for?”

“An apology,” Hyde responded and took a deep breath. “I know I was a jealous jerk earlier and…I’m sorry, okay?”

She looked at him in the eye. “Why were you?”

“I don’t know,” he responded and rubbed his neck. “I just…I just didn’t like seeing some other guy bring you things that I should be bringing.”

She meekly set the flowers down on the coffee table in front of her. “Steven, do you not trust me?”

“What? Of course I do.”

“Then why did you act like Fez was going to hook up with me and I wouldn’t be able to say no?”

“No, it’s not that. I…I—can you hang on a second?” he turned around to look at Eric. “Can we get a minute?” he asked impatiently.

Eric’s smug look never left his face. “Sure. Doll.”

Hyde stood abruptly, intimidatingly. Eric laughed and ran upstairs.

Y/n knit her eyebrows together. “You guys are okay now or something?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat and sat back down. “That’s another story.”

Y/n nodded. “You were saying?”

“Look, Y/n, when I saw Fez jumping in to immediately take care of you, I guess it felt like I…wasn’t doing my job as your boyfriend. And then when you said it did bother you, I knew I wasn’t. And…that maybe what everyone thinks is true.”

“Which is what?” she pressed.

“C’mon, you’re really going to make me say it?”

“Yes,” she responded sternly.

Hyde sighed and tore his eyes away from hers. “That…I’m not good enough…for you. There. Ya happy?”

Y/n sighed, giving him a sad look. “No,” she responded gently and grabbed his hand. “No, I’m not happy. You can’t think that. You can’t let Fez get to you like that and it really didn’t bother me that you didn’t jump up to help me either. I’m a big girl. I can very well go get the stuff myself.”

“So, you don’t mind?”

She smiled gently. “No. Yes, it’s nice if you did that stuff for me and trust me, I’d love it, but I’m not going to make you do it for me. I want you to want to do it for me.”

He smiled at her and kissed the side of her head. “I did get you some things though.” He leaned down and grabbed the white bag, laying out the contents on the table. “I got you some ginger ale and saltines to help you with the nausea and then when it passes, I got you some chocolates and ice cream to satisfy your cravings.”

The look of sweets made her stomach churn, but she smiled through it and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly and kissed her head once more. He noticed that she was shivering and gently stood. “I’ll be right back.” He high tailed it to his room and brought back a sweater. “Here.”

She grabbed it gratefully and threw it over her head, inhaling his scent: musk and woodsy. He settled on the couch next to her as she cuddled his side. He grabbed the blanket and threw it over both of them.

“So, how was your day?” he asked her.

“Fantastic,” she responded. “I spent the day throwing up my body weight and writhing in pain.”

“Sounds like a blast,” he chucked.

“Oh, yeah, it was like a party in the toilet,” Y/n responded and chuckled when Hyde made a face. “How was yours?”

“Well, you know, it was fine,” he responded.

“You and Eric work things out?”

“Yeah. He’s still not happy about it, but he seems to—or trying to at least—accept it. I made him see the bigger picture here.”

“Which is?”

“Us doing it.”

“Steven!”

He threw his head back laughing. “I’m kidding.”

“You better be,” she said and reached over, grabbing the ginger ale. She laid back into his side and took a sip. She hummed and set it in her lap. “Thank you, Steven. This is probably the best thing anyone has ever done for me.”

He smiled at her gently. “Anything for you, doll.”

“Awe that’s so cute,” Eric called from the staircase. “It makes me want to vomit.”

Y/n scowled at him. “What do you want?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you,” he said and sat down in the opposite chair.

“You want to yell at me again?”

“No,” he responded and looked at the ground. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted. I know I was an ass and I should’ve handled it better, but c’mon, my best friend and my sister, hooking up. I never thought that this would happen and to say I was shocked is an understatement.”

“I know,” she responded. “But you still said some pretty hurtful things, Eric, and you can’t take that back.”

“I know and I wish I could. You’re my sister, the best one at that, and Hyde, you’re like a brother to me and I just…it hurt, okay? I can understand not wanting to tell anyone else, but to hide it from me? I felt like you couldn’t trust me.”

Y/n cast her eyes down, feeling guilt. “I’m so sorry, Eric. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. Lying to you wasn’t easy for me.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“How would you take it if we just straight up told you?” “

Yeah, Forman, what would you have said if I straight up said, ‘I’m nailing your sister.’ I bet you still wouldn’t have taken that lightly.”

Eric shuttered at the thought. “Yeah, definitely wouldn’t have. But it still wouldn’t have been as bad as me catching you.”

Y/n looked at her twin for a moment before letting out a groan. “Dammit, I hate it when you’re right.”

“Yeah, and it’s not like I’m not going to kill you or anything.”

“Well, to be fair you did try to disown us,” Hyde defended.

“Okay, yeah, but I just didn’t want to look at you guys at the moment,” Eric said.

“But kicking us out of the group and the house was the logical answer?” Y/n squinted at him.

“Yeah, not my finest moment,” he agreed and sat down next to Y/n, causing her to shift over. “I’m really sorry, Y/n. I hope you can forgive me.”

Y/n looked at her brother, eyes getting all misty. “Only if you can forgive me.”

Eric smiled at her. “C’mere little sister.” He brought her in and hugged her tight.

Y/n reciprocated by wrapping her arms tightly. “I’m only two minutes younger.”

“Still,” he chuckled. “Besides, if I don’t forgive you, then I won’t have a sister anymore.”

“We have Laurie,” Y/n responded, pulling away.

“Do you really want her close?”

Y/n paused, pretending to think it over. “No, I really don’t.”

Eric chuckled. “Look, Y/n. I know I was a jerk, but you’re not only my sister, you’re my best friend and I don’t want anything to come between us.”

Y/n nodded, smiling and wiped at her eyes. “Me too.”

“I’m still not entirely happy about you two and to be honest, I’m not sure if I ever will be, but I want you two to be happy and if it’s you two that make each other happy, then so be it. I just don’t want to see any of it.”

“You got it,” Y/n responded, feeling lighter about the situation.

“I’m going to give you the same speech I gave Hyde,” Eric continued as Y/n’s eyebrows knitted together. “I’d never thought I’d have to say this to my sister about my best friend, but don’t hurt him. I may not be able to kick his ass, but I can for sure…try to kick yours.” As he was saying it, he knew it wasn’t true. Even if it was, he wasn’t going to do it anyway.

Y/n cracked a wide smile, a smile that she hadn’t been able to muster for the last couple of days, and nodded. “Okay, bro. That sounds fair.”

He turned to Hyde. “Just so you know, if you get her pregnant, I will have to find a new and interesting way to kick your ass.”

“Trust me, man, that ain’t gonna happen,” Hyde responded.

“Yeah, we’re careful,” Y/n responded, adjusting herself to be laying against Hyde. Her stomach and back were starting hurt again and she was desperate to find some relief. Hyde threw an arm over her shoulders, bringing her closer. “Besides, Dad would literally stick his foot in both of our asses.”

“And somehow, he’d still find a way to blame me,” Eric said.

“Hey, Y/n baby,” Fez called out, entering the basement. “How’re you feeling? You get my gifts?”

“Hi Fez,” Y/n greeted with a tiny smile. “I did, thank you. It was very nice of you, but I’m not feeling too much better.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he responded.

Y/n shrugged and snuggled deeper into Hyde’s side. “What’re you doing here anyway?”

“Just wanted to come by and see how you were feeling,” he responded.

“No, you didn’t,” Hyde spit. “You came here to see if she was alone, didn’t you?”

Fez made a face at him. “What’re you talking about? No, I’m not!”

“Yes you are!” he said and stood up. “Now, knock it off before I make you the first person to touch his chin to ass!”

Fez looked offended, placing his hand on his chest. “Have you been spying on me?!”

“Steven, honey, it’s not that big of deal,” Y/n said, trying to calm down the situation.

“Yeah, honey, listen to your lady,” Fez said, starting to get nervous.

“No, Y/n, he needs to understand respect,” he replied.

“I’m sure he gets it now,” Y/n said, signaling Fez to run now.

“No, he doesn’t,” he responded. “If he—”

He was cut off by the slamming of the door as Fez ran outside, away from him.

“He’s not getting away that easily,” Hyde commented before darting to the door.

“Hyde, no!” Y/n called after him. She jumped up from her seat, despite her stomach and head screaming at her.

Hyde ran out the door, causing it to slam against the wall. Y/n followed him out the door, ignoring the sudden faint feeling she had.

“Steven, stop!” she called again, her voice weakened and wavering. She could see Hyde quickly gaining speed on Fez.

Fez screamed as Hyde tackled him to the ground on the Forman’s front lawn. Eric was behind Y/n in a flash, watching the scene in front of him unfold. Hyde struggling to get Fez in a choke hold, Fez fighting to get out of his grip, and Y/n yelling at him to stop.

“Steven, enough!” Y/n shrieked weakly, her voice quieting as the world started to spin, the edges of her vision darkening. “Steven, please…”

Her vision darkened as she hit the ground, making the two boys suddenly stop to jerk their attention towards her. Eric dropped to the ground next to her.

“Y/n!” Steven shouted, letting Fez go and running over to her. “Y/n!”

And that was the last thing she heard before she was swallowed by darkness.

Tags: @lieswithoutfairytales @mdittyz123 @n-dg-wm @undead-sierra @random-thoughts-003 @taysirene

#Steven Hyde #steven hyde x reader #that 70s show #That '70s Show #that 70's show fanfic #Eric Forman #Donna Pinciotti #jackie burkhart #fez #Michael Kelso #red forman #kitty forman

216 notes · View notes

afternoonpoppy · 3 years

Note

Hi, long time watcher, first time asker! So I noticed that in an older work, you mentioned that Wolfram gets the hiccups any time he so much as has a drop of alcohol. So uh... I would die a very happy lady if you wrote something about Wolfram having drinks for the first time. Blushy, buzzed, cuddly, hiccupping magical boy? Uuuuughhh yes pleaaaase.

(aaaaaaa I've had this waiting in my inbox for wait too long and I'm very sorry! It took me a lot longer to get a chance to write this than I wanted to.

Not me accidentally making Allister's school and work history really relatable to my own and not me using this as an excuse to write something taking place in December because it's currently way too hot outside.)

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Allister tapped his finger against the keyboard of his laptop, staring at the screen. The math on the screen stared back at him.

"I hate this," he muttered. "Fram, I can't do math."

Wolfram, seated next to him on the couch, leaned against Allister's shoulder and looked down at the screen as well. "Did you struggle during your classes as well?"

"When I was fully conscious, yes. When I was working off of sleep deprivation, coffee, and panic on exam days, I managed pretty decent grades. Somehow."

Wolfram's expression was a mixture of disapproval and concern as he looked up at Allister.

"Hey, I don't have to do that anymore," Allister said with a shrug. Instead, he just had to suffer through the periodic online courses that fulfilled the accursed 'continuing education' his license required every couple of years. It really wasn't so bad and all the questions were multiple choice. He could always have just answered blindly until he got them correct. But Allister had been raised to be honest and to put actual effort into things. This just happened to be the sort of thing he struggled at.

He looked up at the clock that hung up on the living room wall, seeing that it read the same time as his laptop. Quarter past nine, meaning he'd been working away at these courses for the past two or so hours. Something like that, he hadn't really kept track. Allister sighed and placed his laptop onto the coffee table in front of the couch. "I think it's time for a break. Hey, a friend at work gave me a bottle of wine for the holidays. It's cheap, but why don't we have some?"

Despite it being mid-December already, Allister had to admit the house didn't give that impression. It was snowing heavily outside, sure. But inside were only a few small holly wreaths that he'd bought at a discount from the pharmacy on a whim. He hadn't actually thought to buy anything for the holiday season otherwise.

"Wine?" Wolfram seemed to think that over for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose I'll try some."

"Oh. You haven't had wine before?" Wine and other drinks certainly seemed like a staple of fantasy worlds with magic and the like. But then again, Allister wondered if he should stop making assumptions about Wolfram's home based on YA novels.

"Not in particular, no. During my time studying, my peers occasionally invited me to join them for an evening of drinks during our own holidays or when there was something to celebrate. I preferred to stay to my studies, though."

Allister stood up from the couch, heading towards the kitchen. "So magic college had the kids who wanted to party and the ones who panicked for good exam scores. Sounds like normal boring college."

Wolfram followed, leaning against the kitchen counter with a playful smirk directed at Allister. "Who said I panicked over my exams?"

"Well, if you're such a genius," Allister said, reaching up into one of the cupboards for the wine bottle and a pair of glasses, "I may just have you do my math for me. I bet you'll love dilutions." He had to admit, he felt fancy pulling out the wine glasses. It wasn't every day Allister had an excuse for that.

Pouring some of the red wine into each of the glasses, Allister handed one off to Wolfram.

"Dilutions..." Wolfram stared into the wine as he muttered the word. "Mathematics regarding multiple liquids? I do believe we covered something of the sort in alchemical basics." He paused and took a tentative sip of the wine, then stared at it more as if studying it.

"What do you think?"

"I'm not certain how I feel about the taste."

"Well, that's fair. I doubt cheap gift wine is the best introduction to the stuff."

"I suppose it's fine eno - hic - ohh..." Wolfram grimaced with the sudden case of hiccups beginning.

"Oh geez, that didn't take much, huh?" Allister offered a sympathetic smile.

Wolfram stared at the glass of wine, eyes narrowing at it. "Appare - hic - apparently so... I'm not sold on the - hic - idea of alcohol thus far, Alli - hic - Allister."

Allister gently patted his poor, hiccuping boyfriend on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Fram. It's not everyone's thing anyway." He shrugged.

"Mm-hm... Is it - hic - really all that enj - hic - enjoyable to be intoxicated?"

"Hm... I mean, I guess?" Given that Allister hardly drank much at once, that wasn't the easiest question for him to answer, but he liked it well enough in the right context. Seeing that Wolfram was still studying the wine with something of a skeptical look, Allister offered, "You don't have to drink it if you don't like it, it's fine. Like I said, it's cheap stuff too."

It was Wolfram's turn to answer with a shrug as he said, "It's f - hic - fine. I'm not completely aga - hic - against the taste, so I'll see what I think of it."

"Oh." Allister was, admittedly, surprised. Wolfram wasn't completely disdainful of something that had so easily given him hiccups? That was unusual. "Well, how about we find something to watch for a bit before I get back to work?"

---

A glass of wine and some television later, Allister realized that getting back to work was... difficult. For one thing, he hadn't finished that math from earlier and was now facing down the dreaded dilutions. The alcohol may not have been helping with that. Then there was also the matter of Wolfram.

"Alli - hic - ster." Wolfram whined, draping his arms over Allister's shoulders. "Is the math - hic - done yet?" He leaned forward, resting his head against the back of Allister's neck.

"Still struggling with that part," Allister said. His attention drifted to the empty wine glass that Wolfram had left on the table. Was it a coincidence that Allister's sweetheart, now slightly red-faced in the cheeks, was acting clingier than usual? No, certainly not.

"Well, hurry up," Wolfram mumbled into the collar of Allister's shirt. "Finish up s - hic - so you can cuddle me."

Allister smiled, reaching a hand up to gently squeeze Wolfram's own. "I'd love to, Fram, but it's a bit difficult with you hanging onto me like that."

Wolfram pointed at the laptop. "Then gi - hic - ive it to me. I'll do it, let me - hic - see it."

"You know, I wasn't serious about having you do the dilutions, Fram."

"Allister, I'm - hic - smart, remember? Numbers are numbers even in a different world, I can - hic - do it." Without bothering to wait for an answer, Wolfram sat up and promptly stretched out to lay on his side across Allister's lap, reaching over to the laptop on the table.

"Fram, what are you -"

"It's fine, Allister, it's fi - hic - ine. I can do math," Wolfram muttered indignantly.

Allister sighed and relented, waiting as Wolfram stared at the text on the screen. Eventually, Wolfram rolled onto his back to look up at Allister. "How do I use this?"

"You know, Fram," Allister said, brushing a stray hair out of Wolfram's face, "I have to do a course on pharmacy law after this one too. I don't think you'll be able to help with that one so you're still going to be waiting a bit."

Wolfram pouted and crossed his arms. "Allister."

"What is it?"

"N - hic - o," Wolfram said, the single-syllable word mangled by his hiccups.

"You want to try that again?"

"I'm telling you no, Allister. You're do - hic - ing what you tell me not to do. You're going to ove - hic - overwork yourself, and I refuse to let you."

"I get it," Allister said, "but I have to do this stuff for work, Fra -"

Wolfram put a hand up over Allister's mouth. "Shush. You have ple - hic - nty of time to do this work, right? So I'll make you do more tomo - hic - tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, huh?" Allister mumbled, pushing Wolfram's hand aside with a hand of his own, fingers intertwining. Tomorrow sounded like a better time for the dilutions. "So that means cuddling now?"

Wolfram nodded. "I dema - hic - demand cuddles, Alli." Still lying on his back, he held out his arms up towards Allister expectantly.

Allister broke into a smile at that sight. "You're playful when you're tipsy, huh?"

"I never said I was - hic - tipsy. Oh, wait." Apparently having a sudden idea, Wolfram abruptly sat up. He brought his hands closer together and began to recite a spell - though, with his hiccups interrupting him, it took three or four times before he was able to successfully do so. Once he managed the spell without interruption, one of the small animal-like spirits formed in his hands and Wolfram smiled at Allister. "More warmth to sit with us."

"If we doze off, it's going to run off eventually and start causing trouble, won't it?"

Wolfram thought, looking back down at the currently rabbit-esque spirit. He shrugged and said in a dismissive tone, "It's fine, it's fi - hic - fine."

"Well, if it starts knocking stuff over later, you're the one who has to clean it up. Get over here, then," Allister said before leaning towards Wolfram and pulling him down to lie down on the couch.

#wolfram and allister #poppy writes #hiccup kink #hiccups #alcohol #tumblr says this is my 100th post #and it's tipsy wolfram being playful and cuddly #i'm cool with that #my blog's been so quiet lately sorry about that

12 notes · View notes

alkhale · 4 years

Text

Shoot the Ball Pt.2 (Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader) Ko-fi request

Hi. Could I get a ushiwaka trying to hopelessly flirt with a clueless OC? I requested Shoot the Ball and I am in love with what you did (and basically everything else you wrote and will write) thanks!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Aaaaa I love your writing!! Would it be possible to get a part two of the Shoot the Ball (Ushijima x Reader) fic?? That story is so fucking adorable and Id love to see more of Ushijima and the readers relationship (maybe throw in a confession or something in there)?

It’s here on AO3 if that makes for easier reading too! More to come!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24551512/chapters/59287438

Shoot the Ball Pt. 2

“Um, senpai, are you alright?”

You laughed, almost a bit haughtily. “Alright? Of course I’m alright, what are you talking about?”

You hardly looked up from your kneeling position on the wooden boards of the humble kyudo hall, bow laid across your lap as you worked on tightening the new string. It wasn’t the best time to readjust to a new one, given your still aching wrist, but you couldn’t have your old one breaking on you with the first round of tournaments coming up.

The hall itself was in impeccable condition, thanks to the hard efforts of yourself and your team. The lot of you spend hours toiling to make sure the grass is cut, the range is kept clean, and the hall itself shines in case you receive curious faculty visits or sponsors otherwise. Shiratorizawa Academy may be a wealthy one, but not all the wealth was concentrated kindly to each part of the school. It was up to you, the captain, and your members to keep the hall shining as though it were just as good—especially because it was —so new visitors would only continue to be impressed.

But instead of shooting rounds like your younger members should be doing, a small huddle of the closer second and first years were shooting you worried glances. You were the only third year still spear-heading the entire campaign since the rest had left for studies or quit beforehand. Your vice-captain was a second year and close confidant and currently running around campus like a fool because you sent her on an errand so you could get more practice in before she chased you out.

“(L/n)-san you’re good at kyudo, so of course you’d stay. We just did it for fun.”

You can be good at it and have fun. You thought tirelessly, remembering watching the third years leave the hall, standing alone in the waning sunlight across wooden floorboards. You’re just giving up.

It wasn’t as though you were born gifted. They can joke you were born with a bow in your hand, but it was pure luck that your mother turned the television on to that channel that day, showcasing the national kyudo archery performance at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo. It was luck that you fell in love with that sound and the way the bow bent and the arrow flew.

And it was hard work to follow through with the luck that brought you here.

They all told you you only had one thing on the brain—kyudo, and they also said it’d probably be the end of you. Even your parents had been dropping light hints as of late that perhaps you should finally peel off the sport and bunker down for your studies. “What about college? Kyudo might not get you there, you know.”

“Are you going to do it forever?”

What else were you going to do? Die? Of course you were going to do kyudo forever. If it didn’t get you into college then you just wouldn’t go.

There was nothing you loved more than this sight, this bow, this.

Nothing.

N-o-t-h-i-n-g.

Your juniors shot each other more nervous looks. One brave young first year who you secretly planned to have join the five-team shoot finally took a step forward, hesitantly pointing to your lap.

“Senpai,” she said nervously, “...your string is…”

“Impeccable,” you said simply, holding up your bow like a sword, a sharp glint in your eye. “Now get back to the range. I’m shooting rounds right after you guys before—”

“You put it on… wrong…”

You calmly stared at your junior for several seconds, the other archers looking frightful behind her. You glanced down to your bow, staring at where your string was, sure enough, notched to absolutely nothing instead of the other end.

You felt a vein throb on the side of your head, cheeks flushing as you did the only reasonable thing and blamed the one person who had shoulders big enough to shoulder the brunt of all your problems.

Ushijima!

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

Shiratorizawa Nurse’s Office, One Week Ago

“You watch kyudo ?” you spluttered, scrambling off the floor and grabbing your stool in disbelief. Ushijima considered you with a cool sort of calm, staring almost blankly back at you.

He stared at your sprawled form on the ground and offered a hand. You slapped it away but it barely moved. The stupid tree of a teenager.

You watch my kyudo?

“Yes,” Ushijima said. You almost jumped, realizing what you’d thought. He set his hands back onto his lap, returning to his solid posture. “My grandmother was well-acquainted with a friend who performed for the national ceremonial procedures. We often have the kyudo channel on within my household.”

Each sentence leaving Ushijima’s lip with frightening ease was punching holes into your gut. His grandma was pals with someone who shot for the national ceremonies? He watches kyudo? He knew what a kaichu was and —

“It is a graceful sport,” Ushijima continued, meeting your gaze evenly. “I have long admired the poise. I watched your debut on the national stage when they broadcasted your first-year tournament. You performed admirably.”

Your brain short circuited, snapping like a bowstring. Ushijima, merciless, continued matter-of-factly, “They also had a small segment on your performance in the prefectural collegates. It is a shame there isn’t talk of scouting, but it does not seem kyudo works the same way our volleyball season does. My grandmother is familiar with your accomplishments and noticed we attend the same academy.”

Huh?

HUH?

“I hope you perform well this season as well—”

“Wait one second!” you blurted, flying across the stool and slapping a hand over his mouth. “Wait one damn second!”

Ushijima seemed only mildly surprised that your hand was now plastered over his lips. He blinked once, calmly back at you and you pointed aggressively at him with your other hand, nearly towering over him except even when he was sitting, he seemed to match your height.

“....are you trying to mess with me?” you said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. Ushijima blinked once more, calm. “You’re—you’re just some star volleyball player! And you’re a high schooler! It doesn’t even make any sense! How do you know about all of that, huh? No one even watches that channel on their own unless they’re real—”

You stopped yourself. You blinked rapidly. Real… fans… no, no, no, there’s no way! Ushijima Wakatoshi could not be a kyudo buff—volleyball and kyudo were about on the farthest ends of the spectrum as you could get! It didn’t make any sense.

This strangely nonchalant, weird classmate of yours was supposed to be nothing more than some poster-boy with tried and true skills in volleyball who stole the spotlight from the other sports at Shiratorizawa Academy, who was nice enough to pick up your flyers and greet you in the morning and say hello in that low, rumbling way of his when you spotted him and he made eye contact with you—

I don’t get this guy! You felt a vein throb on the side of your head, tempting to fist the collar of his uniform and really show him what for—all due to your unjust frustration—if this hard-to-read volleyball jock was just messing around—but, well, Ushijima didn’t really seem like the type for that either.

You blinked stupidly at Ushijima when his hand calmly came up, holding your wrist and lowering your hand down so he could speak. “I watch.”

He seemed to think for a moment before continuing, as though answering a question asked by the teacher, “You’re on channel KNJ most Thursday nights. Some Sunday mornings. I often record the broadcasts when there seems to be something notable.”

You felt something stab through your entire being, ripping into your existence on this universe, turning the world around you upside on your head.

Mr. All-Youth-Japan tuned into broadcasts that featured your kyudo accomplishments and—

“I watch,” Ushijima repeated, never breaking contact with your gaze. His large fingers circled easily around your wrist, holding them loosely against the calloused heat of his palm. “As I said, I am a fan of your archery.”

Something incoherent left your lips. A croak of some sorts. Ushijima’s brows furrowed slightly. “Yes?”

“L-Let me get this straight,” you said shakily. “My… my archery… you watch it?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said.

“You… like it?”

“Quite,” Ushijima said.

The faint smell of salonpas tickled your nose. The light hint of sweat and fabric softener. Up close, you suddenly realized that Ushijima had more complex eyes than you thought, hinting a little bit of gold. Lighter than his hair. He smells different from what I’d expect too.

Wait, what the hell were you expecting in the first place?

Ushijima frowned briefly, eyes suddenly leaving your face and turning to your wrist. He considered where his fingers touched your skin, feverishly warm. His thumb lightly pressed the inside of your wrist and he turned his gaze back to you. “(L/n)-san, is your wrist swollen—”

“W-Well, it only makes sense, I guess!” you said loudly, yanking your hand entirely out of his grasp and tossing them both into the air. Ushijima looked up at you with furrowed brows as you laughed, nervous and sweating bullets with your fingers waggling. “ The Ushijima Wakatoshi? A fan of my archery? Hah! Haha… hah! Of course you’d be! Y-You have good taste! I’ll give you that, Ushijima-san! I’ll give you that! But that doesn’t mean anything else in the grand scheme of all this—y-you’re still nothing but a competitor for the sponsorships of this school!”

Ushijima apparead mildly confused, brows furrowed in a touch of a heavy set over his normally stern features. “Sponsorship?”

“That’s right!” you blurted, pointing right at his face. Your eyes were spinning, head twisting in circles. “All anyone cares about is your stupid volleyball!” Ushijima’s frown deepened. “Your team gets the spotlight even though we’ve got plenty of great achievements—you’re flattery won’t get you anywhere! My club is still going to come out on top and all anyone’s going to be talking about is kyudo and—and more kyudo!”

“Volleyball isn’t stupid,” Ushijima said calmly. “But I did not realize that others in our student body were not watching kyudo—”

“I’m going to go shoot right now!” you declared, almost delirious as you hurriedly grabbed your bag. Ushijima stood up from his stool, looking after you. “G-Gotta get those results—bye!”

Before Ushijima could say anything otherwise, you were sprinting out the door, nearly tripping over your feet and covering your face in your hands as you still tried to process the fact that Ushijima Wakatoshi was your first and probably only fan.

You probably fainted somewhere in the kyudo hall. This had to be a dream. A weird, warped dream caused by delirious induced hallucinations of Ushijima’s volleyball posters.

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

Sadly, it hadn’t been a dream. The entire interaction a week ago had been very, very real, and it’d annoyingly been on your mind since. You tried furiously to dispel all thoughts of it with waves of your arrows and aggressive scrubbing of the floors, but to no avail.

“I watch.”

Ushijima of all people? You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Him? Kyudo? That muscle head?

But… if he knew so much about it and even recorded broadcasts… then he really did have great taste. Kyudo was an amazing sport. Anyone willing to give it the attention it deserved was worth a good tick or two in your book. Not only that, but he complimented your archery—

No, no, forget it! You furiously shoved your things into your bag, wrapping up your bow and unstringing it as you slung everything over your shoulder. Several bags hung off your back and shoulders as well, stuffed with targets you needed to take home and repaint for tomorrow’s practice. You were the last one in the kyudo hall, sending all your juniors home to rest. Who cares if he watches your archery? Just a month ago he was some stranger on a poster!

You nodded to yourself, satisfied with your roundabout answers. Yeah, stop worrying about him. What are the odds we’ll run into each other again, anyway? Only on posters. You and Ushijima Wakatoshi were still a decent world apart, even with the recent amount of run-ins. Who was to say they wouldn’t stop tomorrow?

You nodded again, kicking the door open with your foot and struggling to pull all your bags out along with your bow, strapped neatly to your back. You huffed, shaking free like a wet dog and hobbling down the corner of the hall to begin the long trek back to the dorms. Just focus on kyudo, (Y/n). Kyudo’s all that matters anyway, not volleyball players the size of oak trees and —

“Good evening, (L/n)-san.”

AND WHY THE HELL IS HE HERE TOO?

You gaped in disbelief, pale as a sheet with your arms bulging over the top of your bags, looking like a pack mule in the middle of the road.

Ushijima Wakatoshi calmly gazed back at you, expression neutral. His volleyball bag, neatly printed with the school’s logo was slung over his shoulder. He wore the deep purple track jacket over a black t-shirt and volleyball shorts—a young athlete clearly fresh out of practice.

And now here he was, standing in front of the kyudo hall, looking at you.

Ushijima raised one big hand in greeting, staring at you. The evening glow cast a nice little warm light around his broad shoulders and hair, turning it soft.

HAH?

You almost dropped your bags in shock, blinking rapidly. You rubbed one of your eyes, blinking again and squinting in disbelief at Ushijima right in front of you. He brought his hand back down, calmly facing you.

“Um,” you said intelligently. “...take this however you want, but… what are you doing here?”

Ushijima’s eyes swept once over the amount of bags bulging out from under your arms, taking particular interest in examining the tall, towering form of your unstrung bow rising high above your head. He turned his eyes calmly back to you.

“I was waiting for you.”

Oh, right. You thought. That makes perfect sense. For some reason, Ushijima Wakatoshi is waiting for me outside the kyudo hall.

HAAAH?

“Is there… a reason why?” you asked tentatively, keeping your eyes on him as you shifted side to side like an uncertain crab.

Ushijima answered, without missing a beat, “I wanted to talk with you.”

You almost dropped all your bags. Almost. “Uh… about…?”

Ushijima seemed to consider your words for a moment longer this time. He faced you with an ungodly amount of calm, reminding you more of a statue for some kind of demi-god than a human with his towering frame and golden glow against the sunset. “Whatever it is that you might want to talk about.”

What the heck is that supposed to mean? “What the heck is that supposed to mean?” you asked, outright confused. Ushijima’s brows furrowed slightly. “And, hold on, correct me if I’m wrong or something, but you weren’t… waiting for me… right?”

(Y/n), are you an idiot? Of course this guy wasn’t waiting for you. Why would he be waiting for you —

“No,” Ushijima said. You sighed in relief. “Practice ended fifteen minutes ago. It was not much of a wait.”

You dropped all your bags to the floor, except your bow, sturdy against your back. Ushijima’s eyes turned down to the mess at your feet.

You stood like a cardboard cut out in the middle of the road, frozen in disbelief. But why?

“Do you need help?” Ushijima asked, stepping closer. You jumped back into action quickly scrambling for the bags. “You were heading back to the dorms, correct?”

“S-So what if I was?” you snapped, trying to precariously balance all your bags again. Ushijima waited, watching you struggle. You defensively added, “I-I have a system! You surprised me so I just have to get them stacked in the right order again!”

“I see,” Ushijima said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

What the hell is this guy’s problem? You thought in horrified confusion, grabbing at your bags and huffing. What does he want from me? Is this some new type of bullying?

“Why are you carrying so many bags?” Ushijima asked. In any other manner, it would’ve sounded completely different, but his voice was calm, as though stating fact. You’re mouth opened and closed like a fish, still trying to wrap your head around this strange interaction.

“B-Because I have to repaint the targets!” you snapped. You struggled to fit them all back on your arms, scowling. “They were chipping yesterday so—”

In one sweeping motion, Ushijima’s hand closed over several of the bag handles, lifting the bulky materials up into the air. You blinked rapidly in disbelief, hands still hanging in the air, holding nothing but your own bow on your back while Ushijima calmly held onto your targets.

“I’ll carry them,” he said simply, gazing down at you with those impassive, unreadable eyes. The sunset made them a little warmer, but only because of the sunset. “What part of the dorms do you stay in?”

You gaped at Ushijima like a fish. He waited patiently for your answer, standing beside you and holding all your bags like they were nothing.

“I-I don’t need your help, you jerk!”

Ushijima had the nerve to look confused. “It’s more efficient this way.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight?”

“Are you on the west or east side?”

“West—I-I’m talking to you, you tree trunk! Put those down! I’ll carry them myself!”

“I do not see why you would choose a less efficient manner to—”

“You want to get beat up?”

“No, that was not my intention. Have I done something to upset you?”

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

But the problem didn’t stop there.

Every evening after practice, Ushijima waits, without fail, outside the kyudo hall. You’re always the last one to leave, and it seems for some ungodly reason, the timing of the end of his own practices mesh perfectly with yours.

You can’t even begin to wrap your head around it, staring in disbelief day after day as Ushijima appears, again and again, waiting for you outside to walk you back to the dorms. He offered to take your bag for you, asking dutifully each time even though you always turned him down since it’s just your bow and backpack and Ushijima just nods and continues, speaking every other bout of silence.

You tried to figure out why, but all he does is answer, in his stupid, impassive Ushijima-way, “I wanted to talk to you.”

Talk? With you? What the hell was that even supposed to mean? What kind of game was this guy playing? It didn’t make any sense! Each day you set out to figure out how to stop this nonsense, but each afternoon, Ushijima brought up several other topics of conversation that made you pause, pushing it off another day and then another.

And then you just… sort of resigned yourself to this strangeness.

Is it because he’s my fan? You rubbed your chin in thought, frowning at your shoes while Ushijima walked in content silence beside you. A few students shot the two of you curious glances, but you just furrowed your brows, automatically following Ushijima as he navigated you two outside a crowd of track runners and moved to the other side of the walkway with you in thoughtful tow. Is that it? I mean, I’m flattered, but this is still weird.

He talked to you about all kinds of things too—kyudo, mainly. Ushijima was a weird person to hold conversations with, seemingly blunt and forward with his intentions, but an absolute enigma at the same time. He would ask without fail how your practice went, your intentions for the upcoming preliminaries, how the competition looked, how your kyudo was going, your team—

And, yeah, maybe you would answer because it was kyudo and you loved talking about kyudo—but that was the only reason why. The only one. If someone was asking about kyudo, you’d always answer without fail.

“Well, what about volleyball?” you snapped one day, the two of you standing in the middle of the pathway, still a good few minutes away from the dorms. Ushijima turned to you, fixing you with his entire attention like always. “You’re some kind of crazy volleyball nut, right? Why aren’t you talking about it?”

“...I was under the impression you were not interested in volleyball,” Ushijma said. Did the jerk sound pleased? No way , Ushijima Wakatoshi was practically limited to two emotions. Ushijima one and two.

“I think volleyball is fine!” you said. “It’s a great sport. It’s not as great as kyudo, but it’s fine. Isn’t it your whole life? Stop talking about mine, you creep. What about yours?”

You looked up at him when Ushijima didn’t say anything. The quiet expression on his impassive face made you pause, staring at him with curiously round eyes as a third Ushijima seemed to finally appear and he started, almost… warmly , to talk about it—volleyball, him.

“Yes,” Ushijima said. “I like volleyball.”

Well, he really did seem to know his stuff about kyudo.

So… maybe Ushijima Wakatoshi wasn’t too bad after all. I mean, if he’s my fan… you should do your duty then, right? Your personal vendetta against Ushijima had mostly stemmed from the unjust bias in publicity, but it wasn’t really his fault… But only because he’s my fan… yeah. It’d be mean to turn away someone genuinely interested in talking about kyudo.

You figured you could put up with this. Just for a bit longer.

Maybe. Just a bit.

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

At the crack of dawn one weekend, you looked up from tying your running shoes, spotting a familiar, hulking figure only a few feet away. Steam billowed past his lips, making him look just as much of a monster as he did that one morning almost several months ago now from the club meeting.

Dedicated. You blew hot air into your freezing hands, shivering at the morning chill. Guess he really isn’t a nationally ranked player for nothing.

“Ushijima!”

His arms moved neatly at his sides, stride even, form impeccable. Ushijima’s eyes swung across the school courtyard and landed on your lone form by the benches. You couldn’t make out the shift in his expression from where you stood, but instead of waving in response like you expected, he veered off his running track across the pathway and made his way to you.

“Good morning,” Ushijima said, hardly sounding winded. This guy, I swear. You lifted a hand again in greeting, stuffing your freezing fingers back into your pockets. He stopped beside you, radiating warmth and thrumming with a low, even pulse of energy. You almost wanted to put your hands on him just to warm them up.

“I didn’t know you ran on the weekends too,” you said. “You don’t go home?”

“I visit when needed,” Ushijima said evenly. “My household isn’t far from campus. It’s easier to stay in the dorms.”

“Oh, I see,” you shuffled on your feet, shifting your hands inside your pockets. “Uh, sorry to disturb you. Just wanted to say hey.”

“You didn’t disturb me,” Ushijima said.

Give me something to work with after you say stuff like that! You grimaced, somewhat used to this sort of flat-ended conversation by now. You rubbed the back of your neck, Ushijima still waiting in silence beside you, seemingly content to just stare at the pathway, steam lightly slipping past his mouth when he exhaled.

“...you, uh,” you started awkwardly. “Want to run together?”

Ushijima’s dark eyes turned toward you. You shrugged, waving a hand. “If I can’t keep up, just keep going. I’m not looking to mess with your training regime or anything.”

“You’ll be able to keep up.”

You stopped, looking at Ushijima with round eyes. He gazed evenly back at you as you searched for a hint of mockery or some kind of tease, but his expression was dutifully earnest.

“...okay,” you mumbled. “...Let’s go then.”

The two of you broke off back into a jog, slowly finding your pace together, arms and legs moving in unison.

The run warmed you up faster than you expected.

You and Ushijima never once broke pace with each other.

---- --- ----

“Tendou-senpai, who is that with Ushijima-senpai?”

Tendou hummed, swinging his legs back and forth as he stretched lazily out across the court. In a few minutes he’d shape up before Coach could lecture him about his terrible form. Shirabu was stretching out beside him, eyes turned toward the double-door opening of the gym where they were letting a bit of a breeze come through. Goshiki looked up at Shirabu when he mentioned Ushijima, quickly peeking his head around too.

Sure enough, outside the double doors stood a completely rare sight to behold. Ushijima Wakatoshi himself cut several minutes close to the beginning of practice to stand outside and speak with someone.

You.

Goshiki frowned in confusion, barely catching a glimpse of you blocked by Ushijima’s hulking figure. His head was turned downwards, speaking with you. A massive, clothed staff seemed to come up from behind your back, however, rising even over Ushijima’s head. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Kyu-chan~” Tendou hummed. “Our dear captain’s new little friend!”

“Kyu-chan?” Goshiki repeated loudly. “Who is that? Is she close to Ushijima-senpai?”

“...she’s the captain of the kyudo club,” Shirabu said, blinking in recognition. “I see her passing out flyers to the lower grades. She and Ushijima-senpai are friends? Are they classmates?”

“Something like that,” Tendou said. “Waka-kun is a bit of a fan.”

“Of kyudo?” Shirabu looked over in mild surprise. “I didn’t think Ushijima-senpai could look at any other sport beside volleyball.”

“Well, something like that too?” Tendou touched a finger to his chin, feigning ignorance. “It’s more like he became a fan of the sport as a result!”

“Of what?” Shirabu continued, raising a critical brow.

“Kyudo?” Goshiki said. “What’s that?”

Shirabu rolled his eyes, looking done with the wing spiker’s nonsense. Goshiki gaped in disbelief, quickly turning to Tendou who’d rolled over onto his stomach, watching the sight of you and Ushijima in amusement, as though it were some kind of television soap opera.

You said something to Ushijima, shoving a plastic bag his way. He took it calmly with one hand, holding it tightly at his side as he said something else to you. Tendou watched a dumb sort of laugh touch your lips and you shook your head, waving to Ushijima over your shoulder as you headed off to your own practice.

Ushijima watched you go, waiting there until you disappeared from sight. He held the bag at his side, waiting a second longer before he turned back toward the gym.

“Ah,” Tendou said, “young love.”

Shirabu’s grip on his ankle slipped and Goshiki choked, the two of them looking at Tendou in almost disbelieving horror. “ What? ”

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

"Ushijima-san brings the game to a match point now with that finishing serve. His powerful strikes are yet to be received by the opposing team. His statistics are still on the rise and he might just be able to finish the set with another service ace, bringing it up for — ”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to admit it. Maybe a couple months ago you wouldn’t have wanted to admit it, because it would have left an unfairly foul taste on your mouth, reminding you again that there was perfectly good reason for Ushijima and his team to be receiving the kind of publicity and acclaim they did.

But now… well, sure, Ushijima wasn’t a bad guy at all. You might even say you were sort of acquaintances now. Maybe friends. To an extent. He was a bit awkward, blunt, and sometimes hard to talk too if you didn’t figure out the nuances in his rather simple and earnest approach—that still rubbed you the wrong way from time to time but what was life without some disputes—but the evidence was glaringly obvious.

Ushijima Wakatoshi worked hard. Terribly, frighteningly so, in the same way that you could understand with every new ache of your wrist and pull of your bow, straining to push and push and rise higher and higher. You noticed it in his runs, in his practices, and now, even sneaking a quick watch of a few of his highlights online, which lead to an endless spiral of watching several more taped games of his performances.

He dedicated himself to volleyball the same way you did to kyudo. You were both hopeless causes for these things you were willing to give your all too.

You replayed the last point again, watching huddled up on the bench as you waited for the lunch bell to ring. You’d had to tape up your wrist today, finally giving in to Ushijima’s persistent, dull-tone nagging. You’d go easier on practice too, just this once, since he seemed to adamant about it. Just this once.

“Many will be disappointed if you can’t shoot.”

I mean, I can’t let my fans down, right? Heheheh...

The announcer started speaking in your ear and you followed Ushijima across the court, watching him toss the ball up for that killer serve again. I know how it ends but I still get anxious watching this.

“(L/n)-san.”

You let out an inhuman screech, phone flying into the air as your limbs spazzed out. Ushijima blinked once, calmly catching your phone before it hit the unforgiving floor and holding it in his grip as he waited for you to calm down. You wheezed, slapping your chest to make sure your heart was still in it, cheeks flushed red as you gaped at Ushijima in disbelief. “U-Ushijima! You scared me! Say something next time!”

“I did,” Ushijima said, only mildly confused. “I said your name.”

“Louder!”

“I see,” Ushijima said. He grabbed your dangling earbuds and paused, turning your phone screen over.

His own face looked back at him, impassive and collected.

You slapped your phone out of his hand, letting it hit the floor with a clack. Ushijima blinked once at it and then looked back at you. You heaved, cheeks flushed a bright red as you stuttered, practically shouting, “It’s not what it looks like!”

Ushijima bent down to pick up your phone.

You quickly scooped it and shoved it into your pocket, completely frazzled. Ushijima considered the now empty spot in his hand before looking back at you, completely unfazed.

“We were seeded for Inter-High this year,” Ushijima said calmly. “Next month we’ll play. Would you like to come then?”

“Who said I wanted to watch your stinking game?” you snapped, cheeks till bright red as you practically hissed at the towering young man. Ushijima’s face remained almost expressionless, almost, but he simply waited for more words to come out of you, as they always did. “When is it? In a month? Maybe I’ll come! Maybe!”

“I look forward to seeing you there,” Ushijima said. He glanced back down to his hands before looking over at your bow strapped to your back. “Your beginning preliminaries don’t allow for outside spectators.”

Stop saying it like you mean you’ll come if it were different! You waved Ushijima off. “Yeah, yeah, but we’re making it past prelims so you can come to the official tournament.”

“You’re confident,” Ushijima said.

“Of course I am! What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?”

Ushijima’s hands shifted to his sides. He gazed down at you, expression almost light. No, no, no, you’re just imagining things. “I look forward to watching you then.”

“Check your calendar first,” you muttered. “You don’t even know if you’ll be able to come.”

“I will attend, if it is alright with you.”

This guy is really something else! You ran a quick hand through your hair, fighting back the furious flush of pride that threatened to overtake your features. Ushijima started saying something else, calmly talking about how he felt your form improved lately, but he had yet to see so for himself. You can’t help but think about how he’d opened the gym doors for you, allowing you to take a peek into their harrowing, rigorous volleyball practice schedule simply because you were a bit curious and—

You’re not sure what possessed you next.

“You can come if you want,” you said suddenly. “To practice today.”

Ushijima paused, looking back to you. You finally met his gaze, rubbing the back of your neck. “Since you like it so much, right? Kyudo. I can… you can try it, if you want. Just this once.”

(Y/n) I think you’ve completely lost your mind, maybe you really are practicing too hard after all and —

“If it is not a hindrance to your performance,” Ushijima said. “I will come.”

You scoffed, scuffing your foot along the floor. “What, you think I’m gonna choke?”

“No,” Ushijima said.

“You know, would it kill you to give me something to work with for once—”

“If you intend to watch more matches, please watch our match against Itachiyama,” Ushijima said, after a pause.. “It was where I received my ranking. My performance is… better, during that match.”

“Please stop talking.”

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

A round of terrified gasps and gargles from your fellow club members was about the best warning you got that Ushijima had finally made his appearance at your kyudo hall, right as rain, bright and early like he promised.

The poor first year who’d been the one to open the door looks downright terrified, face pale at Ushijima’s towering figure now blocking the doorway into the entrance hall. He gazed down at her, the top half of his face nearly obscured until he lowered his head slightly in a fearsome bow.

“Good morning. I’m sorry to intrude.”

She gaped, staring in disbelief at his appearance while the other girls had all turned and then made equally disbelieved faces, eyes round and popping out of their heads.

“H-Hey, (Y/n)!” your vice captain hissed. “I might be going crazy, but isn’t that Ushijima standing at our door? What’s the boy’s volleyball team captain doing here?”

“Are they trying to run us out?” one girl gasped. “So they can expand the gym?”

“They’ve come for our kyudo hall!”

“Captain, please do something!”

You know, maybe a few months ago you would’ve thought exactly the same. You sighed in amusement, crossing your arms over your hakama as you exited the shooting range and set your bow down against the wall. Who would’ve thought?

“It’s fine guys,” you said, waving to your club members who gaped at you. “I invited him over. Ushijima wanted to see how a kyudo practice went. I promised I’d help him shoot one round.”

“Captain—”

“Invited—”

“Ushijima-senpai—”

You walked over to Ushijima, looking up at him with your hands on your hips. He seemed to take in your formal kyudo attire with particular care, reaching up to his chest and setting his hand down on his black shirt and shorts, his volleyball jersey hanging over his shoulders. “Is the attire required?”

“Not this time,” you said with a grin. “We probably don’t have a uniform that fits you anyways. Come on in.”

The girls around you continued to gape in disbelief. Ushijima bowed to them once more, politely taking off his shoes and bending down to make it into the hall without hitting his head. He rose to his full height below the arching wooden beams, calmly taking his jacket off as well and slinging it over his arm as he followed behind you, trudging like a massive shadow.

You secretly took note of his mannerisms in the hall, curious about whether or not you’d need to correct him for this or that. To your disturbed surprise, Ushijima found himself at perfect ease in the completely formal setting, properly shifting to the side to stay out of the presentation range and moving in even, clear steps across the floor.

He looked to you, waiting for your next instructions. It was almost cute, like a giant, big dog.

Almost.

“We’ll match you with a bow and show you the practice movements,” you said cheerfully, getting a little pumped up about teaching someone for the first time in awhile. Not to mention a total newbie to the sport who was a god in his own—truly a bit satisfying for your ego. “Then we shoot, just a bit.”

Ushijima nodded, his expression settled into one of ease. You stopped just short of grabbing the unstrung bows, blinking in surprise.

Did he just smile?

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

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this with my own eyes.”

“I know! It’s the Ushijima-senpai. I thought he was some kind of scary giant!”

“I heard he’s cold to everyone else! He glares at anyone who comes close!”

“Did you hear? Apparently he comes from a super wealthy, really well-off family! And he’s gifted! He’ll go pro for sure!”

“Why’s he here with senpai then?”

The first and second year girls all shared looks, frowning at each other before they peered around the corner of the sliding doors into the shooting range.

The height difference was pitifully apparent when you stood beside Ushijima, hands on your hips as you loudly and carefully instructed him on what he’d need to know to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. The obvious pride and ego in your stance seemed to make up for any height difference though, as Ushijima patiently craned his head down and listened to you, holding the bow and arrow in his hands.

You eagerly touched your own bow, showing him in exaggerated motions the stances, shuffling backwards to show him how you knelt and then stood, coming to stand in shooting position. Ushijima listened to all of this with obvious attentiveness, following your every motion and nodding, asking a quiet question once or twice.

Your juniors made eyes at each other, nervously peering around the corner.

“Is this something she’s doing to show kyudo is worth attention?”

“Is it a fight? Do you think he challenged her to a fight or something?”

“But if it’s senpai, wouldn’t she be the one challenging him to a fight? She’s been so worried lately about new members…”

Your vice captain observed the two of you in silence, arms crossed over her chest. She carefully considered Ushijima’s attentive stare, the quiet and swift way he moved to follow your motions, coming always to stand beside you unless you shooed him back to make another demonstration. Her eyes finally tracked back to Ushijima’s bag hanging in a small visitor cubby, neatly folded bags of energy drinks and protein bars with two boxes of cut fruit—one wrapped and the other one not.

“Can you believe who I ran into trying to get that drink you told me to get? That jerk all over our school!”

The drinks sitting in Ushijima’s bag were the ones she’d told you about all those months ago.

“I think,” she said. “It’s going to be okay… probably.”

Your juniors gaped in disbelief. Your vice captain shrugged.

“The nice thing about archery is that it doesn’t really matter if you shoot right or left!” you said amiably, growing more and more excited as you showed Ushijima the correct position for a left-handed archer. “Not like volleyball, right? The ball goes a totally different way. Arrows always fly straight if you shoot it right.”

Ushijima’s hand flexed against the bow. He gazed down at you. “You noticed.”

“Well, duh , who couldn’t tell what hand you’re hitting with? Anyway, you’re lucky I can actually shoot crazy good with both, here, this part gets easier.”

You stood right beside Ushijima, hardly even coming up to his shoulder. His eyes were focused on the top of your head for a moment, gazing at the crown of your hair before his eyes shifted to your hands, small and calloused as they reached for his and you molded yourself against him. Your eyes were shining as you guided his hands against the bow, showing Ushijima how to pull the string. You pressed your fingers into the crook of his elbow, squeezing to draw him back and lightly touching the small of his back to straighten him out.

He could feel the whisper of your heart against him, the light pulse like the flutter of the net after a strike into its side, shaking its hold.

“There,” you said softly, pulling back with a grin. Ushijima’s gaze turned over his shoulder to look down at you, properly taking in the way your hair framed your cheeks, how your eyes brightened, more and more, as though being here could make you invincible.

The way I feel on the court.

“Now if you just pull and release like I taught you,” you said gently, touching his wrist one more time and then mimicking the action with your own arms, copying his left-handed stance. “You’ll be golden!”

Ushijima carefully considered his form, focusing intently on the arrow and the target that seemed an entire court away. It was reassuring, in that sense. It wasn’t hard to envision the power he’d need to send a ball that far. The arrow and bow in his hands were rather different, fragile yet stiff when he pulled, bending and bending but not breaking.

“Don’t hold back,” you said right by his side. Ushijima’s eyes met yours over the bow and he took in fully then, the sight of your eyes, burning. “We can handle more than you think.”

Ah.

Ushijima never took his eyes off you, firing off the arrow, shooting straight into nothingness.

Your eyes quickly shot to where it landed. You laughed, shaking your head at where the arrow hand landed, just a few inches from the target into the sand. “Hey! That’s actually not bad for a first time—guess even you can’t get it on the first shot though, right?”

The grin on your face was flooded with pride, cheeky as you laughed, turning back to him and picking up your bow. Ushijima followed the curve of your lips, disappearing into a smile, the crinkle of your eyes. “Here, here, one more time! I want to see the Ushijima Wakatoshi give kyudo another shot, or even a dozen more!”

You raised your bow, grabbing your waiting arrow as you went through the foot motions and stopped. “Maybe you can get a little good—then I’ll gloat to the whole world that a nationally ranked volleyball player learned kyudo from me , right?”

“That seems unnecessary,” Ushijima said, watching your arms, your hands, your body coil like a practiced, well-oiled machine.

“Publicity!” you said. “Help me out here, would you? Kyudo isn’t as loved as volleyball, you know. Look, watch how a pro does it.”

He felt something stir in his gut at your words, lurching.

You copied his stance and turned your gaze forward. Ushijima looked behind him when he sensed a sudden hush fall over the hall, your juniors watching in rapt attention as you pulled your arrow back and adjusted your entire stance.

Your eyes zeroed in on the target. You exhaled.

The light in your eyes never seemed more fierce.

With a resounding clap the arrow shot out from your fingers, as though guided by the wind. Your hair blew out from your face, coiling backwards. It slammed dead-center into the target.

Ushijima felt again, the stir, quick and fervent in his gut. His grip on the borrowed bow tightened as you gazed at the arrow, smoothly holding your bow at your side and then you turned to him. The memory of the television flickered through his head, the garbled, clear words growing louder as he faced you and your eyes focused on him, bright.

“Maybe we could make an archer out of you just yet,” you laughed, rubbing your chin as you observed Ushijima’s own charm as he held the bow. “In our uniform you’d really look like you belonged here. You’ve got the poise for it.”

“...but?” Ushijima said, sensing the continuing hang of your words.

“But,” you agreed, propping your chin up as you nodded to yourself. “Yeah… you really do look better on a volleyball court, you know?”

Twang! Twang!

He’d always thought they were a bit similar—that sharp, satisfying sound that always left your bow when you shot and the sound of his hand connecting with the ball, sending it just right through the air.

Ushijima let the stir in the pit of his stomach flood his chest, calmly seeping down to the tips of his fingers as he gazed at you.

“Let’s give it one more go. Next time you can show me how to spike if it won’t rip my arm off—”

“(L/n)-san,” Ushijima said, his voice like a low rumble. Your juniors flinched at the back of the hall and you simply hummed in response, looking back at him. “Thank you.”

“...you’re welcome,” you said amiably, laughing a bit. “If you like it so much, you can come when you’re not busy—”

“I like you, (L/n)-san.”

Your juniors froze. Your vice-captain’s eyes bulged from her head. You blinked, grinning at Ushijima.

“Yeah, I know, you dork. You’re my first and biggest fan! Were you just blown away about seeing my shooting in person?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said. He properly turned to face you, eyes heavy, expression set. You suddenly felt a suspicious chill curling up your spine, forcing you to blink at him with wide, confused eyes. “I like watching you shoot the best.”

Ah, see! Nothing to be worried about. What was I even thinking in the first place? Your juniors sighed in relief behind you. “I know! I really am the—”

“But you,” Ushijima said, completely and utterly calm, voice clear as water, “are what I like the best as well.”

For once, you committed one of the gravest sins—your bow clattered to the floor. Your face turned pale in disbelief, color slowly starting to color it back in soft red as it came up from your neck and to your face. The entire kyudo hall went silent at Ushijima’s words, resounding like an echo.

“Uh… yeah, I mean… um… what’s that supposed to… mean?”

Ushijima continued, without missing a beat, merciless—

“I like you,” Ushijima said. A heartbeat longer and he added, calmly, “I want to be with you.”

Thud!

“S-S-Senpai’s collapsed! Someone call a teacher, we’re being attacked!”

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

Two Years Ago

Ushijima Household

“Wakatoshi, I believe this young lady attends your academy as well.”

Ushijima calmly looked up from the steaming cup of tea placed carefully in front of him. The usual quietness, the faint stuffiness that resided within his grandmother’s studies and quarters was still prevalent to this day as he joined her for her afternoon tea. The attendants had already been dismissed, waiting outside the hall to bring in lunch once his grandmother was ready.

His legs itched to shift in their resigned position, a sensation he was training himself to forget. These were small, trivial things he had no business entertaining. Once he stepped onto the court, it would mean nothing.

The large television set was fixed to a low but clear volume. Across the screen, an array of young people were being presented in an orderly fashion across a kyudo hall. His grandmother was always watching their segments, but the time slot had changed to coincide with their afternoon tea.

She talked less about his future during these moments now, since the kyudo channel shifted time. He felt, in a childish, small corner of his heart, grateful for that.

“Do you intend to play volleyball beyond your studies, Wakatoshi? There’s more beyond the sport for you within our family.”

His mother had already informed him to consider saying the correct words to placate his grandmother. Ushijima did not know what those words could be. Not if they involved anything other than volleyball.

His left hand twitched over the top of his lap. Ushijima faintly followed the announcer’s words, trying to find what it was his grandmother had meant— there.

A fierce young girl glared hard at the expanse in front of her. Her hakama clung tightly to her body, hair pulled back and out of her face. He wasn’t familiar with her, not personally, but he had a vague sense he might have passed her on more than one occasion after practice—the kyudo hall on campus was close to the volleyball gym.

It was a final shoot off, according to the commentator. His grandmother watched with rapt attention, quietly commenting that she was fond of this girl from Shiratorizawa— she shoots like she means it. He’d never heard his grandmother speak in such a manner over any kind of sport.

Ushijima watched the screen with newfound interest, a touch critical. Kyudo was a quiet sport, not the kind that received acclaim the way volleyball did. He’d never once considered himself partaking in it though he harbored no ill will.

“There,” his grandmother said. “Watch this now, Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima watched you through the screen, your stern, serious face matching that of your competitors as they set up their shot. Their arrow fired, hitting the mark barely off from the center sphere, it seemed it was practically center. The commentator announced what this meant in the shift of points and that you would have to score consecutive kaichus once more to take the entire competition back. Full marks. You had to hit dead center to make up for your team’s single miss.

You moved, elegant and poised. He could understand why his grandmother liked you. You matched all her tastes.

His left hand curled, tighter against his lap.

And then you smiled.

Ushijima felt the world slow, silence flooding across the screen.

Your arrows fired off—again, again, and again. Each time you greeted the shooting range with a smile and left it with a frown, as though the parting, only seconds long, was already too much for your heart to bear. Your opponent remained unfazed, serious, but you smiled each shot, hitting dead center, dead center, bullseye.

The commentator’s voice was flooding with rapt emotion, though they tried to stay impartial. Everyone’s eyes were on you, a second commentator a touch critical over your confidence, hinting arrogance in your grin.

No. Ushijima wanted to correct, almost immediately, entirely entranced. Not arrogance. Not baseless confidence.

You loved it. Kyudo. Shooting—

Every last bit of it.

For a second the screen blurred. Ushijima saw the other end of the court, the ball connecting with his palm, his own lips barely turning up into a near breathless smile, almost fierce—

He wanted to play.

“Good,” his grandmother said. “She will advance next year. If she participated in the individual tournaments, I’m sure she’d do much better. She keeps playing for a team, such a shame.”

“(L/n)-san, it seems as though you were born for the sport!” his eyes quickly turned back to the screen. In an instant the crowd had cleared and you stood, calmly holding your bow as a commentator got your final words on the march. “You’re a true prodigy. What words do you have for any aspiring archers?”

(L/n). Ushijima thought. (L/n) (Y/n). A prodigy? He could imagine so, with the beautiful way you shot. It was as though you were made for the bow.

“I’m not a prodigy,” your voice cut, shooting straight through Ushijima and forcing his complete and utter attention back onto you. “Don’t get me wrong, I think plenty of people are born for this. Maybe you could say I was, if that’s how you want to see it. At the end of the day it’s work though, lots and lots and lots of it.”

You faced the screen, eyes shining, boring straight through Ushijima, as though speaking solely to him, even though you possibly couldn’t be.

“It’s luck,” you said, “I’m lucky nothing’s happened to keep me from being here. I’m lucky my parents haven’t tried to make me stop. Yet, at least. I just got lucky. Kyudo found me. It’s all luck.”

“Ushijima, why do you think we get to stand on this court? People like us?”

Because we’re—

Ushijima felt his chest tighten. His pulse raced, hard against his skin. The itch to move, to run, to play flooded through his entire body. He felt it all, simply by looking at you—the urge to play volleyball a hundred, a thousand times.

“There’s unrest that youths your age will have to focus more on studies instead of pursuing kyudo as a profession. Many find that as a sport, it does not hold up to — ”

“No way,” you said, looking offended. “I’m doing kyudo until I die.”

Ushijima imagined it then, his ball shooting across the court like an arrow, his spike sailing through the air, the same way your arrow pierced the target.

“Now, Wakatoshi,” his grandmother began. “I hear your career forms are going about next year. What exactly will you be writing on yours?”

“...volleyball,” Ushijima said, clear, resounding. His grandmother raised one fine brow, but he faced her, poised, polite, unyielding.

“I will continue playing volleyball.”

He’d remember your name. He’d remember you. If possible, he’d thank you as well. You both attended the same school—a chance would surely come.

For the record:

- The kyudo club ended up getting their funding, enough to see them through for several more years. You came to Ushijima (your boyfriend of one month) sobbing buckets over it and pawing at his jacket while he calmly rubbed your back and congratulated you. The donation was an anonymous one from a rather prestigious family familiar with the school.

- You come to the rest of Ushijima's games, your team makes it through prelims and he gets to watch you through the finals for your prefecture and has plans to go watch you at nationals.

(Spoilers for the latest chapters of the manga, proceed with caution or just end it here if you don't want to see the last headcanon!)

- Romero comments about the cool archery that Ushijima watches in his down time in the locker room. Hoshiumi and Kageyama mumble in surprise that someone like Ushijima could be interested in anything other than volleyball. Ushijima admits it was a very important person he became a fan of first before the sport. "I admired the athlete and then found myself watching."

"Wow, that's unexpected," Hoshiumi took a seat beside Ushijima on the bench. Romero continued to watch over his shoulder, clearly intrigued by the Japanese form of archery style. "Is this woman a pro?"

"Yes," Ushijima said, showing them the screen. Kageyama glanced over, catching the hint of pride in Ushijima's normally settled tone. "She's the best in Japan. She will be at the next Olympics for archery as well, even though she prefers this."

"I've never really watched archery," Kageyama said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I've grown to admire it," Ushijima said. "I'm mostly a fan of the athlete."

"Who is she?" Hoshiumi said, squinting at the screen to look for a name. A wide, bright grin came over your lips and you thrusted your bow into the air. "What's her-"

"She's my girlfriend," Ushijima said calmly, without missing a beat.

Kageyama blinked, looking stunned. Hoshiumi's eyes bulged out of his head. They both looked at each other, jaws dropping.

"She's beautiful!" Romero laughed, clapping Ushijima over the shoulder. "Wakatoshi! Congratualtions! When's the wedding?"

Ushijima looked mildly bothered by the topic. "She says we're still too... young. I don't entirely agree."

"I get you! I get you! Some advice from a married man, you have to reel them in and..."

- You sneezed before the final round, shaking your head with a frown.

(Hope you enjoyed!)

#ko-fi requests #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x reader #tendou satori

238 notes · View notes

kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

Text

July 17: 2x26 Assignment: Earth

Finally finished up S2 of TOS yesterday. That was... a rough episode tbh. I’m just gonna say it: back door pilots are bad! They’re bad. If I wanted to watch that other show, I’d watch it.

Wow, they’re just really jumping right in, huh? “Here we are, on a routine mission into the past, using a time travel method that we invented nbd.”

Investigating desperate problems in the year 2020...2016.... no wait 1968.

Ooh, Spock in the transport room today. Does he have a whole extra random station there? That’s so weird; I’ve never seen that before. It’s like hidden in the corner.

Cat!! Cat!!

What a good actor. I’m still bitter that wikipedia has a whole section about the casting for “Isis the cat” that talks entirely about the human who played Isis for 2 minutes and nothing about the talented feline actor. Where did they find her? How did they teach her to act?

She has a lot of thoughts about Kirk.

I wrote down “Scully, you’ve got to see this” in my notes and I’ve already forgotten what it refers to lol. Some moment that I thought would fit well with my favorite x-files meme.

Change history, you say? Spock is intrigued. ...Admittedly, Spock is often intrigued.

“What if it turns out you’re an invading alien from the future?” Honestly...let him invade. You’re not supposed to be here anyway.

I’m pretty insulted by this. The aliens went through all this trouble to help in 1968...where are our alien helpers NOW?

The cat straight up attacked his face.

Kirk is so fond of Spock being fond of the cat.

“It’s a lovely animal. I feel myself strangely drawn to it.”

Kirk is way too confused by Seven--an allegedly human person with super-human abilities that he says come from aliens--and yet, he’s met Charlie X so??? Is this not the same?

Kirk’s got the whole crew checking in on zoom.

(I actually do like this sequence of him getting video calls from different parts of the ship.)

“Weren’t orbiting H-bombs a huge problem in 1968?” Looks at the camera like he’s on The Office. Not the subtlest bit of writing in the “social commentary” genre. I do say this with love, though. I always enjoy when they comment on contemporary problems.

“He has a totally perfect body.” Lol don’t distract these two bisexuals.

[soft meowing]

“The prisoner has escaped.” The way this is shot, it looks like he’s talking about the cat.

Hmm, I do love the decor. Very 60s. This honestly immediately feels like a different show, and a much more dated show; even when the Enterprise time travels, it tends not to time travel to... office space.

Love the little sounds the computer makes.

So is Isis supposed to be one of the fancy aliens? It’s never explained but one must assume she is.

Aw, he’s petting her paw.

So I assumed the cats sounds are real, but just dubbed. They’re not lol. Which I guess isn’t surprising: this cat makes a lot of noises! They were provided by a human voice actress.

Damn.... I want a secret bookshelf that turns around to reveal a super computer with a big screen. “Computer... play Netflix.”

That’s what Seven does in his spare time.

The computer is an AI. “Beta 5 snobbery” lol.

Where are OUR alien overlords to stop US from destroying ourselves before WE can mature into a peaceful society?

This is really masterful exposition lol. Not forced or awkward at all.

ST sure does love the snooty female computer trope.

“Get us the proper costumes.” Yes, get Spock his Requisite Hat.

Omicron IV....that’s one of the names they use in Futurama lol. Such nerds.

Another excellent Spock Hat.

I love Seven’s various IDs. Great style. I wish my driver’s license looked like those.

“Who do you think you are?” He hasn’t decided yet. That’s why he was shifting through his IDs.

Seven is not smart lol. Like, he should have figured out way faster that this lady isn’t one of the Alien Overlords. He asks her the code question, she doesn’t understand it, and he... assumes she’s just really in character? Dude, that’s what the code questions are for!!! To help you identify people! Otherwise you could just straight up ask: are you an alien?

Instead he’s like “oh, you silly alien, you’re playing with me,” and then is forced to trap her, reveal his whole mission, and ultimately ensnare her in his plan.

I want that typewriter. Voice recognition typewriter.

"My incompetence has made you aware of very secret devices." Well at least he knows.

Trained cat!

The alien overlords were killed in a random car accident. That’s ironic.

Oh look, a real rocket!

Brown pants + short sleeved shirt + tie is such a Classic 60s look.

This security guard doesn’t think it’s weird that this random dude has a cat with him? Is this part of Isis’s alien power?

Except for the part where it’s a weapon, it’s pretty cool to see all this build up to, like... launching stuff into space. Exciting.

Isis likes to be on shoulders. Just like Little Guy.

New hat for Spock. His outer wear hat, and now his fancy hat. There is something to be said for this ep, and that is Kirk and Spock in suits.

Amazing how they literally launched rockets with computers that old. Like seeing the big bank of primitive computers is totally wild. We put people on the moon that way! Amazing.

“Meow.” Lol, Isis is stressed so she’s speaking like a cat. That’s a pretty funny joke actually.

Seven is so incompetent. If he’d just let the Enterprise help, Scotty could have fixed that rocket issue in like 3 seconds.

Lol everyone’s just pulling Gary through space. Now on the Enterprise. Now in the office.

Why does this computer have a hug black screen if it only displays images on the small white circle?

"Spock and I in custody. Main characters, doing nothing, knowing nothing, totally useless and irrelevant. I have never felt more helpless." Literally what is even the point of them today? Does Spock even have lines outside of “I like the cat”?

Isis is jealous of Roberta. Is she.. in a relationship with Seven lol?

Uhura is listening to everyone in the world. She probably has a universal translator on, but I do feel like this scene implies she just...understands all the languages.

So now the warhead is armed and heading to somewhere vague... in other words, everyone has collectively made the situation worse.

....Or this was Seven’s plan all along? To scare people into ceasing to be so careful with nuclear weaponry? As someone who knows humans better than this guy, I think this is a dumbass plan.

“That’s why so many people in my generation are kind of crazy and rebels.” Same, sweetheart.

Really this is just a story about bad communication. If Seven had told Kirk his plan upfront, Kirk would have helped him. And if Kirk weren’t so insistent on involving himself in something just because he happens to be somewhere he probably shouldn’t be, we wouldn’t have this issue either. The hubris of everyone.

Overall, just a really forced narrative imo.

Or that’s how it was supposed to be lol. The Irony of time travel. By it’s nature, everything has already worked out.

Kirk and Spock are like “You’re welcome. Peace out.”

Honestly... Isis was the only good part. Such a talented cat actor!! Or trio of cat actors, I guess. Had to do all those stunts and stuff.. .amazing. I also liked the concept of Isis. How she turned into a human later just to troll Roberta. How she’s never really explained--one must assume, an alien? Plus I pretty much never get tired of human + animal teams where the animal makes animal noises and the human just understands and answers in English.

As a stand alone sci fi concept...it was okay. Kinda dated by now. The alien tech was nifty and Roberta could have grown on me. Maybe even Seven, though he left a lot to be desire. That said, the narrative relied a lot on people getting in each other’s way for no reason, which I find very frustrating.

But as a Star Trek episode....no. The main characters were just nuisances on the side lines!! I’m not even sure what Kirk’s mission here was--to try to figure out what Seven was doing? And stop him if necessary? But he never really decided if it was or not, until the point where not trusting him would basically cause a nuclear war? I don’t know, I found it all very frustrating. The melding of the original show and the spinoff was not smooth.

If I were watching this in 1968, I’d feel very cheated. THIS was the season finale? That’s it? I don’t even get a real Star Trek episode and now I have to wait months for anything new?

And what I get after all that waiting is Spock’s Brain?? I’d be tempted to quit. If I had a tumblr in 1969 I’d be writing multi-paragraph rants about how the best show on television has completely nose-dived lol.

But then there’s The Enterprise Incident, which is one of the best episodes... I don’t know, man. It’s a conundrum. I’ve only seen maybe half of season 3 but from what I remember it’s very uneven: some of the best eps (The Enterprise Incident, For the World Is Hollow, Day of the Dove) mixed in with some of the worst (Spock’s Brain, The Paradise Syndrome), plus some that are good concepts but shoddily executed (The Way to Eden). So we’ll see what I think about it when I see it all in one piece, in air date order.

#the year 2021 #2021: fandom thoughts #2021: star trek #star trek tos

3 notes · View notes

xlady-saya · 4 years

Text

better than a night light [fic]

Relationships: andrew minyard/neil josten

Summary: Neil hasn’t had the chance to examine the feeling of fear in a long time. He’s all too familiar with it though; from the nightmares, to the memories of a cold basement floor, he knows the feeling like the back of his hand.

But this fear is new, loaded with ridiculousness and a complete lack of reason. It’s nothing more than pixels on a screen, far away theories that can’t hurt him like his past can.

Maybe that’s why he’s beginning to not mind it as much. It doesn’t hurt that Andrew is also there to hold him through it.

Tags: neil is a scaredy cat, fluff, fluff and humor, the monsters watch alien movies

Read on ao3!

The movie poster Nicky keeps shoving in Neil's face doesn't exactly do much in terms of persuasion.

Neil stares at the bold graphics, at the text of the title that drips as if it’s oozing blood. It's got an almost static quality to it, not original, but not trying too hard to be. It's an older movie, that much is clear, so not exactly Nicky's usual taste. There's nothing there to tell him about the plot, just a few shadows and a stark silhouette standing in the center. Neil stares at the poster on Nicky's phone, then at Nicky's expectant expression, and then back.

Surely there has to be some kind of clue to tell him what this is all supposed to mean, but he's not seeing it.

Nicky does his best to show Neil a few more posters from the same movie, some restyled and revamped for the modern era, but...

Nothing.

"For fuck's sake," Nicky huffs, putting his phone away. "It's a classic horror movie, Neil, and we're watching it tonight."

Oh. Neil's not sure why he had to know that.

It's never up to him to pick the movies for movie night, mostly because most do nothing for him or bore him to tears altogether. Watching them with Andrew is typically the only time he bothers to pay attention, and that's for the commentary about the stupid characters.

Nicky is the opposite.

He and Allison fight over the films every Friday night like it's a ritual, but on the rare occasions the upperclassman are busy, Nicky takes over and tries his best to drag Neil into it too. A seasoned movie buff, he's made it his mission to find a movie genre Neil actually likes. Neil's attempts to convince him otherwise have fallen on deaf ears.

After weeks of action spy movies and no luck, Nicky's obviously decided to up his game by switching to a new theme altogether.

Neil's not sure what this will do, though. The horror movies Nicky has picked in the past only served to annoy Neil or make him laugh with their horrible effects and impractical plot points. Nicky had still labeled that as progress.

Already, Neil is rolling his eyes. Neil has dealt with real horrors; ghosts and poltergeists aren’t what haunt him. He's only seen one or two slasher films with the team, but those were just nonsensical.

It's not something he enjoys thinking about, but it's hard to be afraid of being sliced open by some fictional asshole in a mask when his childhood already made him numb to the feeling of a blade.

As if sensing the underlying truth behind Neil's annoyance, Andrew makes his presence known with a loud thump of his soda can against the counter.

Nicky jumps, but Neil turns on instinct, a small smile on his face. They have new barstools, and he swears they're a little taller than the other ones. Andrew's legs swing, almost carefree in nature, and Neil averts his eyes at the glare he receives for staring.

"I said no horror movies," Andrew says finally, flicking another page of his novel over. It's for a class, Neil notes, and beams a little brighter. Part of their pact; if Neil has to do better in school, Andrew has to start trying to, too.

With some encouragement...it wasn't a hard compromise to make.

"Technically, you said no slasher movies," Nicky says, smirking at the loophole. Andrew stares, thoroughly unamused, and Neil blinks between them. He hadn't known about that. He glances back over to find Andrew already looking at him, resignation clear on his face. It's a common expression from the beginning of their this—less rare now, but just as endearing in Neil's mind.

It's Andrew's 'you caught me caring about you, and I hate that because it's not hard' look.

Neil hops up to sit on the counter, and Andrew's gaze flicks down to his knee as if debating resting his chin on top of it.

"You don't need to baby me, those movies don't affect me," Neil says with a fond smile. It's the truth; he's not sure why, but the masked villains and their carving knives just seem tacky to him at best. He understands Andrew's reasoning though, and appreciates it more than he can say.

Andrew would never think of him as weak, and Neil can handle most things no matter how painfully they might stir up old memories. Regardless, Andrew will spare him if he can.

The look of acknowledgement passes between them, and Andrew nods.

Then: "Even still, they're bad," Andrew says, aiming the statement at Nicky. "I refuse to suffer through them."

Aaron, who up until this point has been a silent bystander on the couch, grunts an affirmative. Kevin's got his headphones in, not even listening.

"Killjoys," Nicky mutters, clutching his phone tight to his chest. He points an accusatory finger right at Andrew, and keeps it there in challenge. "You might like it too, if you would just give it a chance!"

Andrew, highly unconvinced, raises a brow at Neil. The blond and Nicky are a lot better at having actual conversations without Neil now, to the point where Neil wouldn't even call Nicky afraid of Andrew anymore. Still...looks like this is not a case Andrew has the energy to make.

Neil smiles, all too smug.

"I thought you said horror movies were overrated?" he asks Nicky, grin just the right amount of shit-eating. "And by overrated, you meant you're super scared of them and won't be able to sleep for days."

"First of all, Neil, fuck you," Nicky says without hesitation. Aaron snorts in the background. Unwilling to be defeated, Nicky holds up his hand, counting off the reasons. "Second of all, this one is different! It's an alien movie, and those don't scare me as much. I mean, they're super impractical!"

That's what's super impractical?

Neil rolls his eyes. Their whole lives are impractical. Ha.

But ah, Neil realizes. Maybe that's the reason for the weird poster silhouette. Aliens. He'd almost prefer a slasher film. He crosses his arms, blowing his overgrown bangs out of his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure Jackson with his goalie mask is just as realistic."

The room goes silent, and Neil isn't too prideful when it comes to pop culture. It's clear he fucked that up. Nicky blinks at him, and even Aaron is confused enough to turn around and lean over the side of the couch.

Neil blinks back, combing his brain for the revision. Nothing.

Andrew sighs below him, long and suffering, and this time he really does put his chin on Neil's knee. He glares a hole into Neil's abdomen, but Neil suspects it's mostly self directed.

"I think he means Jason," Andrew says, closing his eyes to ground himself. Neil's always been quite impressed with his self-control. "He's just trying to provoke me."

Oh, yeah. That prick.

A small chorus of realization goes through the room as Neil smirks down at his boyfriend.

Nicky squints. "Huh? Provoke you how?"

"Don't ask about their weird flirting," Aaron interrupts, making a slicing motion over his throat. Then, after a beat, he shoots a glare at his brother, who actually meets it for once. "Though for the record, you deserve to have a thing for morons."

Hey.

"That time, I really thought his name was Jackson," Neil defends, not caring that he just exposed how sometimes he will say the wrong shit on purpose just to get Andrew...in a mood. Aaron gags, and Neil is quite done with the conversation.

He squeezes Andrew's earlobe because, well...it's right there.

Nicky throws his hands up. "Oh my god, who cares! Neil, the point is that yes, a serial killer terrorizing a summer camp? Unlikely. But if someone were inclined, they could. And at minimum, slasher movies are scary because I could actually be stabbed on any given day."

"The chances of you running into a slasher are still pretty low," Neil tries, and Nicky gives him one of those looks like he's missed the point entirely.

"I'm talking about Andrew."

Ah.

"That's fair," Andrew says, eyes closing once more as Neil kneads his ear gently.

Done with the lot of them, Nicky shows Neil the button to rent the movie on his account, and rebelliously presses it. As if that somehow traps Neil in this apartment. Like he can't just leave.

The sad thing is that he won't.

Even without the upperclassman to join them tonight, this is his family—despite all their shitty taste.

"Your point?" Neil asks, though he's fully resigned at this point.

"So, alien movies are way cooler than anything else. Plus, the effects in this one are practical," Nicky says, and Neil tilts his head. Instead of bewildered, Nicky's excitement only grows. "You know, none of that cheap computer crap. You'll see, you'll love it."

Nicky squeals lightly as he goes to make snacks, dropping a few dishes in the process. It's a chorus of curses and clanging that Neil is all too used to, and Andrew barely flinches from it. It's hard to mind anything with Andrew's head in his lap and Neil's hands moving into his hair.

Neil stares over at the television, and sees his own annoyed expression staring back from the void.

Love it, will he?

Yeah, whatever you say.

They're about thirty minutes into the movie when Neil realizes there's a problem.

Nicky, for effect, has turned out all the lights, and the television illuminates the whole room despite its dark ambience. Neil's perfectly prepared to not pay attention, especially when the movie starts off slow and without any of the promised aliens. Nicky scolds him for his impatience, and things gradually start to get more suspicious between the characters on screen.

Neil's not bored out of his mind, but he's yet to see the full appeal. Because it's his spot, he curls up into Andrew’s side, sharing the bag of plain gummy worms between them since Neil hates the sour ones. Neil's more fixated on that at first; sometimes if they grab the same one on accident, they'll start the contest of pulling the poor worm and stretching the gelatin until it snaps. So far, Neil has won the longest piece two out of three times.

Then, in a shocking twist, the alien shows up.

Nicky was right about the practical effects. It's a grotesque creature, animatronic and padded with a fleshy substance that looks like bile. Its limbs are coated in it, sticky and disproportionate to its thin, skeletal body. Neil can see every disgusting ridge, and grimaces at the bubbles of flesh and pus that the effects team coated it with. After a while, he stops viewing it as a product of humans, as a robot. He starts seeing it as just the creature, in all its vileness. Random limbs and appendages shoot out from it, impaling some of the unlucky side characters, and the squelching sounds make Neil want to vomit.

Neil's throat begins to feel tight, and he's not sure why.

Throughout the next fifteen minutes, the creature starts its ruthless hunt after the team of scientists which make up the main cast. Only when it disappears does the audience realize the creature can shapeshift—that it's among them, somewhere on the base.

At first, Neil thinks he might have to go to the hospital. His pulse is fast, and he's sweating a little. It's weird, and he finds himself trying to calm down his own breathing. His muscles aren't usually this tense, and there's a nausea-inducing lump in his stomach, swimming around like the goop on screen. Maybe he's sick, maybe he ate some undercooked meat for dinner. That has to be it. He tries his best to stretch out, but his ankle hits Kevin's fancy metal flask, and Neil nearly jumps out of his skin from the cold when it coincides with a character being ripped in half on screen.

"Damn, that was pretty cool," Aaron concedes from his beanbag, watching the characters rush to safety from the gore they just witnessed. Even Kevin is invested, though he's still occasionally checking Exy stats on his phone. The creature is gone again all too soon, blending in, and the scientists begin to arm themselves against one another. Nicky looks over at Aaron gleefully, triumphant for his good choice.

At this point, Neil hates to admit he's fully invested. The characters in the movie have started to suspect one another, and the focus has shifted from the gore and the alien’s origin over to pure paranoia. It does a remarkably good job of capturing that feeling—one Neil knows all too well. Neil begins to suspect some of the characters too, even the main protagonist. The theories run through his head, but the film leaves everything as vague as can be.

There's a blanket of dread over him he's never felt before, because it's not real. There's no imminent danger to his person or his family, but he wonders what he'd be feeling if he were in this situation. The idea of imposters, walking around and having no way of telling them apart from your friends, from a human...

It takes Neil awhile, perhaps a little too long given his acquaintance with the emotion, to understand the tension in his body is fear.

He's afraid.

And isn't fear a strange thing?

He tries to remember fear, and it's not hard. It's always cold, piercing. It narrows down the world so that the fear is all that exists, along with the impending doom of the consequences that come with it. For him, fear has always eventually had a result. His fear was always well-founded. But this is nothing like that fear. Real, genuine, valid fear. This is not being threatened by his mom's scowl from across the room, or being on the basement floor, seconds from death. This is a queasy, unrealistic fear. One he can't get rid of, as much as he knows it shouldn't exist. There's nothing on the horizon, nothing coming to get them.

It's a lot of what-ifs and how-comes.

Neil hates it.

He can't look away as the characters all perish, eaten alive in part by the alien, but mostly by their own suspicion. In the end, the discord between them kills them all, and the ending hints heavily at the creature's survival and spread into the outside world.

Maybe here.

Neil scoffs at his own ridiculousness, rolling his eyes. That would never happen. He knows that, it's just—

"So?" Nicky says right in his face, and Neil jumps. Luckily, no one notices, and Andrew has already moved to switch the television off. Good. He surely would've felt the jump of Neil's body.

"So?" Neil parrots, unable to keep up. He keeps looking out the dorm windows, watching the darkness for any sign of life beyond it.

"Did you like it, Neil?" Kevin asks, turning around from his perch on the floor. He's also been weirdly committed to finding things for them to enjoy outside of Exy. Neil has a feeling that's mostly Thea's and therapy's doing, an attempt to get them some distance from the harsh Raven routines of old.

Kevin's attempt at getting them into trivia had been a disaster, and he'd abandoned it quickly.

Neil swallows the lump in his throat, eyes tracking Andrew to keep himself grounded. Aliens or no aliens, the sight of Andrew is a relaxant that's fifty times stronger.

Still, all he manages is a small: "It was okay."

It's a compliment coming from him, since his standard response is to shrug whenever any credits roll, and Nicky heads off to shower for bed with an extra lightness in his step.

Neil is not so fortunate.

An hour later, they're all turning in. Kevin has already passed out while Nicky takes his time in the bathroom with his twenty minute skincare routine. Neil had done everything in his power to not be alone once the lights began to go out. He's lucky his proximity to Andrew isn't unusual, but he keeps a few steps of distance just to throw off any suspicion the blond might have about why his boyfriend’s clinginess is off the charts.

The night sky is still pitch black through the windows, and any passing noise has Neil turning around and checking on his family critically. No, no—if Kevin were a creature, he wouldn't be snoring so loud.

Right?

He feels like a child, and does his best to go about his business without reading into everything so much. Even still, he hops onto the bed so he doesn't have to stand in front of the bottom of the bunk for too long. Something could grab his feet.

Andrew, per routine, wraps his arm around Neil's midsection to pull him closer, not yet aware of what's happening. Neil usually delights in this each time it happens, though he's certainly used to it by now. The path to sharing a bed had been a cautious one, and spooning even more so, but now he can't imagine sleeping without being cocooned like this.

Tonight, however, there's a problem.

Neil stiffens when Andrew moves to scoot him closer, a stark contrast to how he usually relaxes all his muscles. It's kinda fun when Andrew drags him. Andrew pauses, regarding Neil curiously, and Neil's dry throat seems to close up even more. The dread in his veins obviously isn't apparent, but it feels that way. Paling internally, Neil says, "I want a glass of water."

He really wants a glass of water. Fuck.

But is it worth it? Is he willing to die for a glass of water? He can make it until morning. If he were smart, he would've thought about this when everyone was still in the living room and he had access to knives to defend himself.

Andrew, calm as ever, concedes with a short nod. He removes his hand and waits for Neil to get up, and that's when Neil can't hide it anymore.

See, he doesn't move. Neil just lies there, staring up at the ceiling, and feels Andrew's eyes grow more and more critical with each passing second. Neil is torn. Does he get up despite his fear to preserve his dignity? Andrew of all people deserves to know when Neil has none to spare. Neil doesn't hide anything from Andrew, no matter how ridiculous.

The truth is, he'd love nothing more than to stay here on this bed with Andrew, where it's at least kind of safe. But, if he thinks more critically, he'll never get over this fear if he doesn't venture out into the dark common area to get his goddamn water.

Also, he's thirsty.

What to do, what to do.

At this point Neil begins to squirm, his gaze flicking over to the open bedroom door. It's black on the other side, inviting him and his imagination to wreak havoc.

Humans can survive a few days without water.

The whole time, Andrew doesn't stop staring at him, and Neil winces when he feels a gentle tap against his collarbone.

He's hesitated too long to keep the secret now. Better get it over with.

"Neil."

"Uh. Y-yes?"

"Look at me," Andrew says, and Neil can't disobey a request like that. Andrew's sleepy voice is gravely and soothing, like enticing smoke from a cigarette, and Neil follows it with all his senses. He turns over, then tenses up. Now his back is to the door. Can't have that.

He goes back to lying flat, and turns his head to send Andrew a desperate look.

It's stupid, it's pathetic. But...

"It's dark." That’s all he says.

Andrew's brows knit together, searching for the truth under that statement. "It's one in the morning."

Oh, but I'm the smart mouth.

Neil glares, and jumps when Nicky drops something in the bathroom. Neil waits for a sign of movement, and breathes a sigh of relief when Nicky's routine resumes.

Andrew sends him another look, no doubt already piecing it all together, and Neil huffs to himself.

"Asshole," he says, and picks at the thread of their blanket with his finger. He tries not to think of the aliens splitting open. Quietly, he admits: "The creature in the movie could see better in the dark."

It should be helpful to say it aloud, but it's not. It should convince Neil he's being truly unreasonable, that the odds of something otherworldly coming to target him are slim. He should be more worried about real killers coming for him on any given day.

But here he is, still afraid.

Andrew, in his own Andrew way, actually looks surprised. Something swims across his features that Neil has seen before, but can't pinpoint in the moment due to his own shame. He groans, turning away.

"Shut up, I know, forget it, I'm—"

A hand comes out to grab his chin, and Andrew turns Neil's face back towards him in one firm motion. Okay, now Neil definitely knows there's something in that look, and it renders him speechless for a moment.

"You're afraid." He swears he sees the corner of Andrew's mouth twitch, and he's so fixated on it that the truth comes easily.

"Yes."

"Of the...aliens. From the movie?"

Ah, but when put that way...

Neil groans again, pouting slightly. It's hard for Andrew to ruin anything for Neil, but it's difficult to stare fondly at one's boyfriend when he's trying to wring the embarrassing truth out of you. "Yes! I don't know why, okay?"

Andrew just nods, not judging. Not yet. Taking that into account, he taps Neil's chin a few times, maybe to the beat of invisible cogs moving in his head. Then he pauses, and gives Neil's earlobe a tug. Because...it's there. "Nicky said aliens are impractical. They aren't real. You know this, I assume."

Neil glares, but doesn't refute the statement. He's familiar with Andrew's process of retracing their steps, hypothetically. Trying to understand where the fear came from, how to best help Neil push it aside.

"Neil, confirm these things for me," Andrew says, and Neil nods, counting the freckles that dance over Andrew's nose. "You have dealt with members of a deadly mafia family."

Neil, because he's a shit, takes time to think about it. It's worth it when Andrew huffs.

Neil nods. "That is true."

"You are arguably more capable than me when it comes to killing someone," Andrew points out, and Neil does his best to ignore the spark of heat in Andrew's voice from that knowledge. "In fact, you've probably killed many people without remorse."

Hm. Okay.

"Mhm." Neil hums, and while he sees where this is going...

"You could potentially be Jackson, minus the hockey mask," Andrew finishes, and Neil is only somewhat insulted. What does he want with a summer camp?

Feigning stupidity this time, Neil squints. "Wasn't he immortal?"

"Neil."

Neil's laughter dissolves into a desperate whine, and he throws his hands behind him, hitting the headboard. Dammit. "Just—I know it makes no sense," he huffs. He scrambles up to a sitting position, an explanation on the tip of his tongue, and Andrew follows him calmly. "I know they're not real but...I think that's the problem. It's an unknown. I'm familiar with killers, with knives on my skin."

Neil almost feels guilty when he mentions it; Andrew accepts all his scars and experiences, but it doesn't mean he likes that they happened. They can't change the past, but the idea of either of them being hurt never fails to put a little pit of anger in their guts. He sees it bloom in Andrew's right then, and Neil smiles gently to quell it. It's not about that right now.

"But this is so removed from any of that," Neil explains, laughing at himself. It's sort of amusing if he thinks about it—that he’s made it to the point where he has the luxury of being afraid of such things, but he still doesn't feel relief. "I know it should be stupid and ridiculous. But that's probably why it bothers me. I mean, okay, what do we really know about aliens anyways? Nothing! No road map, no weapons. We're completely unprepared."

And...his explanation goes off the rails just like that.

Neil thinks he has a good point though. Like...who is really to say aliens don't exist? And if they do, they're all pretty much fucked. Who wouldn't be afraid?

Andrew only stares at him.

At the expression of disbelief, Neil whines and does his best to backtrack, but Andrew is having no more of it. Andrew just lays back down, hands covering his face.

It's a novel reaction, considering this is Andrew. He looks so beside himself, unable to process whatever is going on in his head, but not in the bad, overwhelmed way he might be used to. Neil leans over him, and artfully pokes Andrew between the eyebrows.

"Andrew?"

His boyfriend sighs. "I don't ever know what to do with you," he concedes, removing his hands so Neil can see his pissy expression. "Alien movies. It's goddamn alien movies."

Neil's not sure what to make of that, but even in the dimness of their room he can see the reluctant fondness in Andrew's face, poorly concealed behind a facade of neutral indifference. That, and the tips of his ears look a little red.

Neil's confused as hell before he realizes what it must be. He perks up, fear momentarily put on pause. "Oh...oh, you like this," he observes, not smug, just factual. Andrew glares. "You think it's—uh..."

Not hot, at least Neil doesn't think so. But—

"The word you're probably looking for is cute." Andrew grimaces when he says it, like it's a crime for the word to come out of his mouth. If Neil's being honest, he's surprised too. Not that Andrew thinks it, but that he actually said it. Hm. That's new. Neil likes it. He always insisted to Andrew that he didn't have to try harder at verbal affection just for Neil's sake, not if he didn't want to.

Clearly, part of him does.

Andrew glares at Neil's small smile, pushing his face away. "And you're wrong, so don't read into it."

Neil ignores that advice completely. "Oh, okay. So you think it's cute," he repeats, and mulls that over in his head.

"I just said—"

"Wait, why?" Neil asks, suddenly offended. Here he is trying to tell Andrew his alien attack plan, and the blond thinks the severity of the situation is cute. "Does my terror mean nothing to you?"

"Not in this case," Andrew admits, and this time there's clearly a small smile threatening to break the mask. Neil tries (pettily and unsuccessfully) to not let it affect him. "Now quit it, and go get your water."

Shit.

The fucking water.

The source of his woes comes back as a painful reminder in the form of his parched throat, scratchier now from all the discussion.

Noticing Neil's stricken face, Andrew wordlessly gets up with him, pulling him along to the edge of the bedroom so Neil can't talk himself out of it. Flicking on the light for the living area, Andrew pushes Neil out in front of him, a silent nudge to hurry up.

The room definitely looks a lot less sinister like this, but Neil's brain is reluctant to let him relax. He walks quickly and stiffly into the kitchen, turning back halfway to make sure that yes, Andrew is watching him.

"I'm here," the blond says, despite the roll of his eyes.

Neil practically runs to get his water, moving back to Andrew faster than the speed of light. As absurd as Andrew finds it, he dutifully waits for Neil to step fully back into the light of the bedroom before turning off the living room light again, and offers to take Neil's glass back when he finishes. Unwilling to lose Andrew by making him go alone, Neil takes his turn watching from the door.

Andrew looks back—not out of fear, but just to see the way Neil tracks his every move, wary of the surroundings. Something soft escapes Andrew's mouth, a vulnerable sound Neil swallows when he gets back into their bed.

He still can't fall asleep, but at least Andrew holds him a little tighter that night, a silent reminder that Neil's not alone in the darkness.

Neil's entire being burns with embarrassment, and he can't wait for a few days to pass so his brain will forget the movie entirely.

At least then the fear in his veins will be but a lingering memory, teasing fuel for Andrew at most.

Except, per routine, Andrew is a giant bastard.

"We're watching this tonight," he says a week later, throwing a library DVD into Nicky's lap.

Neil doesn't think much of it as he finishes the last of his math problems at his desk, kicking his legs happily since this means he'll be done with homework and his kissing ban will be lifted.

Nicky's voice has all his expectations shriveling up and exploding like alien guts. "Aliens again?"

Neil's head snaps up to meet Andrew's gaze across the room, betrayal lining his face. The DVD cover Nicky is looking at is old school again, another classic Neil assumes. It's less detailed than the first one, with nothing but a green, glowing egg on the front.

Hell no, Neil thinks, and glances back at Andrew with a desperate look in his eyes. Maybe it's a joke.

But Andrew's sense of humor is cruel.

"It wasn't awful," Andrew answers Nicky while looking right at Neil. There's nothing amused or challenging in his features, but Neil still senses it. Andrew has weighed Neil's fear, has no doubt picked it apart and tried to decide whether or not that fear should be quelled, or if it's fair game to prod.

The conclusion is clear.

"Awesome!" Nicky shouts, unaware of the turmoil between the two of them. "Finally, we found something you don't tune out completely."

"I'll make the snacks," Aaron says, and Kevin actually seems okay with the selection. He shoots them both a weird look—which, given the intensity of Neil's stare, is appropriate. However, living with them has given Kevin enough insight to know when and when not to intervene. He walks past them, as he should.

When they're actually getting settled in to watch the damn film, Neil has switched tactics. He's refusing to meet Andrew's gaze, foot tapping impatiently against their stained carpet. As peeved as he is, the fear is starting to outweigh it. What if this movie is worse? Is he ready for another night wondering if aliens are going to come absorb him into some hybrid monster?

What the fuck does the egg mean? Aliens lay eggs?!

Neil refuses to sit by Andrew at first, and Andrew's legs are spread in such a way that his lap is wide open and inviting.

It's difficult to resist.

Eventually, Andrew sighs, and slouches into the couch a little more, leaving a perfect Neil-sized spot next to him.

"You're going to sit over there by yourself?" Andrew asks. With the rest of the group out of earshot, he adds lowly: "Aliens pick off the stragglers first."

Neil's glare would melt flesh from bone if it wasn’t directed at Andrew. The blond is unaffected by Neil's threats, though there's definitely power behind them. Just...never towards him.

An unfortunate fact, but one Neil would never betray.

Sulking, he climbs up onto the couch and fits himself snuggly into Andrew's side, head on his chest. Completing the dance, Andrew manhandles Neil to rest more comfortably against him, and Neil ignores the smugness radiating off the blond.

When Aaron walks in, he regards them suspiciously. Neil hates him for smiling that knowing, shit eating little grin once the realization hits him.

Fuck Aaron. Neil knows he's afraid of possession movies. He better be ready.

"This one is especially gross," Aaron says, offhand, but aimed at Neil entirely. "I've seen it."

Neil stares into the television again, done with all of them, and hopes his brain is over it. He hopes this movie is as boring as it can be. "Let's get this shit over with."

And they do. But no, the movie is not boring.

This film is arguably worse than the one they watched last weekend. The aliens are somehow grosser, with tar-like skin and oozing orifices. Even worse, they're more parasitic than the other aliens, and extremely hard for these idiot characters to kill. Neil sees one of the alien babies jump down someone's throat and has to look away.

He supposes it's too late to ask how he got here, to wonder why he can't get over it and understand none of it is real.

But then again, what does he know about the universe?

Neil's glad everyone else is too into the film to notice him burying himself further into Andrew's chest, eyes glued to the screen reluctantly. That's the problem with fear—it takes hold of him. He's not one of those people who can look away or close their eyes, so he just wrings Andrew's shirt between his hands into a wrinkly mess.

At a certain point, the alien from earlier bursts through the character's chest and makes Neil jump away from Andrew's, but the blond grabs Neil's head gently in anticipation of this (which means he's seen this shit already, the asshole) and guides it to rest over his heart. It should make it worse, the rhythmic beating, pumping in time with the chest burster's onslaught. Instead, it's grounding, as it always is, and he sighs.

He wonders if this was Andrew's plan all along, but would that make sense? Having to comfort a scared Neil can't be anything but annoying.

Later, when he's having a mug of hot chocolate with Andrew and Aaron before bed, and steadily getting grumpier with the thought of the sleepless night to come, he says as much.

Aaron just looks at him, as if he can't believe Neil exists. "You really are a moron."

And with that, he goes back to his own dorm.

Neil tries to get clarification, but Andrew only takes the mug from his hands. He avoids Neil's questioning gaze and laces their fingers together, pulling Neil into the room before the lights go out.

It's hard to look serious when he's lying on top of Andrew's chest, glare peaking out, but he tries.

It's weekend three of Andrew's onslaught of alien movie sequels, and luckily he's promised to back off from now on.

Still. Neil's gonna pout all he wants.

A sound from outside makes him jump, but it's just an extra hard downpour knocking against the windows. If Neil closes his eyes, he almost sees the alien claws tapping on the glass, trying to get in.

"Poor, frightened little bunny," Andrew states without any inflection or tone, but Neil can sense the teasing underneath.

"Fuck you," he says, but it's dampened by the way he leans over to close the window blinds.

It helps. A little.

"And risk the alien contamination?" Andrew adds, tugging on Neil's bangs for his attention. Like he has to; he somehow always has it, even when Neil is less than pleased. "Tell me, just what do you think is going to happen? Nothing's going to burst out of you just from watching that movie."

Neil feels his stomach flip flop from the thought of it, his heart taking the tower of terror through his body. He makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, and Andrew pulls him up by the scruff of his neck to get a better look at him.

"I still feel queasy," Neil says, a poor attempt at revenge. Andrew doesn't move away, isn't even remotely grossed out.

The blond just sighs, and rolls Neil over to the other side of the bed in a display of vulnerability. Instead of being pressed to the wall, Andrew's back is open to their room, to the world. Neil balks for a moment before he gets himself under control. They've done this a few times, so he closes his jaw. He knows he should be happy for these moments, not surprised by them. Because he knows they're not small. It's Andrew telling him something, it's Andrew giving. And that's nothing new.

Still, Andrew never has his back to the door, and it probably won't last long. Eventually they'll go back to their normal positions, but for now Andrew shields Neil from the world.

It's a silent emphasis, a promise.

Despite the dimness and the new tension in his shoulders, Andrew's gaze is like a spark to the gasoline pooling in Neil's body. "Neil, you're safe."

Yes. Deep down, that's the biggest truth of them all.

Neil sighs, and gently rolls them back over. It's his own affirmative, his own way of protecting Andrew—whether it be from real threats, or fictional ones. He slides over Andrew until he's on the edge of the bed, and is happy when the bits of tension bleed back out of Andrew. Much better.

"I know that." Neil curls up, and though his back is to the door, he doesn't turn away. It's another silent response. He's afraid, but he knows if an alien were to suddenly bust through the door...

Well, Andrew would let him know. "But I'm still...mph," he grunts, glaring at the blinds above Andrew, and this time, the edges of the blond's lips lift easily. Just for Neil to see.

"Scared?"

Neil rolls his eyes for the billionth time, mostly at himself. "Yes, Andrew, the stupid alien movies scare me. I'm glad you're enjoying it so much."

He won't lie; he expects a silent response, maybe the old 'I don't enjoy anything' just to make him laugh, because they both know it's not true.

Instead, Andrew grabs his wrist, tracing the veins there with his thumb.

"You're right," he admits, slow, as if he's considering taking it back. Neil waits with bated breath, and Andrew must ultimately decide that it's impossible to. "I am."

The blatant admission catches him off guard, and well...Andrew can be pretty cute too, when he avoids Neil's gaze like this. The blond fixates on where they're connected, tracing the scars farther up Neil's arm.

Neil hums. "Because you're a cruel otherworldly imposter, or because you know I secretly have a thing for when I amuse you?"

The master plan, all along.

At Neil's cheeky grin, Andrew rolls onto his back, questioning his existence. He slides Neil's hand over his chest, draping it across him. "You're a nuisance," he mutters, and Neil's grin softens at the edges. He still doesn't understand it all, but when Andrew's being so open like this he can't help but dive in. He slides his hand lower, resting it over Andrew's heart.

"Your heart's beating fast," he says quietly, nearly a whisper. "Could be a chest burster."

"Mourn me," Andrew responds, and Neil smothers his laugh in his pillow. It's got that fresh lavender scent, and reminds him that there's no way he's going to do laundry by himself this week. That room is dark.

For whatever reason, that makes him laugh more. He hears Andrew move closer, hears the stuttering breath of words kept back, and peeks an eye out. Andrew tends to look kind of constipated when he's trying to say something especially revealing, and Neil has long since stopped telling him he doesn't have to.

Because...Andrew told him it wasn't necessary.

'If I want to say something, I'll say it.'

Neil smiles; he remembers thinking it was such an Andrew answer. So now he waits patiently, letting his giggles fade into staggered huffs.

Moments pass, and then, quietly: "I like it," Andrew says, voice barely above a whisper. It hasn't lost its firmness, its inability to be argued with. "I like that you're scared of something that actually can't ever hurt you."

Neil's smile falls, but he's not upset, not in the slightest.

Andrew's statement from weeks ago feels wrong now. It's Neil that doesn't know what to do with him sometimes.

There's plenty of things Neil is scared of—things that have actually hurt him, ruined and scarred him. Those fears are more deeply ingrained and clawing, impossible to erase completely with a few nights of sleep. He doesn't have to wonder if they're real, how they'd hurt him or how painful it would be.

He knows. He can feel the ghost of a blade often, the searing scent of burning flesh whenever he's near a bonfire or when he touches his scars. He sometimes still wakes up from nightmares of being held down, except this time he's not able to get back up. He's never able to run again.

And as much as Andrew would like to, he can't go and reach into the past to stop those things from happening. The realities are so much more frightening, and that terror has no remedy. Andrew knows that better than anyone.

So maybe it's nice, maybe it's just a little rewarding, to see Neil so scared of fictional aliens and monsters instead. Those are the things that can't hurt him, that can't reach him. Perhaps it's better that they occupy his mind instead so that the other demons do not.

And that's the consideration that has Neil so at a loss; he can't do much more than echo Andrew's name in his head over and over, and scoot closer to him until he's all he can make sense of.

It's quiet, aside from the rain, but now it actually sounds like itself, calm and cleansing.

"Well, yeah," Neil whispers into Andrew's chest, then sits up. He wants to say it more firmly, with no room for doubt. This way even if Andrew doesn't believe him...he knows how Neil feels. "You protected me from all that other stuff, so those fears...they're easier now."

He's never put it into words before, but it's the truth. He'll always have nightmares about knives and guns, about fires and cold, blue eyes. But he knows any new threats that come crawling back from the mafia underworld won't have just him to deal with. He'll have Andrew by his side, fighting.

So he's not as afraid of that.

Andrew's grip around him tightens, a promise that never has to be renewed. Neil knows it's forever in place.

On the other hand...

Neil nudges Andrew sheepishly, tapping his finger right between Andrew's pecs. "I just don't know if you stand a chance against an alien hivemind," Neil admits. Though to be fair, no one does. They're all fucked.

Andrew, after a beat of silence, concedes. "For once, I think you're right."

Neil nearly feels better from that, light and warm, but then Nicky comes back into the room and turns off the lights abruptly, plunging them into darkness.

And suddenly, nothing is okay.

He scoots as far away from the edge as possible, practically pinning Andrew to the wall, but the blond takes everything with a sigh.

He deserves it anyways.

Neil still jumps from any little sound the next few nights, and yes, Andrew has to walk him to the laundry room, but that's alright. The teasing he eventually gets from the rest of the Foxes is more than worth it if he gets to make Andrew hold him extra tight.

The fear eventually fades, diluted, but if he pretends to cling to it a bit longer…no one has to know.

If Andrew catches onto Neil's dramatic, fake flinches and continued unwillingness to go anywhere by himself, well...

He certainly doesn't point it out.

#aftg #all for the game #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten

38 notes · View notes

jane-the-zombie · 4 years

Text

Twi-Lite || Harsh & Jane

TIMING: Present? LOCATION: Jane’s Apartment PARTIES: @notsoharsh & @jane-the-zombie SUMMARY:

Jane swung the door open the second she heard a knock at the door, eyeing Harsh. He certainly looked like the man she had fought wearing a wedding dress, though she was a little irritated that he didn ‘t have a black eye. She hit him pretty damn hard. Her foot for god’s sake was still bruised from the heel stomp. Crap, that must mean she had to go to the gym. “Nice to meet the man from my dreams,” Jane’s bad attempt at humor was obvious as she slid in the wave him in. “Come in, don’t mind the step stool, it’s possessed and cranky and don’t let it out, he’ll try to kill you.” As if to emphasize her point, the rattling step stool in the corner lurched. “Do you drink?”

Harsh let his eyes trail over Jane. Just like the dream. That was still weird. At least it meant he wasn’t losing his mind, but seeing her in person set him on edge. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, seeing her in his dreams, knowing her. It was wrong. But whatever. Not like he could do anything about it. “Likewise,” he said, with a grin as he stepped into Jane’s home. He glanced at the step stool. Huh. Weird. “Oh, I drink, you just have to make it strong. So do you wanna talk? Cause I’m good to just watch shit TV for a while.”

“I think we should talk,” Jane said. She was a little on edge seeing the man that was in her dreams here in person - maybe it was more strange to not automatically want to punch him in the face for ruining her dream wedding. She closed the door behind him. “Especially since I think… I think this may go deeper than dreams.” Jane pushed her hair out of her face, frowning. She kept having thoughts that didn’t quite seem like her own — like another voice was there whispering alongside her own. She waved him to the kitchen, pointing to the cabinet where she kept her alcohol. “I have just about everything, feel free to take whatever and we can sit and… maybe watch some shit Television afterwards. Did I see you watch Say Yes to the Dress??”

“Yeah.” Harsh should probably say a bit more, but… this whole thing was weird. She was real. And she was in his head. This kinda stuff was so far beyond him. It had to be something magic, there was no other explanation. He followed her into the kitchen, moving to the cabinet and grabbing the first decently full bottle he could find. “Yeah, you did. I… don’t usually though. I don’t really give a crap about wedding stuff, or I didn’t until we had that dream. Now I just keep thinking about it. And… other stuff. I’ve had the Miranda Rights stuck in my head for a week and I don’t know why.” He hadn’t heard those in person, in… a while. But Jane didn’t need to know about that part. He glanced over her, slight frown on his face. “Are you a cop?”

“The reality shows about weddings make for great tv.” Jane said with a shrug. She looked at him closely, squinting a little at him before she went to grab a couple of glasses from the cabinet. “I am a cop.” Jane nodded towards her coat rack. The chain where she kept her leather bound badge was hanging off it. “Which leads me to… asking about why I keep thinking about blood and turning people and what not…” She leaned against the counter, folding her arms across her chest as she stared at him. It was alarming, but she supposed some zombies couldn’t help but feed in old school ways. Brains, as she found out when she first did some research, were expensive. “I’m not planning on arresting you, don’t worry. But you’re a zombie, right?”

“I mean, I can’t really argue with that. I just never needed to know as much about dress shopping as I do now.” Harsh drifted about the kitchen, grabbing the first two mugs he could find. Pouring Jane a drink, he passed over her cup first before fixing his own. Shit. Well, there was that. He had to be more careful. Usually he was, but… most people didn’t exactly have a good look at the inside of his head. Wait. What? Zombie… huh. He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “So you’ve got me figured out already. Yeah, I’m a zombie. It’s not really something I broadcast. I try not to turn people much, some people want it. And sometimes--I work at the hospital, y’know? If there are people on their last legs… sometimes I ask if they want it.” The lies rolled from his tongue all too easily. Still, it wasn’t all that far from the truth. Now, if he could just keep his thoughts going in the right line, everything would be fine.

She was pretty sure alcohol didn’t work if after someone was a zombie - no wonder he had said to make it hard. Whatever made him feel better, she supposed. “Everyone needs a few dress shopping tips here and there. I can give you those, and also tips on how to burn 30 pounds of tule and jewels properly.” Jane gave a shrug. She raised an eyebrow though when he mentioned that sometimes people wanted the bite. Absentmindedly, she touched the scar on her neck. Had things with her and Jason gone down far different - had he told her, had she realized something was off about him… Jane wondered if she would have fulfilled every teenagers lust blinded dreams. She wrinkled her nose, and shook her head as she took a sip of the drink. “And you do it safely, then? Make sure they don’t go out and rampage against people when they wake up?

“I never say no to learning new things.” Harsh sipped at his drink. It wasn’t quite the same blood free, but it was fine. In his time, there had been plenty of people who had asked to be turned. He tried not to make a habit of it. The whole, being mentally tied together thing didn’t really have a lot of appeal. He could teach them to feed safely and set them free, that seemed good enough. Micromanaging sires sounded like a pain and a half. He nodded. “I try to, yeah. I supervise, make sure they’ve got some brains so they don’t lose it in the hospital. I know a couple places where they can get brains easy, and… mostly cruelty free,” he said, with a slight wince. “It’s tough, being… y’know, this. But we have to make do. I try to keep my head down. I don’t want to hurt anyone, I just wanna live my life. Well, un-life.”

Jane considered a moment. Harsh seemed to have things under control, from what he told her. Though his thoughts did tend to be among the reckless side, but she supposed she couldn’t really complain considering her day to day activities. She shifted on her feet, glancing out the window to look at the street below. “That’s what everyone keeps saying.” She said, looking at him with a shrug. “That it’s a struggle and that it’s tough.” Something to look forward too. But she was more interested in the concept of forever. She would be here until the end of time - if there ever was an end of time. So many people would get to die and she would still be here, witnessing history and witnessing whatever the world had to offer. Jane remembered the damn fight she had with Daniel, and with a low sigh, she resigned to block her old partner’s number in the morning. That had to mean something, right? Her hand dropped from her neck, and she shook the thoughts off. If poor Harsh was boggled down by them right now, he shouldn’t be. “Why don’t we take the night off from all this, then?” She asked, head tilting slightly as she nodded too her television. “I’ve got quite a few seasons of Say Yes to the Dress taped. Probably an embarrassing amount.”

Watching Jane, Harsh shifted on the balls of his feet. He could kind of imagine. With her bite… it wasn’t like she could avoid it. Eventually, it would get her. He shrugged a little, offering a slight smile. “Hey, it’s not all bad though. I’ve been young and pretty for two hundred years now. I’ve seen the world and learned way more than I ever would’ve otherwise. I sorta look at it… not like an ending, it was just a new start, and that’s not a bad thing.” Smile growing a little, he nodded. “Works for me. I was pretty annoyed at first, but I’m getting kind of into it now. If I ever get married, I know exactly what kind of dress I’m wearing.”

“I prefer to look at it like that too,” Jane replied, matching his smile. There was some part of her - some vain part of her that hoped she died before she turned wrinkly. She didn’t have to worry about grey hair because she frequently got it down, and she was sure she would have to frequently get it down whenever she did eventually perish too. “It’s much easier to be content with what you have, rather than what you don’t.” Or what you won’t have in however many years. Jane moved from the kitchen, shooting a glare as the step stool gave another rattle from his cage, and sat on the couch, patting next her as she reached for the remote. “Oh yeah? Enlighten me.”

Maybe it was the fact that he had already spent so much more time being dead than alive, but honestly, Harsh kind of preferred the way he was now. Humans were so squishy. There were so many things he had done that he never even would’ve tried if he wasn’t already dead. “Yeah, you’ve got a whole un-life ahead of you. People always get hung up on the bits that make it rough, but I wouldn’t go back if I could. I’m good this way.” He followed her, sinking down onto the couch next to her. “Mermaid all the way. I gotta show off this figure. If you got it, flaunt it, right?”

“I guess it all depends on what you go through,” Jane thought about Morgan. Lying on the beach, pretending to be dead didn’t exactly scream well adjusted and Morgan had admitted as much too. They clashed on how Jane thought about her bite, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t feel bad for what had happened to her. Jane pushed the thoughts away, though, and raised a glass. “I’ll toast to that,” she said, taking another sip of her drink as she flicked the TV onto Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta.

#wickedswriting #para #para harsh #harsh #lmfaooo

13 notes · View notes

365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

Text

[ @sasuhinabigflash2020 || Day Seventeen: Craving ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

Lying on her bedroom floor, Hinata stares up at the ceiling, occasionally giving an owlish blink. The little glow-in-the-dark stars and planets she stuck up there when she went through her space phase are still there, their oddly pale yellow-green dim and listless in the daylight hours of morning. About how she’s feeling right now, as a matter of fact.

It’s quiet today. Like it is every day. And has been everyday for...gosh, how long has it been, now? She’s lost count.

Lost count of the days since everyone disappeared.

Not just her father and her sister, either. Everyone. One day Hinata simply woke up...and found she was the absolute last person on earth. Or at least...she’s yet to encounter a single other person. And it’s been months, at the very least. The phone never rings. No cars drive by. Turning on the television shows the same programs as per usual, but they’re all reruns. And the news stations are just endless cycles of advertisements.

Online is much the same. Nothing updates. But nothing completely stops, either. Somehow she still has power, internet, phone connection...it’s odd.

She goes to the store a few blocks away. Everything is still there. And nothing is going bad. The produce still looks the same as the first day she went.

At first...it was extremely hard to wrap her brain around, as one would likely expect. Theories clogged her brain for days. Was she actually in a coma, dreaming all of this? Was she dead, stuck in some weird limbo? Had she simply...lost her mind?

And then the thoughts of absolute loneliness. Never seeing her family again. True, she didn’t have the best relationships with either of them, but...to have any chance at that changing ripped away made her realize how much she’d truly wasted a very final opportunity.

In the end, however...there was simply acceptance. Deciding to, at least until she reached some unspoken limit, to just...try living. See how far she could get.

And so far, it’s been...okay. While she can’t explain (and maybe doesn’t want to explain) the seeming lack of passing time beyond a day and night cycle (how else could nothing be rotting?), other things change. The weather still varies. It just rained yesterday, and it’s a balmy seventy-two degrees today according to her phone, and sunny. And thought it’s not been quite long enough to confirm seasons, Summer does seem to be conceding to Fall.

Which makes her wonder how that’s going to go. There’s been no shut-off in the power, but what if something happens? She’d never know how to fix it! Maybe just...find someplace where the power was still on. Or steal a generator. Eventually though she’ll run out of gas, right…?

Many of the rules of this new (?) world escape her.

But for now, those life-changing questions aren’t what’s on her mind.

...she has a craving.

For a few moments longer, she maintains her position on her floor. But then enough will musters up, and she sits upright with a grunt before hauling herself to her feet. Putting on some shoes, she then leaves the house and heads down the road.

The door she leaves unlocked. How’s she going to get robbed, being the last person left? And that way, no ever worrying about locking herself out, either.

...it happened once last year when Hanabi was out of town with a friend and her father on a business trip. Most embarrassing reason to talk to her neighbor ever.

Plugging in earbuds to her phone, she keeps one ear open, just in case. Otherwise, her favorite pop songs play in the background of her walk, humming absently. A few times she’s mustered up the courage to sing out loud, given no one is around to hear. But even being completely alone...she’s still shy.

Twenty minutes sees her at the supermarket. Not bothering to take a cart, she instead tries to remember what aisle she needs, wandering down the front and reading the signs above each. What category does it fall under, again…?

Lost in her musing, she actually squeals out loud in surprise at a sudden crashing sound.

W...what…?

Frozen in place and barely daring to breathe, only her eyes flicker in search of...something. Anything. It sounded like it came from the back of the store...maybe some animals got in? Those, at least, she’s seen plenty of. Squirrels in her backyard, cats sunning themselves on porches. She tries not to think of all the abandoned pets with no one coming home for them anymore.

But in the subsequent silence, she doesn’t hear the scurrying of surprised feet like she would expect of anything inhuman. Instead...an impressive string of oaths and swears reaches her ears.

...no, it...it can’t be…

Throat suddenly dry, Hinata weighs her odds. On one hand...it could be someone friendly! Maybe she’s not as alone as she feared! But...on the other...they might see her as a threat, and kill her. Or do...other horrible things to her.

Loneliness can leave one wanting, after all. Or just drive a person to a sick, brain-rotted edge.

Eventually, she overcomes the absolute tension in her legs and shuffles forward a few inches, doing her best to remain absolutely quiet. There’s now just vague rustling sounds as...whoever it is rummages through...whatever they’re doing. Part of her still wants to run screaming, but her curiosity about another person existing in this unreal reality is just a bit more convincing.

She peers down each aisle as gingerly as possible, finding each empty as she gets closer and closer to the noises. And with every step, the nerves in her gut wind tighter and tighter in apprehension. Could this be any more suspenseful?!

Finally, reaching the last aisle, she lets one eye look past a display of chips before withdrawing with a hint of a gasp.

They’re there! Whoever they are!

Calming her racing heart just enough, she then glances back around. An entire display of boxes - of what she can’t tell from here - has been completely obliterated, creating a huge spill of cardboard across the back corner of the store. And right in the middle of it is a person.

Clearly scavenging for certain types of...whatever those are, they stuff the occasional box into an oversized duffle bag slung over their shoulder. Seems someone else is making a supply run. Looking at another box, they weigh the option before tossing it nonchalantly.

...for some reason, that makes her frown.

Once the bag is full, however, the person in question starts heading back her way.

Panic.

Withdrawing and not knowing where to go, Hinata dances in place for a long moment before ducking behind a “pixelated” display of cases of soda depicting the local football team logo. From there, she watches as the stranger walks right past her.

He looks to be about her age. Messy dark hair, fair complexion, typical clothes of boys she’s seen at her highschool. But she doesn’t recognize him...not that she’d know everyone anyway, her school and city are pretty big. Or maybe he’s from out of town, passing through and gathering more supplies.

The possibilities are endless, and she’s only getting more curious.

Once he reaches the doors, he slings the bag to the floor and...picks up another one? Where’d he get all these things, anyway? Then back he comes, clearly on a second round as he ducks into another aisle.

Realizing she’s safe, Hinata makes to follow, creeping up to the same aisle.

Only to scream when he comes back out.

Seems he took a wrong turn.

To his credit, he doesn’t shout back. Rather, he stumbles back with a wheeze, going ghostly pale as Hinata manages to trip over her own feet and fall on her backside.

“P-please! Don’t kill me!” she cries, arms lifting to shield her face.

“W...what?”

Hearing his own panic, Hinata risks a glance. He just...stares at her in obvious confusion.

“...I...I thought, um…” Well now she’s embarrassed. Heat floods her face. “...it’s just been so...so long since I…?”

“Christ lady, you scared the shit out of me,” he then cuts in with a heavy sigh.

“S-sorry!”

“The hell were you doing?”

“Well, I...I came to get -?” Oh hell, that’s not important. “...I heard a noise, and...saw you. I haven’t seen another person in...in months. I wasn’t sure what to expect, I guess.”

“...you too, huh?”

She blinks.

“Everyone else just up and disappeared on you?”

“Y...yeah. I thought -?”

“You were the last person on earth?”

“...mhm.”

“Me too. But it seems there’s at least two of us. Which makes me wonder if there’s any more.”

“I honestly thought this was all some strange dream...maybe I just h-hit my head and fell into a coma.”

“Yeah, same here. But then I started getting hungry and no one but me was gonna feed me.” He gestures to his bag. “Hence a supply run.”

“Yeah, I...I know how those go.” After a pause, Hinata sheepishly gets back to her feet, posture withdrawn. “...I’m Hinata, by the way.”

“Sasuke. I’d say nice to meet you, but uh...kinda biased given your the first face I’ve seen in months.”

At that, she can’t help a giggle. “True. Still...I’m g-glad to know I’m not alone. Where do you live, if...you don’t mind me asking?”

“Like eight blocks west of here.”

“I’m three to the north.”

“Makes you wonder how we haven’t crossed paths until now, huh?”

“Yeah...weird.”

They fall into an awkward silence.

“...W-well, I...I better let you get back to…” Hinata gestures to his bag.

“Hey, you wanna share numbers?”

At that, she jolts. “... I -?”

“Just in case we want to talk or something. Not like we have anyone else to chat with, right? And we might need help at some point.”

“Oh...g-good point. Um…” Fiddling with her pockets, she pulls out her phone and trades her digits. “Sasuke, right?”

“Yeah. And Hinata?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool.” He tucks his mobile back into his sweatshirt. “Guess I’ll, er...talk to you later.”

“Guess so. Um...b-bye.” Giving a very awkward little wave, Hinata steps past him and just..scurries for the door, heart once again pounding in her chest as she hurries back up the road.

If...if this Sasuke guy is still here...who else could still be around? Suddenly everything she’s assumed for the past few months is thrown into doubt. A few blocks apart, and it took them this long to cross paths. How many more could there be…?

Or is it just them?

So shook up is she, Hinata doesn’t realize - until she’s back in her house, leaning wearily against her front door - that she didn’t actually get what she went out for.

...well...maybe next time.

She’s had enough excitement for one day.

I have...no idea what this is kjdfdjhg just a cliche “last two people on Earth” idea that hit me completely out of nowhere xD The actual prompt has very little to do with it beyond never being revealed because...reasons. (I dunno what she wanted, she wouldn’t tell me lol) Anywho, I guess not...much else to say? Random piece is random, but hopefully still enjoyable! I need to start doing these at better times but I always write better at night...and today was busier than I expected. Take all my excuses :’D But on that note, I’ll see you guys later - thanks for reading!

#sasuhinabigflash2020 #shbf2020 #sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #best years of your life [ au ]

9 notes · View notes

kuriboo · 4 years

Text

YuGiOh GX Month 2020

Day 22: Stop Blowing Holes in my Ship!!

This is the rarepair day, and I, predictably, have chosen to write about Jesse Anderson/Chazz Princeton. I think about these two more than anyone really should, by this point. Decided to write some season 1 content; I like to think Jesse was enrolled in North Academy while Chazz was, and there was some reason he just wasn’t at the school at that time. This is just one possibility... But, well, this is canon divergent territory so whatever I say goes anyway, I guess.

This is obviously very late... I have lots of opportunity to write these days, but not a ton of time to put it up anywhere, and I honestly only decided to write this a week ago, or maybe two, after looking at the prompt list again in my Bastion Erasure messages. I also plan to write one more, for the Arc V day, but it’a not gonna be done in September, sorry about that. I’ll probably have it up on October. I’ll put the ao3 link for this one in the notes!

⁂

"What a week it's been, huh?" Jessed asking the bug on his shoulder

The past week had been intense. Normally, Jesse would be in class right now at North Academy. After building his deck for the entrance exam, he had risen high up in the ranks, even though he was just a freshman. Maybe it was because he had bonded with his new bug deck so quickly and so well, rather than pure dueling ability, but it still had caught someone's attention. A few weeks ago, that fella in charge of Industrial Illusions, Maximillion Pegasus, invited Jesse and his bugs to this big tournament with all these duelists he ain't met before. Today had been his second duel in the tournament, and these duels were at least as hard as the duels at North Academy were, those duels being the hardest Jesse had ever faced. He'd managed to win the duel, but it wasn't easy.

For whatever reason, though, whenever Jesse looked out to the audience, he always saw Pegasus looking at him. Pegasus always looked like he was mulling something over in his mind, but he was always looking at Jesse when Jesse saw him. It was a little strange, but Jesse wasn't going to let it throw him off. He was going to give this tournament his best shot and try to leave without regrets.

He couldn’t let himself get distracted now, anyway. He was already thinking about his next opponent in the tournament, and how to face whatever strategies they might use. He was back in the room he’d been assigned to stay in for the duration of the tournament. It was fairly simple room; there were a few chairs, a bed, a closet, and a TV. It sure was comfortable, though.

When the door to his room opened, Jesse nearly jumped out of his chair. “Whoa, that sure spooked me,” Jesse said quietly to himself as a staff member entered the room.

”My apologies.”

”It’s fine, I definitely ain’t upset or nothing. It’s not time for my next duel already, is it?” Jesse asked. He knew he would be dueling more often as the tournament progressed, but this was sooner than he’d figured it would be. His previous duel ended not long ago. Yet, it was strange for someone from the tournament staff to be here otherwise.

”It’s not time for you to duel just yet. We received this today. It’s for you.” They gave Jesse an envelope with his name written on the front.

Jesse smiled. “Thanks!”

As the staff member left, Jesse opened the envelope, his bug friends crowding around to all try to read it at the same time. It was from Chancellor Foster, from North Academy; the date the letter was sent was written in the top right. It’d been sent out not long after Jesse left North Academy. He’d set off for the tournament almost as soon as he got the invitation, since the trip itself took over a week. It wasn’t a surprise to see the mail travelled slower. Even so soon after he left, it was a letter updating Jesse on how much had happened in North Academy between Jesse’s departure and when the letter was written.

Apparently, a lot happened in a short time. A freshman from the main branch of Duel Academy had transferred to North Academy just before Jesse left for the tournament. Why the transfer occurred wasn’t clear, but it wasn’t any of Jesse’s business. As it turned out, that freshman had reached the top rank of North Academy after putting their new deck together, as part of North Academy’s entrance exam. Jesse rose his eyebrows as that. This duelist must be really good, ranking as the top duelist with a deck full of cards they’d never used.

It sounded like this duelist was going to represent North Academy in the upcoming duel against the main branch, too. Jesse wouldn’t be able to see it in person since he wouldn’t be back to the academy yet, but he couldn’t wait to hear the results.

”Chazz Princeton, huh? I’ll have to remember that you.”

As good as this Chazz Princeton was, Jesse still hadn’t dueled them yet. As soon as Jesse returned to North Academy, it would be time to change that.

A duel later, not long after dinner, Jesse was practically vibrating with excitement.

The next duel, just 36 hours away, would be part of the semi-finals. He was so excited to be in the tournament, to have made it this far, that he couldn’t think strategy right now. He didn’t know what to do with himself, but if he couldn’t get himself to prepare on the upcoming duel, maybe watching a duel on TV would help him think of new ideas? Seeing other duelists’ decks and strategies and all? Jesse turned on the TV and began flipping through channels to find a duel to watch.

He stopped when he found a duel that immediately captured his attention. It looked like the duelists were around his age? That was odd, since students usually didn’t weren’t broadcasted, especially on a live broadcast like this one.

A few minutes later and Jesse found out that this was apparently the big duel between North Academy and the main branch. He blinked. Did he forget this duel would be televised? He didn’t remember hearing that it would, but...

It looked like the main branch had chosen a duelist, too, which made it hard to figure which duelist represented which school, but after a couple of moments he was able to figure it out. The duelist in the black jacket was Chazz Princeton, dueling for North Academy. Duel Academy’s duelist had a red jacket on; it sounded like his name was Jaden. Both students had interesting cards. Jaden had these cool looking hero monsters, they seemed like fun friends to have. Chazz looked like he was using North Academy’s legendary Armed Dragon deck. The deck could appear weak at the beginning of the duel, but Jesse knew better to judge it by that. The biggest lesson any student at North Academy learned was that there were no truly bad cards. All cards could be good, as long as you knew how to use them.

Chazz had just summoned Armed Dragon LV 7. Soon anyone who was unaware of the deck’s power would no longer underestimate it. Beyond it’s powerful stats, it also had the ability to destroy all its opponents monsters, making it a force to be reckoned with. This deck was legendary for a reason. Soon, Jaden was able to defend himself from the direct attack without losing life points, but it was close. He’d barely been able to keep himself in the duel.

This was a close duel. Jesse was on the edge of his seat. Even if the situation looked bad for Jaden, Jesse knew he couldn’t count out Duel Academy’s rep just yet either.

A few turns later Jaden was able to destroy Armed Dragon LV 7 with a card effect, proving Jesse to be right. Jaden had less life points, but he now had the upper hand.

”I hope Chazz can pull through still,” Jesse muttered to himself. “It’d be nice to see North Academy win this year...” Of course, this was Jesse’s first year, so he hadn’t been present for last year’s duel. But as the school had prepared for this year’s duel, he’d quickly learned North Academy lost last year. It wasn’t a close match, either. The school’s moral, especially the chancellor’s, had been hit hard after that.

Plus, it was clear by now that Chazz’s status in North Academy had been no fluke. He was a good duelist and definitely deserved to win. Not that Jaden didn’t deserve the win either, Jaden was fairly good himself, but... Besides just wanting his school to win, Jesse wouldn’t deny that Chazz was kind of cute. That fact definitely had him leaning even more for Chazz’s victory.

After Chazz’s next turn, however, something changed.

All the sudden Jaden was telling Chazz about how dueling for fun, not for the win itself. Jesse knew Jaden was absolutely right. Jesse hadn’t even questioned whether they were both having fun. Yet, looking now at Chazz, it was clear he was stressed. Jesse frowned. He knew Chancellor Foster and the other students wouldn’t put this much pressure on Chazz to win this duel, so who was? Someone else?

Was Chazz putting some of that pressure on himself?

Many people experienced test anxiety, even people who excelled in what they were tested on. Jesse had seen it before, and experienced it himself in the past; slap the word ‘test’ on anything and people get nervous. Suddenly, people forget the answers to questions they otherwise knew. Maybe this duel could be considered something like a test. Maybe this was a bad case of test anxiety.

No matter what, Jesse hoped Chazz would be able to relax and pull through. Duels weren’t made for stressin’.

Chazz told Jaden to surrender while he still could, but Jaden was having too much fun to even think about it. Jaden hoped that during his next duel with Chazz, Chazz would be able to have fun, and Jesse found himself hoping that, too. Chazz didn’t deserve the pressure he was under.

Jaden’s next turn came, and the broadcast lost its signal as Jaden attacked. That attack would’ve left Chazz with no life points, and there was definitely no was for Chazz to avoid it. It was weird that it cut right then, but Jesse didn’t need to see anymore anyway. He already knew how the duel ended.

Both duelists were only in their first year of school, but it was clear they both were skilled duelists. Bringing out Armed Dragon 7 and devastating Jaden’s life points with a direct attack was not an easy task, especially someone using Armed Dragon for the first time. Destroying Armed Dragon was no easy task, either. Jaden, as the winner, was very obviously a good duelist.

Chazz, though? No one should think any less of him because he lost; Jesse sure didn’t. That’s just the way the cards played out sometimes. No one could win all the time.

Jesse had already been interested when he heard Chazz was the top duelist in North Academy right after transferring. Now that he’d watch Chazz duel, he really wanted to duel against Chazz. He couldn’t wait to meet him.

Though Jesse had a feeling he would want more, all he could hope was that he and Chazz could at least be friends some day. Not today, not with this tournament still to finish, but some day.

Chazz at the very least was not going to get out of a duel with him.

#gxmonth2020 #gx month 2020 #tater writes #yugioh gx #tater.txt #thanks for hosting this cool event!! Wish i hadn’t been too busy for it!

6 notes · View notes

let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Oblivion-Ch. 19

Chapter 19

Dean threaded our fingers together as we left the pub, grinning as we walked across the lot to his car. The bet we’d made on his skills at darts still hung heavy between us. It seemed like that was on his mind as he turned the corner of the building and pulled me close against him, his back pressed against the brick wall.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave or two. His hands were settled on my waist. His thumbs stroked long, slow lines against the base of my ribs.

I tilted my face up to look at him, surprised by the seriousness in his eyes. “Yes,” I replied, the word coming out softly. My palms settled against his chest, just beneath the edges of his leather jacket. He was warm and solid.

“Good,” Dean purred, leaning down. One hand came up to cup my cheek, fingertips sliding along the back of my neck, thumb settled against the soft spot beneath my jaw. He watched me for a moment, then dipped his head and pressed his mouth against mine.

There wasn’t anything gentle about Dean Ambrose’s kiss. It was full and demanding and desperate, his tongue sweeping along the curve of my lips and demanding entrance. He slid his free arm around my back and tugged me tighter against him, making me gasp. Dean took the opportunity and deepened the kiss.

My fingers fisted in his shirt. It felt like the world was tilting sideways and the only thing that was keeping me on my feet was Dean. Time slipped by like molasses. All I knew was the taste of his lips and the touch of his hands.

When he pulled away, his blue eyes were dark, his pupils wide. “That was one,” he growled against my lips. “I’ve still got twenty-nine more, princess.”

***

“Come inside,” I said as Dean put the car in park in the lot next to the dorm. “You don’t have to go home yet.”

Dean smiled and reached over, brushing his fingers through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “Really?”

I rolled my eyes. “To the lounge. Not my bedroom.”

He shrugged. “That’s what you say now.”

Still, he cut the engine and the night went quiet. He watched me a moment before getting out of the car and circling around to my side. We walked into the building, and I was glad to see that the lounge was empty. The big screen over the fireplace still played ESPN, but otherwise the bottom floor was quiet.

Dean sat on my favorite sofa and held out his hand for me. Happily, I kicked off my shoes and curled up next to him, my head pillowed on his shoulder. “I really had a nice time tonight, Dean,” I said softly.

He kissed me on the top of the head, and I could feel him smiling. “I’m glad, princess,” he replied, his voice low and soothing. “Not just about tonight. I’m glad you decided to take a chance on me.”

I took his hand in mine, happy to find that our fingers fit together. His were calloused and beaten, nicked and cut up from fighting, but they were just made to settle with mine. “I don’t think you guys gave me a choice,” I said faintly. “But I’m glad it happened how it did.”

Dean sighed softly. “I don’t want you to think you don’t have a choice, Addy. If this isn’t what you want…”

“That’s not what I said,” I quipped, sitting up. “I meant… I guess you and Ro put me in a place where I couldn’t ignore how I felt about both of you. But I have a choice. I get to decide if this is what I want, and right now… it’s what I want.”

He settled his palm against my cheek. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, princess,” he said, something vulnerable in his voice.

“I mean it.” I smiled and leaned up on my knees to kiss him softly. “And if the time ever comes that I don’t, I’ll tell you. Both of you.”

We were quiet for a moment before Dean nodded and pressed his lips against my forehead. “So,” he said, pointing at the TV, “does this thing get HBO?”

I found the remote and gave it to him. He flipped through the channels until he found a show about classic cars. He’d slipped off his jacket and draped it over me like a blanket before curling me against his shoulder, stroking his fingers up and down my arm. I felt his cheek press against the top of my head as he watched the show.

“I never pegged you for a car guy,” I said after a while.

Dean’s hand stilled. I felt his jaw tense. “Most people think I stole that car.”

I pressed my palm against his knee, squeezing gently. “Most people are stupid.”

He settled a kiss on the top of my head and pulled me a little closer. “There’s a lot of them that would argue with you, princess.” His voice was sad and quiet when he spoke. “They’re gonna look at you funny when they see you with me.”

“They’re going to look at me funny anyway, Dean. Drew and Nya know I went out with you tonight and not Ro. And Sonya knows that I’m dating both of you. It’s going to be hard to hide.” I gave him a faint smile. “Not that I want to.”

“You aren’t afraid of people being dicks and calling you names because of us?”

I turned so that I was facing him. My fingers laced with his, holding his hand in both of mine. “What are they going to call me? A slut? A whore? Who cares?” I met his blue-eyed gaze with my own. “Do you think I’m either of those things?”

He settled his free hand against my cheek. “I think you’re perfect. And maybe too pure to be with a guy like me.”

“Cash in your other twenty-nine,” I whispered, moving closer, “and see how pure I am.”

***

“Hey, Momma,” I said, carrying my phone around the room as I packed up the last of the things I’d need over break. “Are you sure you guys aren’t mad?”

“Honey, I’ve seen that boyfriend of yours. I’d stay close too,” my mother said teasingly. I grinned, feeling myself blush. “Just come home for a few days at Christmas, that’s all we want.”

I promised that I’d be home by Christmas Eve and sent my love then hung up. Then I double checked my room, zipped up my bag, and left a note for Sonya and Peyton. Drew was in the lobby, a huge duffle bag at his feet.

He grinned and crossed the room, wrapping me in a big, warm bear hug. “Be safe and Happy Christmas, yeah, Addy?”

I returned the hug and kissed him on the cheek. “You, too. When does your flight leave?”

“Six hours. I’m going to hang around here, say goodbye to the boys, then Baron is giving me a lift. You driving back home?”

When he sat me down, I leaned against the wall beside him. “Eventually. I’m staying around here for a little longer.”

The big Scotsman gave me a wink. “Ah,” he said knowingly. “You staying with Ro and Dean?” He waggled his eyebrows, clearly insinuating that untoward activities would be taking place.

“That’s none of your business, Drew McIntyre,” I replied teasingly.

He bumped me with his elbow. “How’d the date go?”

“It was good. Fun. Dean took me to that pub downtown. We played darts and then came back here.” Drew’s blue eyes went wide. “And stayed in the lounge watching television, you perv. Dean’s really into cars.”

“He’s really into you. And so’s Roman.” There was something questioning in his voice. I glanced up to see him watching me with worry. “Don’t break his heart, huh, lass. I don’t think he could take it. Besides, we’re in the playoffs this season… can’t have him moping about a pretty girl.”

I reached up and smacked him on his thick shoulder. “First of all, aww… you think I’m pretty! Second of all, I have no intention of breaking anyone’s heart. This whole thing…” I waved at the air around me, unsure what exactly I was gesturing at. “It was their idea. So don’t lecture me, Highlander.”

Drew let out a loud, deep, rumbling laugh and threw his arm around my neck. He dropped a brotherly kiss on the top of my head. “Yeah, see that’s the thing with me, lass. I don’t share. There can be only one.”

I thumped him in the chest and pushed away from his side when I saw Roman’s truck pull up outside. I snatched up my bags and grinned at him. “Safe flight, Scotty. See you in January.”

Drew was still laughing as I pushed out of the door and ran across the quad toward the parking lot. The passenger door opened and Dean hopped out, grinning at me with his hair hidden under a beanie. Roman appeared over the top of the truck, standing on the runner on the driver’s side. Both of them were grinning like fools, though there was something wicked hidden deep beneath those beatific smiles.

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it @vebner37

35 notes · View notes

mdwatchestv · 5 years

Text

Best of 2019: A Year in Review

2019 was a hard fucking year. It was long, and weird, and filled with bullshit. I usually like to keep it light and frothy, but I’m going to scrape off the foam and get real for a second. I have had a very difficult past couple of years, but this blog allowed me to stay connected to an activity I enjoyed. Writing to you all every month has been an anchor, a little beacon that’s lit the way while I’ve searched for my path in the dark. So if you read my blog this year, in any capacity, whether as a supportive friend, curious stranger, or schadenfreude seeking acquaintance, I want to thank you. It really means a lot to me that you are here.

ANYWAY the best television of 2019 was also deeply personal, sometimes devastatingly so. I didn’t watch everything I should have, or meant to, and god knows I jumped a lot of ships when the waters started to get too choppy (Years and Years, I will come back to you one day). Of everything I watched this year (reminder there were 500+ original shows and I have only seen two episodes of Watchmen SORRY) here is the very best:

Fleabag Season 2 - Amazon Prime

The first season of Fleabag felt like jumping into ice water, a refreshing shock to the system. Season 2 felt like falling in love. There is not a lot to say about season 2 that has not been said already: the genius of the opening dinner scene, the hotness of the priest, the chicness of the jumpsuit. Uproariously funny, deeply confessional, wrenchingly painful - it was literally perfect.

Pen15 - Hulu

It’s not every day that someone makes a documentary of your own stupid life and then just puts it on a streaming service for EVERYONE to see. Maybe letting women make content was a mistake after all because if this is what seeing yourself truthfully represented in media feels like, I’m not sure I like it. Even this gif is a personal attack.

Russian Doll - Netflix

A genre-bending exploration of trauma, humanity, and birthdays, Russian Doll was big, messy, and often imperfect - but then again so is life (and death). When all the pieces came together Russian Doll hit as hard as an air conditioner plummeting from the sixth story. It also provided 2019 with the perfect soundtrack in Harry Nilsson’s ‘Gotta Get Up’ and primed us all for a year of existential disappointment. Thanks Nat!

Love Island - ITV2

Because it’s the TRUTH, Maura. Look there are only two types of people in this world: those who have seen Love Island, and those who have not. If you are judging this entry, or raising your eyebrows, or thinking I have hit my head very hard (perhaps on a plummeting air conditioner), then you have simply not yet visited the island. I clocked 90+ hours in the villa this year, and that alone deems it worthy of inclusion. “But Martha maybe you would have had time to watch Succession if you didn’t watch a reality show about sexy idiots” Maybe, but we’ll simply never know. Reminder- Love Island Winter premieres Jan 1st.

Veep- HBO

Probably the last time we will laugh about politics for a long...long...time. This show was never as good without Iannucci, but JLD consistently turned in one of the all time best performances ever, in a comedy or otherwise. Veep was as sharp and funny as a shank in the gut, and the television landscape will be poorer without it. I will miss this merry band of deeply relatable sycophants and psychopaths. Amy and Dan forever!

Wow, 2019 was really the year of the female-driven half hour huh! Anyway here are some:

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Broad City (Comedy Central) - The best of best friends signed off forever in a pitch perfect finale.

Shrill (Hulu) - Aidy Bryant showed us she was more than a comic relief in this adaptation of Lindy West’s memoir.

The Crown (Netflix) - The UK has the very best actors and there is simply nothing to be done about it

The Good Place (NBC)- The best comedy about philosophy turned out to be just a wrapper for one of the year’s best love stories.

And there we have it 2019 done. Turns out I didn’t finish a ton of dramas - oops! Sorry Chernobyl and When They See Us! I was not in a place to receive information that could hurt me. There’s always next year.

Love you, mean it

#Martha writes #other tv #everything i'm going to watch #best of 2019 #best of television #tv writing #tv gifs #fleabag #russian doll #veep #love island #pen15

46 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Catch Me If You Can (9/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke for being my beta. I’m still leaving you on that cliffhanger for a little while, though 😉

You guys were really excited about the last chapter, and I think you’ll like this one too!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

Tag list: @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @emmas-storybook @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @galaxyzxstark @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

How long can she stand outside of an apartment building before it become creepy?

Right now, Emma is verging on fifteen minutes, and she feels like that’s fine. However, once she starts creeping up into the twenty and thirty minute categories, that’s when it gets weird and she feels kind of stalker-ish even though she was explicitly told to come over.

Maybe she should go hang out in the Duane Reade that Killian has across the street from his apartment building. She needs chapstick, right? Everyone needs chapstick at all times. Lips get dry and kind of flaky, and no one likes that, especially if they’re currently in some kind of arrangement where making out with another human being occasionally occurs.

She’s in one of those.

Kind of.

She’s not sure, and she’s very obviously freaking out and going to lose her mind on east ninety-first street. Maybe she can buy something at Duane Reade to knock her out, and she’ll never have to remember any of this. That would probably be ideal.

Wow. She is outstanding at relationships. Or quasi relationships with a man who she has worked with for several years, rejected on national television, and then made out with at three different stadiums across the United States.

But secretly made out with.

Oh shit. They’re going to get caught if they keep doing that, and the only reason she agreed to this was under the promise of no one knowing.

(And because he makes her stomach swoop in a painful, yet good, way.)

She cannot handle anyone knowing. Her career cannot handle anyone knowing. No one can know.

Creepily standing outside of his apartment building holding the Vanderbilt sweatshirt she still hasn’t given back (it’s only been a week, okay?) is probably not the best way for that to happen.

Taking a deep breath, she looks to each side of the street before crossing the road and entering his apartment building. It’s already approximately one thousand times nicer than hers, which is to be expected, and she dodges the front desk guy and turns the corner to the elevators to punch in the code Killian gave her to get in, and then walks inside the doors to wait to go up to his apartment.

This isn’t weird, right?

Did she feel this way when she started dating Neal? Or Walsh?

Nope. No. Nope. She’s not going to start thinking of them right now when she’s already freaking out enough over everything.

Why in the world is she doing this?

Because you like him, you dumbass.

The little voice in her head sounds a lot like Ruby, and Emma’s not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

It takes two raps of her knuckles on Killian’s door for him to swing it open, and then all of the sudden he’s standing on the other side with a bright white smile on his face, his beard clearly not having been trimmed in a few days, and a bit of fringe hanging over his forehead. Her eyes scan over him, clearly trying to buy herself some time for how her heart is like a freaking drumline beating against her ribs, and she notices that he has on a loose-fitting t-shirt, some jeans, and he’s not wearing any shoes.

Why is she so charmed by the fact that he’s not wearing any shoes? He’s in his own apartment. Why would he be wearing shoes? Do people wear shoes in their own homes?

“Hello, love,” he greets, his own eyes flickering over hers. “Nice to see that you finally made it inside the building.”

Her mouth gapes open, but she doesn’t even get the chance to form a rebuttal before Killian is dipping his head down and pressing his lips against hers with his palm coming to rest behind her back, tugging her forward and into his apartment so that the door closes behind him and she’s left with wood solidly against her back. Killian really likes kissing her against solid walls. That’s a thing she’s noticed. He’s also got this thing with his teeth and his tongue that makes her see stars in broad daylight. She’s noticed that too. Gooseflesh is rising on her skin, and she’s grabbing onto the soft material of his t-shirt over his biceps and about to open her mouth to him when he pulls back, leaving her gasping for air even though she now has access to it.

“Hi,” he whispers, greeting her again while she leans her head back to rest it against the doorframe.

“Hi. How’d you know I was waiting outside?”

“Darling, my windows open up right out to the street.”

She presses up on her toes to look over Killian’s shoulder, and he’s right. His windows do look out over the street.

Holy shit does she love his apartment.

His walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, which is so much more than she can say for her place, and everything is so…simple. And it’s not simple in a bad way. It’s just that she has a lot of junk with her throw pillows and blankets and miscellaneous plants everywhere. Killian’s apartment is all warm colors and clean lines, and his couch looks like the most comfortable thing in the world. And she’d probably cook if she had a kitchen that was more than five feet of space in the corner.

Is it too late for her to play some kind of professional sport so that she can live somewhere like this? Ruby and Graham would love it.

Wait, no. Ruby and Graham would not be moving in with her if she could afford to live on her own. She loves them, but no.

“You stare at me too much,” she finally says in response, her eyes looking back to Killian so that she’s overwhelmed by the blue. Seriously. That kind of blue should not be possible. “You’ve got to let a girl freak out on the sidewalk in peace.”

He raises a brow. “Why were you freaking out? I don’t bite. Unless otherwise asked.”

That doesn’t do anything to her. Nope. Not at all. Especially not because his voice got super deep when he asked that. She is so in over her head that it’s not even funny. Why in the world does anyone date when it causes this much anxiety?

“I’m not very good at dating,” she admits, kind of wishing she could melt through the door. “I don’t have a good history with it.”

“If you did, I very much doubt I’d get to kiss you hello like that.”

“That’s a good point.”

“I tend to make those.”

“Apparently because you’re super smart, Professor Jones.”

“Eh,” he protests, backing up to give her some space as he scratches behind his ear. Is he nervous too? “I’m not too sure about that. You want something to drink?”

“It’s ten in the morning. I think it’s too early.”

“Believe it or not, I do have things like water to offer you.”

“Oh. Yeah, water would be good.”

Killian nods his head up and down before leaning in and pressing his mouth to her cheek, breath hot against her skin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

“Most definitely.” He pulls back then and walks the few feet to his kitchen, opening his fridge and pulling out two bottles of water, placing them on the counter. “So, I know that technically speaking you’re the one who asked me out on this date.”

“Only because you demanded it.”

“Semantics.” She watches as he twists open his bottle and takes a sip, practically swallowing the whole bottle at once all the while she barely touches hers. “But this is my apartment, and I feel like I should show you around. I already have lunch secured, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to pay. You’re stealing my date, twenty-nine.”

He smiles at that. It seems the man who is always calling her by every nickname in the book likes having a nickname of his own that’s not from Will Scarlet. Huh.

“I’m not stealing anything. I owe you half of a pizza.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a sailing accident.”

Her heart may actually lurch at that, and when she looks at Killian, he’s glancing away, obviously as uncomfortable with talking about his accident as she is even if he’s the one who brought it up. But he jokes sometimes when he’s nervous or uncomfortable, and honestly, knowing that Killian may be just as nervous as she is for this whole thing makes her feel a hell of a lot better.

It’s the blind leading the blind with absolutely no expertise in the area.

“So pizza?” she questions, tapping her knuckles against his countertops. “What’s your poison while at home?”

Killian smiles, one side of his lips stretching into the others, and it makes her feel like she just consumed gallon after gallon of carbonated soda. “The oven-cooked margarita at Nick’s. Like I said, I’m a simple man and like simple things. You’re going to love it.”

“How do you know?”

“You said you trusted me, didn’t you?”

“Well, pizza is a bit more serious than us seeing each other.”

He winks. “Obviously.”

-/-

“I mean, arguably, NBC makes some of the best comedies.”

“Fox had a few good ones.”

“Fox dropped Brooklyn 99.”

“Okay, valid,” Killian laughs, leaning over to the coffee table in front of his couch to pick up another slice of pizza. It has to be his fifth by this point, and the food got here an hour ago. She hasn’t quite figured out his diet yet. Sometimes he eats like an athlete should and other times he eats like an athlete can. “That was a dumb decision on their part.”

“The dumbest. But then again, NBC picked it up, so that furthers my point.”

“I should have known you were a serious comedy fan when you knew I was quoting The Office.”

She watches as he takes a large bite of his pizza, not at all caring how messy he looks, and she tucks her feet further underneath her thighs. For as nervous as she was to show up here, to come inside, it’s oddly comfortable right now. Of course, they’ve had pizza (even if it’s not noon yet) and reruns of Superstore playing on the TV to distract them, but it’s comfortable.

Killian Jones makes her comfortable.

That should be terrifying, is kind of terrifying, but she’s having too nice of a morning to think too much about that. And this pizza is actually really good, and she doesn’t want to have to walk away from that.

This is for the pizza. It doesn’t have to be about anything else even though it most definitely is.

“I mean, I’m all about the dramas. I can watch a cop show any day of the week, but Graham always complains about how inaccurate it is and makes me change the channel.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. “Graham?”

“Ruby’s boyfriend. He’s why I had to come over here for our little secret rendezvous. Ruby is at the offices, but Graham is home this morning. He’s got the night shift tonight.”

“Ah,” he sighs, taking another bite of his pizza. Was he just…jealous? No, that would be weird and kind of primal, but they’re…seeing each other so maybe also kind of normal. It’s like she’s sixteen again or something. How the hell do sixteen-year-olds handle this when she, a twenty-seven-year-old woman, cannot? “Sorry. I forgot his name for a moment, but I remember now. He’s the detective, right?”

“Yep.”

“That would explain why he hates any crime drama. Liam hates any and all medical shows and will turn the television off if anyone is watching it when he’s around. Elsa freaking loves those things, though. She’s got the ability to look past the things that are wrong.”

“I think it may just be a stubborn man thing.”

“Says literally the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

Emma sticks her tongue out, like every mature woman would do, only for Killian’s warm, rough hands to wrap around her calves and pull her forward on the couch (which is the most comfortable thing in the world, as she expected), making her head land against the cushions and the breath she was holding escape her.

“I am not stubborn.”

“You’re stubborn about being stubborn,” he sighs, pulling her forward a little more so that he can lean forward over her, his knees on either side of her thighs and his hands next to her head as he hovers over her, the chain that’s always hanging around his neck falling out of his shirt so that it rests over her breasts, a shiny silver ring in the middle. What the hell is that? Is she allowed to ask? “I kind of like that you’re stubborn.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Mmmm, that’s not true,” he hums, dipping his head down and brushing his lips across her jaw, a shiver immediately running down her spine. God, she likes the way that his scruff feels on her skin. He should keep doing that and definitely never shave the stubble. “You’re an observant one. You know these things.”

He nips at her skin, and she arches up into him, reaching her arms up to trail her fingers across the muscles in his arms. The talking may be hard, but she can handle this. This is good. “You don’t exactly hide your affections for me.”

“I most definitely do.”

“You asked me out on TV.”

“You looked beautiful that day.”

“You looked sweaty.”

He laughs into her neck, rubbing his cheek into her skin, before moving back up her face and hovering over her mouth so that she can see the few freckles on his face and the blue of his eyes. She is never going to get over that blue.

His breath kind of smells like pizza.

He probably tastes like it too. She does really like that pizza.

“Now, Swan,” he sighs, visibly put out as he leans down and presses his mouth to hers in a quick, dirty kiss before pulling back, making her cant her hips up into his and tighten her grip on his arms, “I do believe that you asked me out the second time. I don’t think my rejected proposal counts anymore.”

“No, you’re never living that down. If I can’t, neither can you.”

“I feel like it’s worked out pretty well for me.” He waggles his brows across his forehead, and she slaps his arm, rolling her eyes even as she presses up to try to kiss him again. They’re good at that. She’d like to keep doing it. “Or maybe you’re just here for my pizza.”

“It is good pizza.”

“The best.”

“Jones, are we going to talk about pizza all day, or are you going to kiss me?”

“Why not both?”

“Shut up,” she gasps as he lowers his entire body down to her, the warmth overcoming her, and rests his elbows on the sides of her head as his lips cover hers, slowly but surely sliding over hers over and over again until she cannot think of anything else but the noise Killian makes when she pulls at his bottom lip.

She’d like another order of this pizza and Killian making that sound. That would be the perfect morning.

He licks into her mouth without any hesitancy, his fingers curling into her hair as his tongue curls around hers in a slick, wet slide of heat and desire and all of those little things that make the hairs all over her body stand at attention. It’s overwhelming and not enough all at once, and when Killian pushes her body further into the couch, the cushions gaining an Emma-shaped dent, she knows that she never wants to move away from the way Killian is hungrily devouring her and settling between her thighs, hips rolling against hips and desire continuously building as the air is very thoroughly kissed out of her.

Who needs air? She certainly doesn’t.

Arousal curls between her thighs, a warm and thick heat that spreads up her stomach and to her chest, tightening around her heart, and she scratches her nails down Killian’s back in response, wondering if she can leave marks even through his t-shirt.

“Oh fuck,” she mutters, both to Killian and herself, as he slides his lips against her jaw until he’s biting down on the lobe of her ear at the same time that she’s pushing her hips up against his groin to grind against him, little burst of pleasure exploding just under her skin.

“You taste like pizza,” he mumbles in a dark growl, one that’s definitely not how any normal person should sound when talking about pizza.

“You did say you liked that.”

“I believe that was you.”

“Semantics,” she gasps out when his tongue flicks behind her ear while her hands grapple for his ass and her legs snake around his hips to push him closer into her space. Killian’s hands are moving from her hair to between them, his stomach lifting up so his hands can fit between them, and then she feels the warm, calloused fingers against her stomach and nearly melts right then and there, officially becoming part of this couch.

How the hell has she ended up in this situation?

Why didn’t she end up here sooner?

Lips find hers again as fingers inch up her skin, Killian’s thumb brushing under the swell of breasts. She can feel the tingle of her skin as his fingers push up the cup of her bra, and she knows that she’s on the precipice of having Killian rile her up more when her phone rings, the loud buzz causing it to move across his coffee table.

Talk about a buzzkill.

“Ignore it,” she huffs, tugging on Killian’s bottom lip.

“Exactly my thoughts.”

Her mouth continues to explore his, his hands moving over her body, and they’re on that precipice again when her phone buzzes once more.

“Fucking hell,” Killian grumbles, falling on top of her before inching back up to give her some space. His chest is heaving, his hair completely and totally disheveled, and she’s so distracted by his hooded eyes that she can’t even bother to look to see who it is that’s calling her. “You want to get that, Swan?”

She jerks in her spot, a different kind of shiver running down her spine, and leans over to grab her phone only for the call to end. Luckily, or not so depending on how she looks at it, Ruby calls right back.

“Shit.” “Well that is certainly a way to answer the phone,” Ruby huffs, the audible sound of music playing behind her. She must be in the editing room. “Why didn’t you answer your phone the first two times that I called?”

“I was showering,” she lies, guilt piling up in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, did you go to the gym?”

“No, just hadn’t showered yet. Lazy day and all that.”

“Do you want to go to the gym with me after I get off of work?”

“Sure. What’s got you in such a hurry to be calling me three times?”

Killian raises a brow, a little bit of blue coming back to his eyes, and he pulls her legs forward to settle them between his thighs as she listens to Ruby talk. “Oh, I’m bored on my lunch break, and I couldn’t get Graham to pick up his phone. He’s still sleeping I think.”

Oh shit. She forgot about Graham. How did she forget about Graham? She was just talking about how he’s at home, but she didn’t think about what happens if he tells Ruby she’s not home when she’s telling Ruby that she is. She is going to get caught in her lies so damn easily, and it’s been a week.

A week.

She really hopes Graham is actually still asleep and she can get away with this one. Maybe he’ll think she’s locked herself away in her room to nap when he wakes up. This is something she definitely has to get better at.

Getting better at lying seems like an awful skill.

“Probably. I haven’t seen him today.”

Killian traces his nail across her ankle, all of his attention focused on a little freckle that’s there. It’s distracting, but it mostly just feels good. This has been a much better morning than she thought it would be…not that she thought it would be bad. Not at all. Her nerves simply got the best of her.

“I’ll try him again soon. Can you get to work early tomorrow? I want to go over some stuff for when you travel for the Rays series. I’m so mad at David for taking me off of a lot of our travel dates. He let me go to Texas but not California or Florida. Why does he hate me?”

“I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t want to pay for your plane ticket.”

“Oh,” Ruby gasps at the same time that Killian tugs Emma forward a bit more, making her emit a tiny yelp as her head falls against the couch, “I forgot to tell you, but David told me to tell you that when the team charters a plane, you have gotten permission to fly with them. No more weird ass times for flights so that money can be saved.”

“Are you serious?” Killian raises a brow again, obviously far too interested in her phone conversation. She doesn’t blame him. This is the conversation that interrupted their very thorough make out session. “That’s freaking incredible. I’m kind of sad I’m going to lose my miles, though.”

“You have a million saved up. You could fly to Europe and back for free. Multiple times.”

“This is true.”

“I bet Jones tries to sit next to you on the plane.”

If she were drinking water, she’d spit it out. Right now, she might as well be choking on her own saliva. “I’m sorry…what?”

“Your lover boy. He’ll probably try to sit next to you on the plane. Or any of the other guys who have crushes on you. You live the life.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t do my job for the men it surrounds me with.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Killian whisper-shouts, and she has to lean across the couch to cover his mouth with her hand.

“What was that?” Ruby asks.

“The TV.” God, she’s an awful human being for doing this. “Rubes, can I call you back later? My phone keeps going off with emails.”

More lies. If this thing works out, the first person she is telling is Ruby, and she will give her whatever she wants to make it up to her for lying to her.

“It’s probably David. He speaks in emails.”

“It’s definitely David. See you at home before we go to the gym?”

“See you at home.”

She ends the call and moves her hand off of Killian’s mouth after he lightly chomps down on her fingers. The weirdo.

“So what is this about the men who surround you at your job?”

Emma rolls her eyes and rises from the couch, adjusting her top and her hair, trying to make herself a little more put together. The heat is still simmering, but it’s deep below the surface now so that she can think of other things.

“I get to fly on the chartered plane with you guys now, and Ruby was making fun of you and your very public crush on me by saying that you’re most definitely going to try to sit next to me.”

Killian hums in response, stretching his arms behind his head and rest his head there as he lazily smiles up at her, the smugness practically radiating off of him. “Little does she know, I managed to do that already.” “Overachiever.”

“Always.” He tilts his head toward the television. “You want to delve into some more comedies or do you need to get going?”

“Comedies sound perfect.”

They lapse into easy conversation, and she realizes with every minute that passes, she becomes more and more comfortable sitting on Killian’s couch and simply spending time with him outside of work. He’s visibly relaxed, his arm slung over her shoulders and his hands playing with the tips of her hair. She doesn’t think he even really realizes it.

She could probably rattle off all of his best games, worst games, and all of those in between, hundreds of stat sheets piled up in her brain, but she realizes that she knows so little about Killian outside of baseball. Why would she? They’ve only ever had a working relationship, but little by little, she’s piecing together more and more information as he probably does the same to her.

The womanizing man splattered across tabloids and on the internet is actually a kind of nerdy man who bakes and keeps pictures of his nieces everywhere and laughs these big belly laughs at Jim Halpert and Dwight Schrute pranking each other. The womanizing thing tugs at her a little bit, curiosity and worries festering, but if she’s not willing to open up about her past right now, she can’t expect Killian to either. This is all so new, so fresh, and there’s no need to get into the heaviness of her past so that Killian gets scared away right now.

She feels good, and she wants that to last for a little bit longer while she figures things out. This whole thing is terrifying and exhilarating and makes her lose her mind a little bit all at once.

Ending up here is the last thing she ever expected.

“That was a good date,” she tells Killian when the hours have passed, and she has to leave so that she’s home before Ruby gets home.

“You want to go on another one?” he teases as he leads her from the couch to his front door, the spring sun shining through his windows.

“Why, Mr. Jones, who the hell said you could ask me out now?”

A brow rises, his lips curling into a half smile while her stomach swoops. “I figured I’d earned that right back.”

“Maybe. I think I might still take a bit more convincing.”

Killian leans into her, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear while his hands find purchase on her hips, tugging her closer. “Which method of mine would you like me to use to convince you?”

She tilts her head back, raising her brow in response to his own. “What are my options?”

“Well,” he drawls, breath hot on her ear, “I can do this.” He follows the words with a slow caress of her mouth that has her toes curling in her shoes. “Or I can feed you again.”

Emma chuckles, unable to help herself, and wraps her hands around the back of his neck, curling her fingers into his hair. It’s so soft. He probably uses some kind of fancy shampoo and conditioner. Is it weird that she’s kind of tempted to go look in his shower to see? That seems like a weird thing to do.

“Tell me more about that food thing.”

Killian pulls his head back, this vibrant smile on his face that is completely different under the warm lights of his apartment than under the bright lights in stadiums or the dimmed lights of the locker room. It’s nice. It’s more than nice.

“Well, we have pizza. We could also go the healthier option of some grilled chicken and rice.”

“Pass.”

“I’ve seen you eat both of those things.”

“Yeah, but they don’t entice me to want to go on another home date with you.”

Killian’s eyes flutter closed as his head leans forward so that she can feel his kiss against her forehead before he pulls back. “I can bake you something.”

“Now that,” she laughs, moving her hands down to press them against his chest, her fingers grazing a bit of chest hair and his chain, “is a brilliant idea. I like chocolate.”

“I don’t most of the time.”

“We’ll compromise. I also really like grilled cheese sandwiches”

“You eat like a small child. How the hell are you so in shape?”

“I’m pretty much a Gilmore Girl.”

“I’m not sure that you talk enough for that.”

A man who gets her pop culture references even if she’s pretty sure he’s never seen the show. She likes that. How many times can she think that in one day? Is that some kind of metaphorical sign or something?

“I can work on that.” Emma presses up on her toes and quickly slides her lips over Killian’s, knowing that if she lingers too long, she won’t be able to pull away and will end up staying far too long. She can’t do that. She’s not quite ready for it yet. And she has to get back to her apartment before Ruby gets home. Lying to Graham is kind of easy. Lying to her best friend, not so much. “You be thinking about what you’re going to bake for me, and I’ll consider coming back. I’ve got to go work off that pizza with Ruby.”

“Are you going running or to Pilates?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just trying to figure out what kind of outfit you’re going to be wearing.”

“Okay,” she laughs, pulling back from him and ducking around him to open his apartment door, “I’m leaving now.”

“Bye, love. See you at the stadium tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.” Killian nods his head, his hand propped up against the doorframe so that she can see the slightest bit of his stomach as she walks away to the elevator with her lips curved upward. “And yoga pants, twenty-nine.”

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #Captain Swan

87 notes · View notes