#i sink soo much more time into his paintings and yet they still end up so much worse

[onyxfaustus]

[deluluass]

misericordia

It's finally here T^T Here's to reaching 100+ followers! Thank you so much everyone!!

Content Warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; somnophilia; description of dead bodies; includes some elements of cosmic horror; dystopian-ish au; biblical references/imagery; angel! Ushijima

To name is a barren tree: fruitless and, ultimately, the workings of this kind.

  The earth will soon be without form, and void; and darkness shall remain the face of the deep. 

  The Spirit of God no longer moves in the face of the waters. 

  Names are for nothing.

  But, for any cause done here, to name is essential. As it was in the beginning, when there was still a beginning (but it has not ended yet, so the beginning shall still stay), to name had been the first task.

  So when asked for a name, the mouth was able to conjure:

  “Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the body said. 

  And as it is the way of the Created, the body became he.

  And as it is the way of the Created, proof was immediately demanded for the name. 

  And as it is the way of the Created, once found on the chest, Ushijima Wakatoshi was then welcomed. 

  You weren’t there when the world ended. 

  In fact, so, too, was your father's father. The sky had cracked open and the oceans had already split up the old lands for as long as anyone could remember. 

  Before the city became a city in truth, the people had just been strangers, seeking shelter after everything fell apart, only to be abandoned by those who’d promised protection.

  That didn't mean, however, that things got better for your lot once someone swept in and established order and peace and stability and whatever it is those at the top had to say to justify them being there. 

  If your father were to be believed, you had been sleeping in your mother’s womb, still a tiny beating heart, when the longest winter happened ("winter"; they still called it that when there had been minute differences between hot and cold).

  Supplies were short; food was scarce; so when you finally clawed your way into a world breathing its last, your mother couldn't help but bleed into the sheets until your cry outlived hers. 

  But your father barely recognized you  during his final days. That’s why when your neighbors call you a liar for saying “I was born on a Spring,” you shrug it off and think you might as well have been born on a Spring. 

  There’s no way of knowing. The story had always changed every time you asked him. 

  Sometimes he blamed you, sometimes he told you it’s not your fault. Nothing you could do about it. Spring it is, then; you told yourself. 

  Spring always looked so... different, in the drawings Granny made, anyway.

  No one here actually knows her age. Granny had always been Granny; as permanent to this place as the walls enclosing the city.

  She rarely left her quarters, that crone, and could barely stand on her own without your help. Worse, she could no longer see. What use is a blind artist, the others would laugh. 

  It’s their loss, you’d retort, mocking her like that. Because then they’d miss the way her gnarled and knobby hands would glide with unwavering purpose if you asked her to, strokes bold and not a space wasted.

  “You never learn,” she croaked once finished, jostling the wrinkled piece of paper to your lap. “Why throw away your rations for this piece of junk?”

  Granny retched, “Incurable fool.”

  At this point, she would grumble about suffering in the old pig’s (her words, not yours) kitchens for nothing, and always, without fail, you’d feel a smile break on your face. It hurt, honestly, but after an entire day of frowning over the dishes you had to wash and the floors that needed scrubbing and all the other orders yelled your way, it was worth it, anyway.

  “I know you’re laughing. My ears still work, mind you.”

  You felt your belly shake as you giggled, brushing the paper with worn fingers, staring open-mouthed at the piece before you.

  “This is amazing, Granny,” you sighed.

  “Idiot,” she repeated. “It’s the same thing as the one before. And the one before that.”

  And for good measure, Granny added, “Idiot. Not like you hadn’t seen that one.”

  When all you’d done was take her hand in yours and place a pack of food along with a thin roll of paper in her feeble grasp, Granny finally asked, “Why do you keep coming back here, girl? Asking for the same thing.”

  There wasn’t any of that surly frown now. 

  And looking at her like that, without the crabbiness that sharpens her features, that oddly makes her look younger and in control of herself, you find that you don’t have an answer this time. Arrested by the realization that her shoulders slumped lower than you’d thought. And that she’s getting thinner. 

  “Why?” you whispered back, feeling traces of charcoal stick to your palm.

  Maybe it’s because there’s no other way that she’d accept food, unless she does something in return. She kicked you out the first time you intended to give her the ration you’d earned.

  (Or maybe it's because you know what they'd do, once they find out she's no longer making trades.)

  Why, indeed. 

  Maybe it’s because you hadn’t really seen things grow before. 

  You might work at the Governor’s place, at the heart of the city and everything else that matters, but grunt workers like you are prohibited to get anywhere near the farm, let alone actually enter it. So, really, there's no other way of seeing what growth looks like.

  Maybe it’s because you can only do that when you witness her in her craft. You really don’t have anything to compare it with, but you’re sure life from soil works the same way. 

  Everything must come from something.  And that something must be quite the artist, if they're anything like Granny. 

  Birthing roots from the ground of what was once a blank piece of paper with a flick of the wrist; growing into large trunks, strong branches, then into an abundance of leaves and blossoms. 

  Trees drawn on both sides of the paper, always with a smattering of grass and flowers in the middle. She said they used to grow here, when she was just a girl. And if you begged hard enough, she’d add a stray butterfly fluttering around the corner. 

  You hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I just love seeing you, Granny,” you grinned.

  “Crock of shit.”

  “Really!” You grabbed your knapsack as you stood from your seat, folding the paper with care. “Hey, Granny, guess what? Don’t give me that face— I’ve already saved just enough and you know what that means?”

  She snorted. 

  “Listen,” you pouted. “I’ll finally be able to get those pigments! I heard they don't cost that much and if I trade next-”

  “Don’t.”

  She tilted her head and faced your way, misty eyes pinning you. "How much does paper cost you?"

  You gulped. 

  Then, with a swiftness that surprised you, she grabbed you by your tattered sleeve and gritted, “I may be the blind one here, but I think I see a lot more clearly than you do. You can sweat and bleed for those pigments, but I will never paint.”

  You felt a sting in your eyes as she continued, “I know what you’re doing. And I’d be the greater fool if I let you work yourself to the bone for some pipe dream."

  "Content yourself with coal, girl. That’s all you’re gonna get from this place. Dirt and rust and smoke. Go sneak into that damned farm. Go steal some of those fuckers’ riches. In fact, while you’re at it,” she laughed dryly. “Steal them all and run away from here. If you really want to live.”

  “Only,” she said, too soft that you had to sit back down to hear her, “Only, stop hoping, my child.”

  Her chest wheezed as she breathed, like air passing through the holes of a rundown machine. 

  You kissed the back of her hand before you left. 

  The wind howled and threatened to topple you as you walked back to your building, hard rain slapping you across the face when you picked up into a run. They didn’t descend in small drops anymore. As you get older, thunderstorms are to be expected once evening falls, lingering for weeks only to suddenly bring about an irritatingly humid day. 

  But tonight, the large cavern above that parts the dark, heavy clouds into opposite streams seem to yawn wider, closing itself lower and lower into the earth that you swore someday it’ll devour the city whole.

  Mud water in your boots, you grabbed onto your soaked coat and climbed the steps of the decaying piece of slab you call home, mindful that you won’t slip and break your skull against the thick beams, twisted metal jutting out of the corners.

  A solitary lamp flickered through the window of the room next to yours. Little Soo-jin must be having nightmares again, you thought with a frown. 

  You were about to knock on their door when the sirens blared, echoing louder across the city than the boom of lightning, followed by a grating squeal that could only be an opening gate. 

  Your knuckle froze over the chipped wood.

  The last time the alarm rang, the people were greeted by the body of a young council member, brought by a small and wounded troop who’d accompanied him outside the city. 

  Soo-jin’s mom peered through the murky window, meeting your eyes after both of you stared into the direction of the gate closest to your zone, as if seeking you for an explanation. You only gave her a shrug.

  “Someone must have died,” you said.

    “No, he’s not dead. That’s why you’re bringing food to his room, aren’t you?”

  You stared at the girl stubbornly shaking her head. 

  “I- I know, but! Didn’t you hear? They said they found him full of bullet holes and I—”

  “Even if you’re serving a rotting corpse, as long as Cook orders it, you follow.”

  It was admirable that she’s refused for this long. If it were you, you’d have been sacked the moment you opened your mouth to say no. You wiped your hand with the towel next to the sink, having finished the work assigned to you, and watched the ongoing bout in the kitchen.

  “Why can’t you just ask the others? Marga’s not doing anything!”

  “Marga,” the older woman hissed, “is with the others. Almost everyone is in the meeting room. So if you don’t take your butt up there, I’m gonna have no other choice but to tell Cook.”

  You winced. This can’t be good.

  You cleared your throat. “I can do it,” you said.

  The tray was shoved to you faster than you can drop your raised hand. You would have found it amusing, considering that you’re sure they couldn’t even recognize you, but the idea of being in the same room with a half-alive man does make you feel uneasy. 

  Not that it’s anything new for you; you nursed your father until the fever took him, after all. You just haven’t lived long enough to get used to it yet. But you steeled yourself and did your job, because it’s not as if you had any choice. 

  You prepared yourself for anything as you entered one of the many guest chambers. Bullet holes, rotting corpse, entrails held together by stitches. 

  And when you announced your presence and gripped the tray tighter so as to not spill the soup on the sprawling carpet, it’s not really surprise that caused you to stumble upon your words when you saw the man sitting on the bed.

  It’s more of an embarrassment, of sorts. 

  You must’ve entered the wrong room, you thought. You immediately checked around  to make sure no one saw you talk and almost grovel to an actual sculpture. 

  Because that’s what he was. 

  The Governor’s estate houses floors and floors of rooms that you hadn't explored yet. But there was one that, if no one would bother to keep track of the workers, you had the habit of sneaking into. 

  Thinking about what it took for this family to have all those sculptures there hurt your head, so you stopped a long time ago. You chose, instead, to just admire the marble wonders in all their beauty, always looking back down at you with majesty and pride. 

  Just as he's doing right now. 

  Chiseled torso wrapped in bandages; sharp jaw that could cut; eyes the color of olives, gazing deep.

  "That is for me."

  You snapped your head down. 

  "Huh- uh, yes? Yes!" 

  His deep voice still rumbled through you. 

  "Yes, I'm sorry," you muttered, heat rushing to your face as you placed the tray on the table next to him, inflaming when you realized he didn't mean it as a question.

  That is for me. 

  Not a question. A question means you can answer. His words brooked no other response but obedience, reminding you of your place.

  Much like those sculptures, every time  you'd spent too much time inside the room and you'd get the feeling that you're not supposed to be there, too filthy to be anywhere near what you think is the closest thing to perfection. 

  And the truth would settle on you like a heavy weight: that no amount of beauty can ever breathe warmth if it cannot live and grow. 

  The same way that despite the sunshine filtering through the floor to ceiling windows, surrounding him in blinding light as he sat on the bed, you can't shake the impression that this is the coldest this room has ever been, with him here. 

  So you anticipated his orders; a single word or maybe a glance that would tell you he wants you gone. Just either one of those and you'd run out of this room in a heartbeat. 

  But neither came. The man (you still didn't know his name) remained silent, staring at the food like they've insulted him specifically, and now he's questioning the collective audacity of the soup, bread, and bowl of fruits laid before him. 

  Maybe they don't serve those where he came from. He's from the North, after all, made evident by the small eagle etched on his chest, just above a pectoral. The last visiting Northerner you served who also bore that mark threw a rag at you (she missed) for "mixing the bathing oils incorrectly."

  You stayed in your position and asked, "Is the food not to your liking?"

  He didn't say anything, but he did shift his attention to you.

  And what a mistake that was. How does this man go about life with such a severe presence?

  "Er..is something..wrong?" you sweated, suddenly fascinated by the vases behind him. 

  Glaring back at the food, he answered with a deep "no" and breathed out. His large arms rose and fell along with it, straining the bandages around the muscles.

  Oh, right. Right.

  You perked up. "Do you need help?"

  Stepping closer to the table, you gave him a tightlipped smile and a sheepish "excuse me" before taking the spoon in your hand. 

  You scooped a thick serving of soup, your palm hanging under it, and waited.

  And waited. 

  The man looked at you the same way he looked at the bowl of fruits earlier.

  "What are you doing?" he said,  gravel-voiced. 

  You're gonna lose this job.

  Why did you think you could feed him like he's an ailing, decrepit old man? Or a literal child? He's built like he commands an army (and he probably does).

  You are definitely gonna lose this job.

  "I- I'm sorry!" 

  You jerked away, your hip hitting the table, the impact shaking it and causing the plates and silverware to clatter against each other.

  "O-oh no, I'm-" The spoon in your hand fell as you attempted to set things properly, soup spilling to the carpet along with the utensils.

  You're gonna lose this job and you're gonna starve to death.

  "I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!" 

  Dropping to your knee like your life depended on it, you picked up the myriad of similar looking spoons and forks and placed them back on the tray. 

  You kept your head downwards, bowing as you'd been repeatedly taught, and shut your eyes tightly. 

  "I thought that you hadn't healed yet and needed help and- and-" you huffed.

  "And I thought that I should feed you but- no-no!" You looked at him and flailed your hands in front of you. "No! I didn't mean feed- I meant- I meant no disrespect please forgive me!"

  Not a word was spoken in that second that spanned an entire year. But just as you'd accepted that the worst has come, he said:

  "Then, feed me."

  Wait.

  Wait, what?

  "I don't.. understand..?"

  "Then, feed me," was what he told you. And so matter-of-factly, at that. 

  So you did, desperate to keep the only thing keeping you alive. 

  Though your hand trembled and you wished to be anywhere but here— even the wasteland waiting outside the gates, with all its unimaginable threats, seemed like paradise —you took a loaf of bread from the basket and brought it closer to his mouth.

  Lines marred his forehead as he chewed. You were about to ask, self-destructive that you are, whether you should get the sweetened roll instead, thinking he found the one in your hand too bland. But you don't have the luxury to risk digging your grave any deeper. 

  You kept quiet and pointedly removed him from your line of sight, choosing to count the tassels hanging off the canopy instead.

  Once he's eaten all that's left of the pastries, you dipped your hand into the bowl of fruits and took a grape in-between your fingers and, as much as you can, you steadied your hand to avoid touching his lips.

  It didn't work. 

  You shuddered at the contact, curling your toes in your boots to avoid squirming. 

  This has got to be the weirdest day of your entire life.

  Not a hint of unease was shown. He continued to close his plump lips around the tip of your fingers and crushed the fruits with pointed canines, making the hair on your body stand on end. What if he bites you? Would you bleed?

  The man seemed to like them more than bread. A sense of urgency rose within you as he went through the berries and sliced mangoes like this is the first time he's had them.

  Can't say you blame him. The last time you ate something that resembled a fruit, a real fruit, was when Granny persuaded (coerced) a young boy in her complex to steal one from his employer. That boy has a child of his own now. 

  You felt your mouth water, your stomach growl and command that you take the bowl from him and shovel its contents to your mouth, as you watched him devour the sweet and tangy meat, the smell of it sickening as it is strangely compelling.

  He raised his head and met your eyes.

  Shit. 

  The apples, you thought as you looked back down to the tray. They're the only ones left soaking in the bowl, those apples. After this you'd be out of this stuffy room and you'd laugh about this later with Soo-jin and her mom and Granny too if she's not cranky.

  You could still feel him staring at you as you fed him a slice, the apple crisp when he took a bite. 

  Juice trickled down your hand, the sticky extract tickling your arm as it slid to the crook of your elbow, and you were about to wipe it with your other hand, when you felt a wet tongue probe the gap between your fingers.

  You gasped. "Sir..!" 

  You stepped away. Tried to, anyway, but with a firm hand, a hand that's not injured, after all, he gripped your wrist and continued to suck a digit. 

  "This is- sir!" struggling out of his hold, you pleaded with him to let go, please sir let me go, even as he only looked at you, his eyes dimming when he grabbed your waist to bring you closer. 

  He licked your hand, lapping at the trail the juice left behind, and when you thought he would release you, he took your hand to pluck another slice from the bowl. 

  Your legs gave up beneath you, forcing you to sit on his stretched lap, his hard body scorching you through the sheets, as he ate the apple from your palm, slurping the leftovers dripping from it. 

  "Don't cry," Granny told you once.

  "Especially when you feel like crying," she said. "Don't cry."

  You'd never really been good at listening, but now, you decided to suck in your breath and keep those tears at bay. You can cry and laugh about all this later.

  Because you might be jobless after this, but you will certainly have a damn good story to tell over the fire once you finished kneeing him in the nuts.

  So: one.

  Breathe.

  His teeth scraped your soaked hand.

  Two.

  You rested your hand on his shoulder.

  Three.

  You braced your leg, moving it between his thick thighs, and then, as you clutched his bandages, you—

  "Ushijima-sama."

  The door swung open.

  "Pardon the intrusion, but the Council members requested-”

  It was Secretary Hara.

  “Oh."

  Secretary Hara: a lanky, dark haired man with glasses who's always at the Governor's beck and call. He was here, carrying a small stack of papers, and gaping at the scene before him.

  You and the esteemed guest. Who's still suckling at your skin. On the bed. 

  He grinned, full of humor and disgusting. “Well,” he said. 

  At least you weren't crying.

  A question, shared only by the Heavens, began when the Lord fashioned the flesh out of the dust of the ground and said,"You are made in My image and likeness."

  It was not their way, before that: to question. (One of them did, once, but that is a different story). 

  They have no need for questions.

  They hold the highest seat, below only to the Creator, unencumbered by the trappings of the earth.

  They have no need for questions.

  So it remained unasked, lingering in fragments in the House of the Lord.

  The question comes to him now.

  For the flesh is a cage. It is ephemeral and prone to decay.

  It is fitting for this kind to have it, with all their qualities bound to the material world.

  You are the very epitome of these.

  Graceless. Stumbling like a newborn foal. Too many apologies. Too many questions.

  God is not here, he thinks as you insist on asking what does not matter.

  “Is the food not to your liking?” and “Is something wrong?” and “Do you need help?”

  Indecisive, too. Reneging on your promises. You said you’d feed him and then you said you wouldn’t.

  Ushijima Wakatoshi is a mere flesh, locking inside divinity your kind would never understand. Yet he felt its tedious demands gnaw at him when he saw you. Something so impermanent should have no right for constant sustenance. 

  But he knows, just for this time, that he needs it. That’s why he tells you to feed him, as you said you would. After all, it is your way to serve. And, for all your many inadequacies, God has granted you bread and water and fruit to sate your appetites. 

  Thus, for as long as he is flesh, he will do as it tells him to. 

  When it urged for the taste of fruit, for the cloying sweetness of its juice, it is only right that he heeded its call and had his fill. 

  How dare you object. His light is brighter than yours; God has granted it so (and yet you were given the will that they never had). And even in flesh you are beneath him. You are easily held and defeated.

  The ache in his belly did not cease, each gulp he took heightening his senses, shouting for more, more, more as he took you with his tongue. And he realizes that this is what the first of your kind may have felt like when they disobeyed. The first act of betrayal.

  (For what is the wrath of God to the cries of the flesh?)

  And with that, Ushijima Wakatoshi finds, since donning this useless flesh, that it is not at all easy to gratify. 

  Not in the least.

    There are so many rules in this mansion that even Cook’s effort to batter them on your head could sometimes be futile, given that their number is just as big as this place. But, there is one, among all the convoluted and at times nonsensical decrees, that you are not allowed to forget: 

  Unless you’re among the core staff, you can never enter the East Wing. 

  The East Wing is where all the important things happen, see. It goes without saying that someone as lowly as you cannot pollute that hallowed ground.

  Today seems to be an exception.

  When Cook barked that Secretary Hara wanted you in the East Wing first thing in the morning, you had a feeling that you just might not live to see the next day.

  You didn't speak unless spoken to. You didn't look unless told to. The things you should've done much earlier.

  "How are you liking the work here so far?" 

  Secretary Hara pushed the pen to the side and leaned back against the leather swivel chair. 

  "It's a job," you mumbled, to which he only replied with a breathless chuckle. You didn't see the point in bootlicking any further. Besides, Granny hated that the most; so you avoided doing it as much as you can.

  There's only one conclusion for you here, anyway. No matter how severe the punishment. And it's back in your room, with a uniform that needs sewing for a job that you no longer have.

  He tapped his fingers against the lacquered table. "You're right," he said. "Work is work. Despite your place in this society."

  You wanted to roll your eyes. Secretary Hara has never been any of the workers' favorites (not that any of you had your "favorites," but if you could, you avoided this guy). He had this astonishing effect, too, in which he can actually bring people together. All because everyone hated him.

  He's a slimeball, is what he is. If one needed lessons in kissing ass, he was your man. 

  "Do you know why you're here?"

  You're getting fired. End of story. Now can I please just go? is what you want to say. But losing your job doesn't usually take this much time and attention. Normally, it was Cook who'd grunt "You're out" and that was it.

  So you shake your head.

  "I'm promoting you," he said. "Congratulations."

  Somewhere, beneath that condescending smile of his, is a punchline that you're sure he's deliberately keeping from you. Just so he can be the only one who gets to laugh.

  "I-" You balled your hand to a fist. "Why?"

  He scoffed. "What are they teaching you in that rathole? Honestly."

  They taught me not to be rude to people I don't know, you little bitch.

  "Drop the coy act, it's okay," he sneered. "It's cheap and it won't work on me."

  Oh, now you really want to get fired. If only to kick his teeth in. "That man," Secretary Hara continued. "Ushijima Wakatoshi. You were all over him and you seriously don't know who he is?"

  You gritted. "Secretary Hara, what happened- it wasn't- I didn't want it."

  But he only gave you that look. As if to say, "Sure. Let's go with that." When it'd pass and the need to pummel him became stronger, he stood up and stepped towards the tapestry draped against the wall.

  It was a map, the city a pinprick on the corner. Secretary Hara faced it, dusting the spotless surface, his back to you.

  "Ever wonder what keeps us here?" he started, hand still on the map. "This city of ours?"

  "The," you licked your lips. Where was he going with this? "The river..?"

  Secretary Hara clapped his hands, his voice lilting like he's talking to a toddler as he said, "That's right. That's good. Excellent."

  "So you do know some things, after all." His fingers crawled towards the long line of blue stitched beside the city. "And do you wonder what would happen if, say, that river begins to dry?"

  You felt your eyes widen. You covered your mouth with a palm. 

  You're not supposed to know this. Why is he telling you this?

  He scratched the thick clump of blue thread and continued, "These great cities. They have their energy; their military." 

  Your eyes followed his hand, moving farther and farther away from the pallid brown surrounding your city, towards the bright yellow West, stopping at the bright green East. "Some of them are blessed enough to not be surrounded by a literal desert."

  Then, with a careful hand, he moved to the very top and said, "And the North…the North has it all."

  The North was a sprawling, intricate web of threads, eating away the entire tapestry. 

  "The Ushijima clan rules the North. Much longer than this city has existed. And they’re so engrossed in their wars that they’d never glance our way if we don't give them at least half of what we make,” he spat. “These great people haven’t had contact with us in years."

  Secretary Hara finally turned around, grin still in place. "But now one of them owes his life to us." He walked back to his desk, sitting on its edge. "Perhaps the heavens sent him here."

  When you remained silent and looked at him with eyes that you wished had the ability to kill, because you know now what they wanted from you, Secretary Hara only shrugged.

  "He asked for your name, actually," he said, tilting his head. "Lucky you. He didn't bother to learn ours."

  You stood your ground. "No, sir," you said. "I won't."

  He pulled a thin piece of paper from a pile sitting next to him. "You're not gonna do much," he said as he began to read. "Just show him around the city. Be his friend."

  Friend. 

  "But I- No. I can't." You stepped forward. "Please." 

  He looked away from the paper. "Zone 42. Room 0312."

  "What.."

  "Granny," he said. "That's what you call her, isn't it?"

  No.

  "They say that for a blind old lady she's still somehow miraculously trading to keep a roof over her head."

  Phantom touches crept to your arm, slick and nauseating like cold sweat.

  "You must take it from her. Though you're not related," he said.  "Apparently, you're so hardworking, you even work the night shift. When you don't have to."

  You released a shaky breath. "I'll..I'll start," you croaked. "I'll start right away, sir." 

  Secretary Hara folded his arms, victory plastered all over his gaunt face.

  "Thank you," he chimed. "I'm glad you understand. It's for your own good too, y'know." 

  The uniform they gave you chafed against your skin. Tugging at the sleeves did not help, the pristine fabric too coarse and stiff to budge. Your only comfort was the folded paper hidden in your pocket, fading at the edges every time you touched it.

  You have to admit, however, that you did look...well, you did look clean. Not as much as him, though. And not just in the sense that he's out of the bandages now. Last you checked, and that had been a few minutes ago, he was still sporting a couple of scars on his forehead.

  Despite that, you don't have to look behind you to know what's captured the people's attention as you strolled the capital. Or, who, to be exact.

  Some were outright ogling; some happened to glance once and then immediately looked away with a blush; some made the laudable effort to not look. 

  A mirror of what you're doing right now. 

  They gilded him with gold, which is a redundancy if you ever see one. He was wearing the most expensive pigment, something that only the Governor's family could own: a deep violet tunic emblazoned with golden vines, swirling from the middle to the collar; paired with dress pants that you could probably trade for a whole month's worth of food. 

  You kept your distance as you walked in front of him. "Just show him around the city," was what Secretary Hara told you. That didn't mean you had to talk.

  And it's not as if he had any complaints, either. He followed you through the rows of glass houses that adorned Governor's lane, not a word spoken about the sights. 

  Even when you'd attempted to speed through the dizzying streets, he kept his pace, long legs allowing him to stride close to you. By time you'd reached the plaza, you were already out of breath and in need of rest. 

  But you didn’t. 

  You remained standing a few feet away from him, the paper in your hand opened to reveal those great trees and thriving field, as he sat under the gazebo overlooking the square; a place reserved only for council members. 

  The smell of the sweetmeats and oranges in front of him reached your nose (Secretary Hara has a cruel sense of humor, you belatedly realized, when you were handed a bag of food that had a note saying “treat him well”). You fought the itch to cast out what little you’ve had for breakfast.

  Children were playing around the sandbox, the staff of whatever family they belonged to guarding them. In a way, their job wasn’t that different from what you have now. 

  Except, it’s not a child you were threatened to accompany. With the feeling of his gaze burning your nape, it seems like you’re not the one doing the guarding as well. 

  And you didn’t feel every bit like the adult you are when he called your name.

  You felt frighteningly small, as you yielded with a pathetic, “Ushijima-sama.”

  He only looked at you. Those green eyes telling you exactly what he wanted. 

  People are watching. You can’t mess this up.

  “Sir,” you said, hand still in your pocket, that frayed paper your anchor. “It is improper.”

  Irritation swept through him, his sharp features harsher when dissatisfied. But you can’t give up, even though it’s sending a chill down your spine and he seems like he’s about to throttle in broad daylight. (And he doesn’t have to do much, you know. He can crush you with one hand.)

  “Why- why are you here?” you hissed. “R-really?”

  You don’t shut your trap when you have to, girl. That’s your problem.

  “Because- because I’m not gonna be your..thing.” The paper was dampening in your grip. “While you do whatever it is you do, Ushijima,” you huffed. “...sama”

  Ushijima did not blink, his stare unwavering as he turned towards the small crowd strolling below. There’s a part of you that wishes to put yourself in his place, like a king on his throne. What does the view look like from up there? Are the people beneath just multicolored ants moving from afar? 

  “A few of my kind have suddenly sided with yours,” he said. Then, briefly returning his gaze to you, “I had to see what draws them here.” 

  He linked his fingers together. “Before I do what must be done.”

  You stifled a chortle. “Do what must be done” your ass. Does that include harassing people, too? “God only knows,” you whispered.

  “You believe in God.”

  You were the subject of his relentless attention again. You groaned, averting your eyes to a small girl, probably around Soo-jin’s age, who plopped down to create a heap of sand, much to the consternation of her nanny. 

  “No,” you replied in a thin voice. 

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Where is this question coming from? “Always seemed like a lot of work,” you said. 

  The little girl was making a castle. It’s apparent to you now that she has little pail by her side, shovel in her grubby hand. The frill of her dress caught most of the sand as she stacked them atop each other.

  “And I’m pretty sure God has more fun things to do than worry about me,” you added, just because.

  The castle reached her knees when the girl stood up. 

  "God has left," Ushijima said. "A long time ago."

  And then she kicked it. The thing crumbled to a mound, the breeze scattering it back to the sand. 

  You did chuckle this time. The Northerners sure are strange. "Really? Where’d God go?" you hummed, looking up to the sky.

  The sun was blanketed by waves of clouds, as usual. "Somewhere nicer, I hope," you sighed. 

  You closed your eyes and thought of that nicer place. It would have to be far, far away from here. Maybe it would even have those trees that Granny loved.

  "Cherry trees."

  You opened your eyes and gawked at him. 

  He was still gazing at you. 

  "You are attached to it," he told you, like it's nothing; like your heart's not wreaking havoc against your ribs with each word he utters. "On that paper."

  Pulling it out of your pocket, you stumbled to him and unfolded it for him to see. "You-  you know what this is? A 'cherry tree.' That’s what you call it?"

  "Yes." Ushijima's eyes did not leave yours. "That is the name you people have bestowed upon them."

  "Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"

  You didn't let him answer that because, just like the fool that Granny accused you to be, you took his hand in your trembling one and laughed, somehow managing to drag him out of the gazebo.

  It took a while before you finally let go.

  Much has changed along the way, he felt this as the air grew hotter; the sound of bustling people louder and less constrained with inutile mortal etiquette. You seemed less wary of him here. 

  The hand that held his tightly was still brushing against him, as you talked incessantly about the pieces of paper plastered across the wall. They all looked the same, yellowed and infested with mold at the edges, but you insisted otherwise.

  “See here?” You pointed to the one on the bottom. “Granny drew the leaves differently. They look like flowers don’t they? They are, aren’t they? I knew it! So they are flowers.” 

  There was a cot in the corner of the room. He sees you there in slumber, surrounded by rocks and scraps of metal and bits of gemstones held together by strings, each strand hanging on the crevices of the roof, gleaming every time they move. 

  You tapped his arm repeatedly. “Oh, oh. I put these two beside each other. Notice that the shades are different? This one is lighter while this one has more shadows to it.”

  "Do you get it now?" you asked him, expectant. 

  Humans are baffling creatures, Wakatoshi thought. Because when he said nothing, you only laughed (you seem to like doing that) and told him to “follow me; hurry.” You didn’t hold his hand this time (you should’ve, he preferred it when you did).

  “My bad. I hadn’t shown you yet,” you huffed as you grabbed a rag and set aside buckets of rainwater that obstructed his path. 

  Behind a curtain of sackcloth and ashes, draped at the furthest side of the wall, was a crack big enough to let a person through, corroding steel bars protruding along the broken concrete. 

  Wakatoshi ducked to enter the room next to yours. It was hollow, save for bits of gravel and a window obscured by dust. You paced to it then wiped the thick glass with the rag you brought with you.

  “That hill is always there in Granny’s drawings,” you said, taking the paper in your pocket and setting it parallel to the scene revealed by the window. 

  Your smile was wide, as if you were admiring a land lush with vegetation, or wildflowers at least. When it was far from that. It was a vast desolation, beyond the gates and the brown earth fractured. But, just as you said, there is a solitary hill sitting along the horizon.

  “Those trees- cherry trees,” you started, face radiating with mirth. “It’s the same but.. different each time.” Your breathless laugh makes him feel just as winded. “How is that even possible?”

  “I know they can’t be just...green.” A finger traced the outline of the leaves. “Because these are real and they actually grow and- and they change.” And, as if it’s a secret, “Unlike the ones at the capital.”.

  “If only Granny would paint them for me,” you whispered, the smile on those lips waning. 

  Wakatoshi couldn’t stand it. So, he grunted, “You are wrong. This one is green.”

  He took the paper from your hand. “They only change colors once they bloom. White, first. Then, pink.” 

  This knowledge is trivial; if it can be considered knowledge at all. It is a speck in the infinite matters that simply exist— have existed, in this world. Yet such a thing has put that look in your eyes. 

  Perhaps it is not inconsequential at all.

  “Pink?” you breathed, grinning incredulously at him. 

  You turned away and closed your eyes, your voice cracking as you murmured, “I see.”

  There's a blood pumping organ within his chest. A vital piece that keeps you humans alive. It beats constantly, never ceasing. If it does then it means you are dead. He is flesh, for now; it follows that if it halts, then he is fodder for the earth.

  How is it, then, that he is still here? He’s sure he felt it stop, the air knocked out of his lungs, as you looked back at him, eyes welling with tears when you said, “Thank you.”

  Thank you, you told him, smiling.

  Ah. 

  Wakatoshi gets it now.

  This is what God must have seen, when your kind looked up and sang, “I love you, my God; I love you; I love you.” And when you knelt and dared to turn those eyes for others that are not God, he suddenly understands why they were ordered to rain fire and brimstone upon your great kingdoms. 

  Because he, too, would smite anything, burn it to the ground and salt what is left, if it would so much as receive a whit of your sweet, soft words. 

  “They used to grow here,” you sniveled. “Granny said so.”

  “And I thought, maybe if Granny added a bit more color- maybe they'd feel more…I don't know..real..?” Laughter rings in his ears once again, pealing like bells. “Yeah..They'd feel more real...Though, she did get mad at me,” you winced.

  “I just thought,” you sighed, your shoulders touching him. “Wouldn't it be nice if I can wake up one day and find them growing again? Right here.”

  God created a garden for your kind once. It is gone now, but Wakatoshi wonders what you’d say, how you’d look at him, if he shows it to you. Your head against the grass, fingers laced with the lilies of the field, the taste of fruit on your lips, your thighs dripping with honey and dew—

  Wakatoshi felt his loins stir, but he didn't say anything, except, “The soil here is poisoned.”

  You snapped towards him, brows drawn together. “I know,” you said.

  “A sapling cannot grow on this wasteland.” 

  “Yes, I’m not stupid.”

  “That could have been any hill.”

  “I know.”

  His throat is parched; his hands a pair of useless things. He can hold galaxies in them, sink ships and level seas by the order of God had this body not trapped him. (He can free himself, but then you’d die). Now he doesn’t even know what to do with them as he rushes out a hoarse, “I have upset you.”

  He refused to let you take the paper from him. You didn’t seem to mind.

  “No,” you sighed. “No, of course not. Forgive me, Ushijima-sama.”

  You bowed again. An act of servitude.

  “Please, let me escort you back to the capital.”

  He does not understand. He only told you the truth. 

  But you turned your back to him and the light in your eyes has gone and he wants to chase it back the same way he wanted to run after God when the parting happened, leaving the Heavens mourning until their wails split the firmament open. 

  Wakatoshi yearns to have you closer. He yearns for that smile and laughter back on your face. 

  Wakatoshi yearns. 

  But, that cannot be. 

  After all, that is just much too human, is it not?

    The rain drenched Wakatoshi to the bone, droplets falling from his lashes to his cheeks, when he walked through the nighttime storm.

  He didn't bother to dry himself. 

  After he'd reached your room and shoved the door open, the clap of thunder covering the noise, Wakatoshi decided to undress himself, shedding all articles of clothing until he was naked as the day God created your kind.

  Wakatoshi felt the chill bite his skin. But that had nothing on the way you easily dismissed him earlier, by the time you'd reached the abode of this city's leader. 

  You left him and he could no longer see your face and yet that fierce longing in his chest stayed, creeping to every part of him, making a home in his belly.

  Until he recognized the feeling for what it was.

  Hunger. 

  Hunger, he could fathom. And when one feels it gnaw at one's flesh, what does one do, but eat?

  You were sleeping on the cot, just as he'd imagined you to be. It's enough to keep him warm: the sight of you, at peace under the glimmer of the trinkets dancing above as a lamp burned lowly. 

  The mattress sank under his weight when he sat next to you. His much larger hand took yours, locking your fingers together to rest his cheek against it, bringing it beneath his nose, and feeling his heart race as he breathed in your scent. 

  He remembers the first time he did this so vividly. You tasted like apples and sin; and though there's none of that now, his mouth still waters as he savors your skin, his tongue traveling to your arm, just as he did then, leaving bites along the way.

  You barely stirred when he lifted your shirt to reveal your tits, the sheen of sweat along the valley forcing a growl out of him.

  Do you feel it, too? When you drag him further down to earth, debasing him and bringing him so low that now he is nothing but a hungry flesh and a mouth made of obscenities. 

  "Fuck," he grunts, as he took his cock, heavy and hard to touch, and rubbed the head with his fingers.

  Perhaps he is lower than human now. Perhaps it does not matter. What is God to this hunger, anyway?

  (This hunger is bigger than God.)

  The cot was pitifully small as he straddled over your chest, breathing still shallow, and spat on his hand before wrapping it around the thick shaft. The tip of his cock touched your nipple as he fondled with the other one, thumb and forefinger pinching and pulling until you let out a tiny mewl.

  Hearing it had him falling to his knees. 

  Wakatoshi moved off the cot to kneel on the floor, the better to suckle on your tits, to lick and nibble on the skin below it, on your stomach, until he's seeing red and ripping your loose pants down to your thighs.

  He pumped his cock harder as he caressed the folds of your cunt. You groaned, arching your back and offering yourself to his mouth, when he started to lap on your clit, sticky liquid coating the swollen bud as he swirled his tongue to  spread the juices dripping from your hole.

  Your entire body was singing for him, even when all you'd managed were squirms and muted whimpers. He felt your skin twitch beneath his lips, as he cupped his balls and drove his hand faster around his throbbing cock, gripping his fist tighter.  

  Oh, he sees you on that garden, clinging onto him as he drives himself into you, pounding your cunt as you beg please, just as you did before, please, please, fuck me harder I am yours I am all yours.

  But, for now, he settles himself with the violent shudders of your body, flooding his mouth with cream, as he releases his seed on his palm. 

  Wakatoshi rubbed it against your leaking cunt, quivering still in his hand. 

  There is something that must be finished, first, before he takes you, in truth. He cannot have you conscious (for now.)

  He covered you back in your clothes, after. Then, Wakatoshi lingered on your face.

  "Fearfully and wonderfully made," he whispered, a mere guttural sound amidst the rain pouring outside. 

  Here lies salvation, he thought, as his fingers brushed your closed eyes. 

  And here, Wakatoshi thought as he brought his lips down to kiss you, here lies damnation. 

  He wiped his blood on the doorposts and lintel before he left.

    You woke up to silence.

  Your nether regions ached and, really, the temptation to not go to work today was insanely strong. But the sun was already bleeding through the window and there's a heavy feeling on your chest.

  And like wearing a shirt on backwards, you immediately knew that something was not right. 

  The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the building as you ran outside. 

  There was nothing. 

  Not the sound of people going about their day nor of children risking the wrath of their mothers with their games. The only thing you could hear was the buzzing noise of a fly circling around your ear.

  You didn't bother knocking on your neighbor's room, rushing inside to shout for Soo-jin and her mom, stopping only when you found them sitting around a small table.

  They didn't turn around to greet you.

  "There you are," you panted, putting your hands on your knees. "I'm so sorry for barging in like this."

  Even little Soo-jin, who never failed to jump into your arms given the opportunity, kept her back to you.  

  You stepped towards her. "Soo-jin," you whispered, placing a hand on her thin shoulder. 

  "Soo-jin, hey," you chuckled, your trembling fingers shaking her bit. "H-hey, what's wrong?"

  Her head nodded down, like a doll grabbed all too suddenly, then it lolled to the side, rolling until she bared her neck, until you saw her face.

  Her mouth hung open. 

  Inside the cavern were tiny black lumps that took you a second to realize were flies feasting on her molars. And when you lurched and sank to the floor, it was only then that you saw her staring back at you.

  Bleached eyes, wide and whitened to the core and pupils like spoiled milk. 

  "N-no." Your vision was cloudy, freezing dread settling at the pit of your stomach when you saw that the same happened to her mother. "Who- who did this?"

  Your voice strained out as you stood, mind moving faster than your legs.

  Granny. Go to Granny. 

  Though you already know, don't you? You don't have to see her to know her fate. Because as you sprinted out of the room, leaping down across the steps, out of the building and into sand and concrete, the smell of sulfur followed you, choking you along with the sight of bodies sprawled on the ground.

  Insects creeping out of nostrils and every other orifice, faces that you'll never have the chance of knowing and faces that you'd grown up with, hands reaching to the heaven as if at prayer.

  You are alone. You are alone in a city filled with rotting corpses. 

  There was an uncontrolled animal inside your body, fighting out of its cage in a fit of rage as you craned to look up, further up.

  The sky was on fire, the fissure in the middle gaping wider and wider and sucking in a mass of swirling clouds dipped with blood and orange.

  And there. There, look. Standing atop the towering walls.

  Beyond the heat wave was a figure, burning bright that you had to squint and you wanted to look away, you had to look away, but you can't go out like this, not without a scream and a curse at your lips.

  What did you do, you were shouting, Who are you, you were screeching, feeling the veins in your neck stretch and pop as you walked closer and closer. 

  Wings as far as the eye could see stood atop the fallen city.

  Spread out to span the horizon and folded at the middle to conceal whatever it is pointing a flaming sword towards the sun. 

  You tasted iron at the back of your mouth, but you did not stop. The earth beneath you swallowed your feet as it turned to mud with each step you took.

  And with the flap of its wings, the sound of metal banging against each other reverberated louder.

  There were children howling in pain, somewhere, behind you, in front of you, beside you. You staggered forward and for the life of you, you do not understand why you keep trying, because the ground below wasn't even soil anymore.

  It took another step before you fell.

  And it was like one of those dreams. 

  But this time you don't wake up. 

  You bawled out and thrashed your legs as water rose above you, slamming against your chest and filling up your mouth and burning your nose until it's all you could see, until you're floating in darkness and water is rushing to your lungs and you were flailing upwards, catching that spot of sunlight, but the more you kicked your feet and swung your arms, the more it tugged at your heavy legs and the less you could breathe and the further it got—  

You were sinking, the clanging of a giant bell everywhere still, as the water pulled you down, and in the deep, below the nothingness, was a massive cleft illuminated by the barest of light, slowly opening to reveal an eye, and no sound came out though you know, though you felt your throat release a shriek, horrifyingly small, so, so small compared to that glass green pupil that illuminated the darkness, rapidly contracting and dilating and then blinking as  salt and fire streamed deep in your skin, but they were looking at you from all sides, a thousand eyes flanking you and judging the weight of your soul with their unforgiving gaze as you tossed and turned in the waters. 

  I am going to die here, you thought. I will die here, you cried.

  But something was pulling at your waist and despite clawing and jabbing at it, desperate to keep it away from you as you wailed get off me get off me, it gripped you tight, hauling you upwards until you were gulping and breathing in cold air.

Through tears and the piercing cry that ripped out your throat, you felt strong, warm arms cradle you close.

  Along with a deep voice, familiar and conjuring a long lost memory. 

It lulled you into hiccups and dry sobs, gentle as it whispered. 

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid.”

[haikyuu-appreciation-club]

•You’ll Always Find Your Way Back Home•

Oikawa x Reader

warnings: mentions of heartbreak

genre: comfort/fluff

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is hot garbage buuuut i needed to finish writing something or i was going to lose my mind sooo i apologize in advance :) alsoo this isn’t proofread soo i apologize for any mistakes

As you sat on the old metal swing, your tiny legs dangled in the air in the attempts to get some movement ,

“Hey Tooru, come push me on the swing!”

Oikawa sighed, stopping what he was doing to peer over his shoulder and glance at your struggling form,

“Y/N, can you push yourself please? i’m kinda busy.”

A pout formed on your face as you kicked your legs faster in frustration, whines leaving your lips at yet another failed attempt to propel yourself forwards,

“But Tooru, I always go so much higher when you push me.”

Oikawa continued to pat at the damp dirt with a shovel, trying his best to get you off his case so he could finish the task at hand,

“Why dont you ask Iwa-chan?”

Looking from the back of the boys head, your gaze wandered towards the lake where a certain spiky haired boy stood with his pant legs rolled up, skimming the water for creatures,

“But he went to go look for stick bugs over by the pond and that’s so far away.”

Oikawa should have guessed that his best friend would’ve wondered off in search of something so gross. Searching for bugs was his favorite thing to do at the park after all,

“I’ll push you later i promise, i have to finish this dirt castle first.”

You let out a huff and stuck your tounge out at him, pulling at the lower lid of your eye as you did so,

“Fine, you big meanie.”

Usually Oikawa and Iwaizumi would take turns pushing you in a contest to see who could get you higher. It wasn’t usually a request that bothered him, but he had been trying to build this stupid castle ever since the three of you arrived at the park and he didn’t have time to get interrupted by your pleas.

Despite his refusal, soon enough the squeaking sounds of the swing filled the air as you found a way to move yourself on your own. A smile came to Oikawa’s face as he peered back to watch you fly back and forth through the air, a grin evident on your face. He knew you could do it, you were just lazy when it came to things like that. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel that he was a bit harsh. You were just asking a favor after all, and he knew if he asked you to push him on the swing, you would comply without a complaint.

After a bit of pondering, he figured the dirt castle could wait. He’d have much more fun spending time with you and besides, Iwaizumi wouldnt let him hear the end of it if he let you play all by yourself. However, before he even made a move to get up from his current position, the jolt of the metal chains and a scream met his ears.

Snapping his head towards the direction of the noise, he watched as your tiny body was thrown to the ground a few feet away from where you sat prior. You had swung yourself so high that it had caused you to be ejected from the tiny swing. Sobs began to wrack your body as your brain caught up with your body and finally processed what had happened, letting the pain sink in.

Oikawa frantically rushed over and knealed by your side, trying to calm you down with soft hushes. His eyes scanned over your body, watching as blood began to trickle out of the tiny cuts on your arms and legs. Bruises began to form as you lied on the cool cement, still choking on sobs,

“Tooru, It hurts really bad.”

The way the syllables of your sentence were filled with sharp breaths caused fear to ripple through Oikawa. If he would’ve taken control and pushed you instead, you wouldn’t have gone as high as you did and gotten hurt. This was all his fault, so the least he could do was figure out a way to help you,

“I know, I know. Everything is gonna be okay, i’ll go get Iwa-chan!”

Your eyes widened at his statement, the last thing you wanted was for oikawa to go away, even for a second,

“No Tooru, don’t leave me alone, i’m scared.”

Oikawa watched as you looked at him with pleading eyes, but he didn’t know what else to do. He was just a little kid and with there being no adults around, the only thing he could think of was to go grab his best friend.

Oikawa gave you an apologetic glace before running towards the lake, leaving you all alone.

~~~

As he stood in the doorway of your bedroom, the way your body shook with sobs reminded him of that day. In fact, he hadn’t seen you cry this hard since and It broke his heart. Especially since the cause of your current pain wasn’t physical like it had been back then,

“Y/N?”

Your eyes widened at the sound of his voice, not expecting him to come seek you out.

Ever since your draining breakup, you didnt have the energy to even get out of bed, let alone answer your messages so it wasn’t unusual for people to worry. However, at that point you never even considered the fact that someone would go out of their way to come check up on you, but you should’ve expected a visit from oikawa with how close the two of you were. Hell, you knew better then anyone that he’d come running with a change in emotion over text so ghosting him for days on end was definitely a guarantee of his arrival.

Normally you would swipe at your tears and plaster a strained smile on your face but right now, you just wanted to cry. You didn’t have the energy to sit there and paint a pretty picture, you were heartbroken and there was no point in hiding it.

As you turned to peer at the figure in your doorway, your body began to move on it’s own. You maneuvered yourself out of the covers and begun to walk towards oikawa,

“Hey, are you oka-”

Before he could finish his sentence you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face into his chest. He immediately returned the hug, carefully running his fingers through your your hair.

Unbeknownst to you, Oikawa knew all about your breakup. You didn’t tell him or anyone for that matter, but the combination of you going mia and your prick of an ex posting up close and personal with a new person every other day was enough clues for him. He was furious to say the very least but you were his top priority at the moment. As you shook in his arms, he held you tight, silently letting you know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

He never did forgive himself after that day at the park. Even though it happened so long ago, he never forgot how hurt you look after he abandoned you on that playground. Any other person would’ve forgotten about it, deeming it a silly grudge between children. However, ever since that day, he promised himself he’d never leave you in your time of need again.

You bawled for what seemed like hours, until your cries turned into whimpers. Oikawa’s shirt had been dampened from your tears and his legs had grown close to numbness from how long he’d been standing, but he couldn’t care less. Once he felt your breath slow to its normal rate, he gently pulled you away from his embrace. Your eyes were red and puffy, cheeks stained with countless tears, but you still looked so lovely to him. He brought a hand up to cup your cheek as he shot you a warm smile,

“There you are,” he brushed away at a stray tear that fell down your face before continuing, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head. There was no way you could possibly explain the pain you’d been put through without breaking down all over again, and that would be putting your best friend through more than you already had.

Oikawa didn’t push you any further, instead gently intertwining his fingers with yours and tugging you back towards your bed. You were confused at first, until he lightly pushed you down onto the bed. As soon as he did you felt the exhaustion from your breakdown wash over you, causing you to subconsciously curl into the covers below.

As your eyes began to flutter shut you felt the bed sink beside and glanced up to meet Oikawa’s eyes. He propped himself up with one arm as the other gently brushed stray hairs out of your face,

“You should get some rest Y/N-chan.”

You looked up at him with the same desperation that washed over your face all those years ago. He knew you were terrified that if you let yourself fall asleep, he would be gone by the time you woke up. He leaned down to place a kiss to the top of your head before resting his forehead against your own,

“I’m not going anywhere, i promise. It’s time to close your eyes now, okay?”

You hummed in agreement before snuggling into his warm figure.

Oikawa watched as your breaths slowed and your figure went slack against him. He knew that it would be a while before your broken heart healed, but he would be there to cheer you on every step of the way. He hoped that once all the broken pieces had been put back together, he could get the chance to love you the way you should’ve been loved from the start.

[shesawriter39049]

|OUR GIRL |M|PT 6 |

(BTW I JUST ADORE THIS GIF..BUT PHYSICALLY THE BOYS LOOKS HOW THEY DO NOW..LONG SHAGGY HAIR..TAN SKIN..A WHOLE ASS THIRST TRAP) 

VHOPE X OC (Taehyung x OC/ HOSEOK X OC) 

***YOUR BOYS FINALLY PUT THAT SPARE KEY TO USE AND SURPRISE YOU WHILE THERE ON BREAK***

AN ESTABLISHED FWB SITUATION…..

IDOL BTS X FAN-ISH OC 

 PURE SMUT NO PLOT...your boys are both whipped AF

Hoseok’s a whole daddy....(The kink itself is light but the traits are strong AF) 

Tae’s your baby boy...more so because he’s the youngest of the threesum

Switch Tae...typically the OC is also a switch but she’s kinda being a sub tonight..she’s feelin a little needy! 

2.5K

Also Tae’s a little snitch lol ...

WARNINGS: Dirty talk, light spit play, light cum play, teasing, a slight pain/choking kink,oral (F receiving) light daddy kink, soft dom Hoseok, mentions of bondage, drawn out foreplay if you will….

Very light MxM they kiss towards the end...but I mean it’s clear this FWB situation goes in both directions! 

“Babyyy” Cooed past his lips, brushing against the side of your neck, you could literally feel the need in his voice. Faint airy kisses being painted along your skin had your eyes fluttering open, vision still hazy amongst the darkness. To be fair you felt the bed shift..you also felt hands roaming down your body, but you knew who it was..you knew his touch! 

Yet you didn't wake up right away...to be honest you thought you were dreaming, considering it’s been damn near 3 months since you've seen your boys. Your dreams had become very ...Vivid will say.. Sucking on the sweetpost at the base of your neck, grinding his hips against your own, the only barrier between the two of you was the rough fabric of his jeans. The warmth from his skin flush against your own “Taee…” his name fell you your lips in nothing more than a moan, you were already panting and he barely touched you, nuzzling your nose into his hair, needing to take in his natural scent! 

Nothing but the humm of the fan buzzing through your ears,kissing his way down your body, until he was buried between your thighs. Placing soft languid kisses against your clit before sucking it between his lips . Every flick of the tongue damn near had you running up the bed you were so sensitive, it’s been way too long since someone besides yourself has made you come.

“Hi baby….”No matter how dark it was you could see the smirk on his face clear as day, lips moving over to nuzzle against your thigh. Leaving open mouth kisses against your flesh, sucking the sensitive skin between his teeth. Letting his tongue take a lap around your bikini line until you were practically throbbing for him to come back to your core. You could feel yourself starting to clench around NOTHING just because you needed some sort of stimulation...

Laying a couple kitten licks against the hood of your clit, body jolting at every end , Instinctively your hands roamed down your stomach and nestled into his hair,letting them get lost in the long wavy mane that’s formed along his scalp. “Tae, babyyy” This time when the words fell from your lips it was desperate,frantic, needy. There was just something about feeling his hair tickle your thighs as he unraveled you nerve by nerve that made this seem...real! Suddenly you needed so much, nothing felt like enough, you needed to feel his man every damn were because it’s felt like years since you’ve had him! Your entire body was tingling as your heart thumped rapidly in your chest. 

Caressing his cheek in your hand, stroking it fondly, loving how soft, and warm he felt! “Missed you” vibrated against your folds as he dove back in, not wasting any time giving you everything you needed and then some! Tongue taking its time to explore every niche within your folds as if it was his first time tasting you. Allowing himself to get reacquainted with your body all over again, deep breathy moans zipped through every nerve in your body as he tasted you. “Hmm, your soo good baby, you taste so fuckin good…” 

“Tae-fuck…” Your were already so gone , mind in a haze, as your nails alternated between his back and his scalp, stroking every inch of skin you could reach . Almost as if you thought if you let go you’d wake up and realize this was all just a dream!

No matter how immersed you were it didn't take you long to snap out of it upon realizing someone was missing. Propping yourself up on your elbows,  stroking his hair out of his face “T-Tae, wheres-” Neck rolling back on your shoulders as your muscles tightened, thighs shaking, as he sucked your clit between his lips, at a relentless pace. Grazing the budd between his teeth, eliciting  just the right amount of pain! Clearly he had no intentions of letting up until you came all over his face. “Go easy on me baby-fuckkk-...” The last syllable hanging off your tongue for longer than you intended. The grip you held on his hair only got tighter as your body jerked and seized under his hold. Completely ignoring your cries and pleads, only making him dig his nails even deeper into your thighs so you couldn’t wiggle away!You could feel him smiling against your heat, as you panted out desperately just needed a moment….shit!

“I’m right here...be a good girl for Tae baby….”Fuck, there he was, you could feel the control in his voice,in true Jung Hosoek fashion, it was never a question..always a statment. Frame resting against the door, strolling in your direction far to slow for your liking. “Let baby boy have his fun...all he could talk about was how bad he needed to taste you..let Tae make you come baby…..let him give you what you need” The emphines on the word “Need” set every nerve on your body ablaze in combination with the pure lust the rolled off his tongue, as he oh so calmly told you what to do. 

“Your looking at me like you wanna fuck the shit outta me…”  Hoseok  breathed out with an airy chuckle discarding his shirt in the process, pulling it over his head in one clean sweep.  You couldn't take your eyes off of him if you wanted too, thankful they’d adjusted to the pure darkness that surrounded the three of you. 

“Fuck, I do, I just wanna touch you..c’mere…” lacking all patience as you tugged on his pants, earning an arrogant chuckle that you couldn't even be mad about because you needed him.

Hands soothing up the youngers back slowly, letting his fingers met yours as they got tangled in his hair. “Did you miss it baby?Miss how good daddy’s cock fills you up? ” The implied question was more than rhetorical as he cupped the outline of his length, stroking himself until the imprint of his dick was engraved into his sweats! Grabbing your hand, replacing it with his as you worked him, his length was hard enough for you to fully be able to grip him even though the gabric. Thumb pressed firm against his tip, the slight wetness let your know he was already dripping. 

His eyes were burning into your own as he started grinding his hips into our palm, soft grunts, and moans lipped past his lips as he laid his hand over yours. Guiding your movements slightly, head lulling on his shoulder as you added pressure to the base..almsot enough to make it hurt..but Hoseok liked pain...at least when it cam to sex. “Fuck yes...just like that...harder baby...you know what  I need…...” Not hesitating to give him what he wanted,  it was so easy to become addicted to the sounds that slipped past Hoseok's lips.

He hasn't touched you yet and you craved it..you were aching for it actually arching up into nothing hoping he’d take the hint “Hoseokkkk” Whined from your lips and the smile that tugged on his cheeks let you know this little shit already knew what you wanted…

“Hmm?” Cocking his head to the side slightly, tongue grazing along his bottom lip “ What do you need baby?” 

Gripping his hand, bring it over to take a firm grip on your breast, squeezing yours over his own as you held his hand in place so there was NO room for debate. “Fucking touch me!” 

“Wanna try that again?” Still not a question..a command…you were pouting but he could give less than a damn

“Please...daddy please...I need you to touch meee” You were already falling apart considering what was going on between your thighs. All of these taunting, painfully teasing strokes of the tongue that Taehyun kept swiping along your heat! Far needier than usual but you were too far gone to care! Slowly sliding his hand up your chest, taking a firm grip around your neck, pulling a sharp breath from your lungs as you arched up slightly. Giving him more access...leaning down so his lips could hover over yours tugging your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it between his own. Mouth gaping open at a particularly deep stroke of the tongue from Taehyung, eyes fluttering to the back of your head. “Tae-fuckkkk” 

“God your so fucking sexy….you gonna come? Hmm is baby boy gonna make you come?”

Excepting a breathy whine as a response before llicking his way into your mouth, only tightening the hold he had around your neck in the process, bringing his opposite hand down your stomach. Damn near growling at the way your muscles tensed beneath him, loving how easily he got to you now, an amused smirk tugged on his lips as he pulled back bringing his fingers over to your mouth. Not hesitating to lap your tongue around the digits, sucking them back with a moan. Making sure to take him knuckle deep, eyes locked with his as his fingers disappeared between your lips. The feeling of Hosoek’s  dick twitching in his pants at every flick of your tongue, had you moaning even louder. Teeth sinking into his bottom lip, as his eyes fluttered down at you  “Our girls such a little cock tease…Tae” Massaging the youngers neck as he rolled it against your core. You could hear a hint of frustration laced within the moan that crept past his throat, he needed to be inside you so damn bad! 

 Freeing himself from your hold bringing his fingers down to twist and flick at your nipples...making sure they were nice and wet thanks to your tongue. Leaning down to blow against the already overly sensitive buds making your entire body shudder around them. “ Your not the only one who can tease baby…” Hoseok looked like...a whole damn problem,wearing nothing but a pair of sweats that were sitting unnecessarily low,no underwear in site!  A couple thin chains dangling from his neck, while his gold AP dusted his wrist, hair still long and wavy, falling in his face slightly….

“Hyunggg” Whined from Taehyung’s lips and vibrated against your clit and you already knew you were in trouble. He’s slapped your thigh at least 5 times as you kept trying to lock them around his head. 

A hum leaving his lips as he observed the two of you, positioning himself behind you so your back was resting against his chest. Stroking his hand up and down the youngers spine gently, bringing it up to cradle the hair at the nape of his neck “I thought daddy told you to be a good girl for Tae….” Teeth sinking into the base of your neck until you damn near screamed. Hands coming down to spread your legs apart, placing them on either side of his thighs, thumbs digging into your flesh they’d without a doubt leave bruises. “Is that betterTae?” You could already hear the smirk in his voice as his eyes fluttered down in Taehyung’s direction who only offered a low moan in response.

Nudging your cheek with his nose until you looked at him, ghosting his lips over yours until you were chasing after them, it’s been too long since you've tasted him!  Mouth gaping open from how  consumed you were from Taehyung, with this new angel he had full exposure to everything! Ficking at the roof of your mouth with his tongue..easing his way past your lips. Reclining your neck on his shoulder so he could deepen the kiss, sucking your tongue against his own, swallowing every moan that escaped your lips while his fingers kneaded at your inner thighs! Yours moving up to get tangled in his hair….

 “Fuck you don’t know how long ive been waiting to do this...how many times I thought about this while I got myself off….I missed you so.damn.much” Everything pourded out in a slurr of moans, hearing Hoseok sound this...needy had you almost pliant on top of him!  Between that, and what’s  going on between your thighs you felt like you could pass out already! 

Neck reclining against Hoseok’s shoulder as you broke away from the kiss, feeling almost as though you couldn't breathe your chest was getting so tight.  Taehyung sucked harder and harder, pulling back slightly, the lack of stimulation had your eyes fluttering down to meet his. Teasingly letting his tongue roll from his jaw, leaving long, slow drags against your pussy, licking from top to bottom. Flicking at your entrance with the wet muscle before pursing his lips to blow over every surface he just thoroughly licked. The sensation had you trying to run away no matter how restaried you were, earning a smack against your clit from the younger.

“You move one more time and I’m tying you to this damn bed!Try me!” Hissed into your ear as he nipped at the side of your jaw.  A whine leaving your lips in response, as you felt one of his hands leave your thigh..disappearing between them instead…  In attempts to Join Taehyung. Once the younger felt Hoseok’s fingers tease down your folds he pulled back, flicking the tips of his fingers with his tongue. “Taehyung” Slipped past his lips in a combination of a growl and a moan as the younger teased Hoseok’s fingers between his pouty lips before retreating back to your clit.Going three strong, in one motion,filling you knuckle deep. “Goddammit Y/N” He almost sounds winded, as if he could already feel you around his length just from how tight you are around his fingers! 

“Fuckk- fuck-fuck-” all it took was a Hoseok joing Tae for your body to compeltely collapse on itself, you almsot screamed from the amount of pressure pooling at the pit of your stomach. Your release came crashing into your body at hyper speed and everything went  dark! Pumping his fingers in and out at a relentless pace the sound of your juices sloshing in and out as he worked you open. Nails dug into Taehyung's back, you probably broke skin at some point. Hoseok’s free had coming up to grip your hair, yanking your head back on his shoulders, Forcing you to gaze up at him with heavy lids, as your entire body started shaking, thighs instinctively attempting to close around Taehyung’s head.You felt his nails dig into your thighs as he pried them apart, taking back full control. 

“Yes...fuck yes…” Moaned from his lips as he dropped his foreaded to yours, sucking your tongue back into his mouth as you came..hard. A silent cry ripped from your throat while your walls almost violently contracted around his fingers, milking them for everything he had. “That’s it, come baby, fuck..your pussys soo fucking wet” slowing his fingers immensely as your body jerked on his lap nails clawing at his scalp as whimpered against his tongue. “God, you look so damn good when you come” His fingers took deep slow strokes, as the maneuvered in and out, you could feel how rock hard he was against your back, mouth already watering no matter how exhausted you already were!  Sliding his fingers up your lips  spreading them slightly Tae continued his attack on your clit, purposely licking Hoseok's fingers in the process. 

Hoseok eased up first flicking his tongue around his fingers sucking them clean, the sight of that alone had you ready to come all over again! “Oh god please, please I can’t...Tae baby...fuck it’s too much…”  Voice horse, chest raising and crashing against itself! You found yourself pulling at Taehyung’s head thankful neither of the two seemed to try and stop you. 

Chin glistening, while the smuggest smirk imaginable spread across his face, trickling his fingers up your folds. “Taste yourself princess…” an exasperated chuckle left your lips before sucking his fingers between your lips, pulling back to grip his jaw between your palms. 

“Did I taste good?” 

“Always...” Brushed against his lips as snaked your way into his mouth, finally getting to kiss him... deep, somewhat sloppy actually but you both loved the feeling of your tongues getting tangled together. There was always a tight for control, tonight he let you have it, moaning at the taste of yourself along his tongue. Sucking his bottom lip into your mouth “Take these fucking pants off and fuck me ….now…” A whiney tigne hit Taehyung throat as he pulled back. Eyes flickering up to his hyung, who grabbed his face, efforeslly parting the seams of Taehyung’s lips with his tounge,needing to taste you again “Fuck her good Tae, you already know how our baby likes it...give her what she wants…”  

You could see the two of them smirking into the kiss which let you know you were in for a long fucking night  “MmmHmm...slow, deep, so fucking deep until she can’t take it anymore…” Brushed past Taehyung tongue and onto Hoseok’s,the grip he held on the youngers jaw got tighter, more possessive if you will as he deepened the kiss. 

“Fuck yes,until her thighs are shaking…. and she’s trying to squirm away-” Breaking away from the kiss to let his eyes flutter over in your direction. “You think you can be a good girl for Tae this time baby or should I just tie you to the bed before we even get started?” 

Completely thrown off by the question to be honest your mind was still hazy from watching the little show the two of them just put on. Clearly the lack of response was a response in Hoseok’s eyes “Hmm..go get my bag for me baby…” Eyes flickering in the youngers direction who just offered a smirk before crawling of the bed… 

Yup...you were fucked literally and figuratively..luckily for you..you had a long weekend……

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE! YEAH IDK WHERE THIS CAME FROM! LOL BUT I HADN'T WRITTEN IN A COUPLE DAYS AND THIS JUST POURED OUT!

IF YOU LIKED IT “LIKE IT” COME LEMME KNOW...AND I will continue doing these whenever I feel inspired to do sooo…

P.S...I think if I do another one..I’ll actually finally add some backstory so you guys know how this all came about… 

Everytime I do these I mention that they only see each other once every 2-3 months...so I  feel like this “situation” is going on close to a year now....

Love you as always,

Rocki

[mysweetestcreature]

Something New

A/N: this is something of a passion write I had been working on during finals week back in May. Special thanks to my betas, @cherryyharryy and @meetmeinthehallwayhs for helping me through this :D

Word Count: 4.6k 

Warnings: some smut

Summary: Harry may have just found his new muse.

***

     The walls in Harry’s apartment are paper thin.

     He’s roused awake by the rattling of his keys on the table beside him. His heavy lids force apart, and he half expects to be blinded by the morning sun. Instead, he’s met with a skyline painted a dark navy with hints of orangey-yellow peeking from the bottom. Wiping the crustiness away from his thick lashes, he’s able to decipher the time and place. The clock on his right reads 4:21 AM in large, red figures that sting his eyes with their intense vibrancy. He can’t help but wonder who in their right mind would be awake this early and let alone have the energy to cause such a commotion at such a dreadful hour.

     A subsequent snort sounds from the back of his nose. The sleepiness he had felt when he’d gone to bed is quickly stripped away, but ever present with the unwillingness of his limbs to make themselves useful. He turns to lay down on his back and stares at the ceiling. It’s far earlier than he’s used to, but now his mind is running wild with thoughts that will surely bother him throughout the day. Like how he may or may have not forgotten to give his mum a ring like he said he would after he had gotten home from the club, or that he can’t recall whether he had given Niall his cousin’s number (Niall has a bit of a crush on her, although she doesn’t seem to be all that interested) while he was drunk and dancing to Cher’s Believe. Come to think of it, he isn’t even sure how he’s managing not to drift off considering he had only gotten in a little less than three hours ago.

     It takes longer than he would ever care to admit, but Harry is finally able to convince the rest of his body to leave the warmth of his sheets. The hairs on the back of his neck rise as his feet come in contact with the creaky wooden floorboards. He lifts off the mattress with a little jump, and it’s then the frigid air from the open window collides with his bare chest.

     He moves into the bathroom with dallying steps ­­–– after all, time seems to be on his side today –– that cease once he reaches the outside of the tub. He feels behind the other side of the curtain for the faucet, and it elicits the faintest whine as he turns the water on. 

     Once inside, he lets out a relieved sigh as the hot pellets land on his back and massage every inch of his skin. He stands with his arm outstretched and braced against the cool tiles with his head hung low, wet hair falling heavy in front of his eyes with water streaming from the ends.

     His other hand slowly slides down his body, starting from the butterfly tattoo on his abdomen leading south. He swallows hard as the tips of his fingers are tickled by the coarse hairs of his pubic bone. They move further down and wrap around his semi-hard cock one at a time. He hisses when he gives it a generous squeeze, bucking his hips forward on reflex. He begins to tug on himself, each proceeding breath becoming more staggered than the last.

     The tip of his member screams with a rose-flushed red. Each drop of water feels like electricity jolting each nerve in his body from dormancy. He shuts his eyes tight, leaning back against the wall as he jerks himself off in a quick but steady rhythm.

     There’s the slightest twinge of guilt that consumes just a part of his brain, but the larger part craves for the ultimate bliss of a much needed release. His other hand moves down to his aching balls. They feel tight as he rolls them with his palms, each stretch of the skin making his toes curl and creating a squeaking noise that echoes in the acoustics of the room.  

     He fantasizes being able to fuck his cock between a pair of supple breasts. How the mixture of sweat and his excitement allow for him to thrust through the tight valley with ease, far enough so that the head is just able to be sucked into her greedy mouth. Her expert tongue licks over him like a lollipop. Its underside brushes along his slit, and he’s unable to constrain himself from bucking forward and feeling the back of her throat. She gags on him, bolstering his ego. The vibrations of her lips cause a ripple of shocks to spread across the surface of his skin and startle his very core.

     “Fuck me,” he moans shakily as his knees begin to grow unsteady. His movements become more desperate, and he finds his mind drifting to filthier, more sinful thoughts that will surely reserve him a special place in hell. He imagines pushing into a mouthwatering pussy, drenched in the sweetest juices that takes every single inch of him until the slap of his skin against hers drowns out their husky and panting voices. The way her walls clasp around him, keeping him as deep within her nearly draws the cum from his taut balls and drives him closer and closer to seeing the blinding stars behind his lids. She screams out his name like a sacred hymn, looking up at him with lustrous eyes with each fluid roll of his hips against hers.

     He fists his cock aggressively for a while longer before his body begins to spasm as creamy ribbons progress out of him like an active stream. His lungs burn as they fill with the humidity around him. He twists the pointed end of the faucet, finally being allowed to breathe again under the frigid rush.

***

     Harry emerges from the bedroom half an hour later in a pair of well-fitting grey slacks with a crisp, gentle lavender button-up on top. He mindlessly goes through the task of making himself a cup of dark roast coffee and putting together a bowl of Corn Flakes with sliced bananas and half a cup of almond milk splashed on top. Sometimes, he likes to simply listen to his teeth as they crunch down on the grains until it slithers down his throat.

     There’s the screech of a chair against the floor that sounds from the apartment next door. He hadn’t even realized that it was being occupied until this moment. The people that used to live there, a train conductor called Emmitt Pearlstein and his eighty-year-old mother, had moved out only a few months ago.

     (To be honest, he’s still feeling a bit guilty for having never accepted any of their dinner invitations. But it’s not entirely his fault! He heard from Susan and Kelly from downstairs that all the food was blended since Mrs. Pearlstein refuses to get herself a new pair of dentures.)

     Maybe he’ll introduce himself when he gets a day off...whenever that will be. It is wedding season after all! And he’s booked for client meetings and events until the end of May. Harry is a photographer, and as circumstance have proven, one that is very in demand. The pay is more than decent to substantiate his current lifestyle ­­–­– i.e. pay his rent, put gas in his car, and set aside a few extra pounds for leisurely spending on a rainy day because Gucci isn’t cheap, after all!

     He slurps up the leftover milk in his bowl before rinsing it out in the sink. He checks his watch, 7:54, which gives him more than enough time to check-in at the office before touching base with the bride and groom (separately, as old school superstition dictates) staying at the hotel across town for some pre-ceremony pictorials with the entourage.  

     As he locks up behind him, his ears perk at the sound of the elevator’s ding just around the corner. Taking giant leaps, his tripod and camera case swinging over his shoulders, he’s able to thrust his hand through the slimming crack of the doors. There’s a girl inside, large chocolate brown sunglasses covering nearly half her face.

     “Morning,” he greets, nodding at her politely as he steps in. He pushes the already lit up lobby level button out of habit and waits patiently as the doors attempt at yet another close.

     On the reflection of the walls, he notices how she averts her gaze from looking anywhere but her suede ankle boots, and it’s as though she’s designated her position to be cramped up in the corner as far away from him as possible. Harry dips his nose close to his collar and takes a subtle whiff. Between his cologne and his botanical rain fabric softener, he thinks he smells pretty damn fantastic.

     The stiffness in the enclosed quarters makes the ride down from the fifteenth floor feel slower than real time. All that’s able to keep him engaged is the toe-tapping tune playing softly through the speakers. He gives the situation the benefit of the doubt, assuming that she’s not yet had her morning coffee or really is just very shy around strange men she encounters on the lift.

     A sniffle suddenly erupts between them, and Harry glances back up at her reflection just in time to see the tips of her fingers disappear underneath her glasses. He digs into his back pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. “Here,” he gives her a small sympathetic smile that nearly wavers when she looks up at him. “I’m sorry if I’m...if I’m intruding or anything.” He trips nervously on his words as they spill out. “I just thought you could-”

     “Thank you,” her voice is grateful but weak, as though she’s thoroughly tired out each cord, but the way it vibrates through his ears leaves him at a loss for words. She takes the handkerchief from him and pushes it under the frames of her shades and dabs gently. It’s then he sees her puffy red-rimmed eyes. They make contact with his, in a flicker that he isn’t sure ever occurred.

     His curiosity gets the better of him as he tries again for a better look when the bell rings signaling that they’ve arrived at the lobby. She nods at him, grinning faintly as she makes her way towards the glass door exit. It leaves Harry standing in the shaft to gape at the ghost of her trail.

     As soon as he steps out to follow, the doorman, Martin, stops him.

     “Harry, my man!” he exclaims, patting him on the shoulder a little too harshly. “Off to work, already? It’s what...” He glances down at his watch but soon his brows furrow, and he taps on the glass to get it start again. Typical Martin is all Harry can think as he rolls his eyes.

     “I could’ve sworn I just changed the battery on this! Last time I’ll ever get a fix behind a T.K. Maxx...” he grumbles, shaking his head as he continues to scold himself.

     “I told you, there’s a decent place around the corner. Cheap replacement. You’re in and out in ten minutes tops, mate,” Harry says.

     Only momentarily does he allow his eyes to wander back to the door and scan across the windows of the entrance.

***

     “Alright, I want big smiles from the lot of you,” Harry instructs the newlyweds and their families as they stand in front of the altar. “C’mon, Dad, I know you can do better than that.” The father of the bride sneers at him before begrudgingly offering the camera a minimal show of his teeth. “And...” Harry snaps a few shots, two with flash and three without. “Beautiful! Greatly appreciate it.”

     The rest of the guests pack into their cars as they move the celebration to the reception venue, leaving only Harry and the wedding party to take pictures in the church. As he’s packing up his camera and tripod, he feels someone tap him on the shoulder. He zips up his tripod before turning around.

     “Hi!” He’s met immediately with a flowy maroon skirt that nearly touches the marble floor before he trails his eyes up to find a face. It’s one of the bridesmaids, the one who had lit the candle, he thinks. He’d noticed her earlier while she proceeded down the aisle, and he definitely didn’t miss the way she looked at him while he took candid pictures of the ceremony.

     He smirks as he stands up. “Hey.”

     She leans in close to him, her breath tickling the shell of his ear as she whispers something naughty which he’s sure the guy upstairs won’t appreciate in his sanctuary. But fucking hell does this girl have a mouth on her. She backs away slowly, a mischievous grin spread across her plump lips.

     “I’ll see you later then, yeah?” she confirms as she pivots on her heel, glancing over her shoulder.

     This is a normal thing for him, as ill-sounding as it is. He’s twenty-five, single, and has a job that just so happens to put him in a position where he’s surrounded by boatloads of women on high-level emotional limbo because the effects of weddings make them more vulnerable and wanting some intimacy until an inevitable hangover dawns upon them the next morning. And hey, he’s only human and admittedly only has the competence to hold a relationship for a few hours.

     He tilts his head back, watching amusedly as she sways her hips for him. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

***

     It’s a little after 2am when Harry arrives back home. He’s exhausted, in more ways than one, and all he really wants at the moment is to collapse onto his bed and sleep in to an acceptable time. If only he were that lucky. The bride had pulled him aside as he was about to leave with an urgent color to her voice that required the pictures to be ready as soon as possible.

     Which, to put it into more exact terms, means that she wants it no later than forty-eight hours from the present time. And that doesn’t even take into account that he has another client wedding tomorrow afternoon which by the way, happens to be two and a half hours outside of London, which furthermore means he’s going to have to be out the door at least five hours beforehand because traffic is always unpredictable. He quickly pulls out his phone and looks for the email with the event details.

     Danvers-Belton Wedding

     (All he knows is that the bride-to-be’s family is fully loaded, and her engagement to her fiancé had been published in every entertainment paper in the city. Her dad is some CEO of a steel company or something like that. Harry had met him at their first meeting, and honestly, he had nearly spooked the shit out of him.)

     Getting back to work, he inserts the memory card into his computer and stares numbly at the pinwheel-like loading icon. His job is great and has its perks (that bridesmaid from earlier truly made it worth his while), but this process is no doubt the part he least looks forward to. There are probably about 3500 photos he’ll have to go through by the end of the night, and out of those, around 400 to 500 he’ll pre-select and send to the couple before he begins editing.

     He unbuttons his shirt down a little more than halfway, just enough for his chest to not feel so constricted in the stuffy atmosphere of his flat. “For fucks sake,” he groans, standing up from his chair and stalking across the living room to open the balcony door.

     The breath of the wind sends tingles down his spine as it dries the beads of sweat from his body. He steps out, hoping to rejuvenate himself before burying himself in his work. He stares into the deserted streets and thinks about how peaceful everything it is at this hour. Just the sound of the city asleep feels like living in an entirely different world, as though someone had pressed the pause button on time. Only the simplistic soundtracks of the night dances through his ears and make his eyes drift close as he enjoys it all.

     But something interrupts the natural melodies, an unexpected interrupted cadence written in with crayon in the score. His brows crease when it occurs again, but this time accompanied by a heavy weep. He looks to his left, Alfred Dimalanta’s place is pitch black inside (he might be working the nightshift tonight), and then to his right. A faint fluorescence wavers behind the curtains of the newly occupied flat.

      Inside, someone sobs uncontrollably. Harry steps closer to the rightmost rail of his balcony and crosses his arms over the cool metal. His head drops as he listens.

     He knows the feeling well.  

***

     “So, then I told her, ‘listen, I’ve been understanding of your situation, but you haven’t paid your rent in like four months...Joaquin is gonna chop up my balls then feed it to his tiger if I don’t collect it by the end of the week.’” Martin explains, using hand gestures to portray the possible castration in his future. Harry hums, only half paying attention has he sorts through his mail one by one.

     Junk.

     Junk.

     Ju-oh! Coupon for a free half-chicken from Nando’s!

     More junk.

     “You’re gonna share that, right?”

     Harry barely looks up. “Like you shared that pizza that I paid for on Tuesday?”

     “Hey!” Martin counters in defense. “You left!”

     “I left to use the toilet, and that was barely three minutes.”

     The doorman slumps down in his chair as he begs to disagree. Harry throws the rest of the unimportant letters in the waste bin beside them, only keeping the coupon and his monthly bank statement. As he’s about to respond to something Martin had just complained about, the lift dings.

     When he turns his head in its direction, the girl from yesterday emerges from it and similarly rushes out just as she had done before, even wearing the same sunglasses. She walks out of the lift in a dress that’s soft blue, pleated skirt flows like a wave as she gracefully moves through the lobby. He watches her this time and observes as she pushes out the door and crosses the street, soon disappearing out of the frame.

     “Is she new?” Harry asks, trying not to sound overly interested when he turns back.

     Martin gawks at him in disbelief. “She’s only been here for the last 3 months and living next to you, nonetheless! I’m surprised you lot haven’t met yet.”

*** 

     The Danvers-Belton wedding is nauseatingly perfect. Everyone is equipped with their oh-so happy smiles and photo-ready poses as Harry swims through the room snapping pictures that are meant to be candid. It’s as though they’re all in great joy over this seemingly destined union. The bride and groom are completely enthralled by one another, so much that they’ve barely mingled with the guests in favor of staring adoringly into each other’s eyes by the dessert bar.

     Harry pans around the reception hall –– which is more like some ballroom out of a princess movie, but that’s just his opinion –– with his camera as he looks for his next subject to capture since he’s taken enough lovey dovey pictures of the newlyweds for the time being. He takes one of the bride’s parents as the father engages in an animated conversation with some balding old men that he assumes are business associates of his. The mother smiles sweetly and nods next to the gentlemen even though her presence is completely ignored by all.

     The rest of the guests are all distributed in groups: there are the dancers moving their feet to a swing song played by the live band; the bargoers all giggling drunkenly over their fifth round of tequila shots; and those, like the father, chatting about how gorgeous the ceremony had been and discussing about how much this damn party must have cost (rumor has it, over £5,000,000). He takes shots of each niche.

     “You there, photographer!”

     He pulls the camera from his face and turns in the direction of the voice. It’s the grandmother ­­–– he thinks? He couldn’t tell you with all the Botox and fillers. “Take a picture of me by the ice sculpture, would you? Make sure I look thin!” The elderly woman strikes a side pose, the knee closest to the camera popping out and revealing her still flawless skin through the cuts of her dress. He signals when he’s finished, and the woman walks away without even a thank you. It’s something he’s used to by now.

     As he looks through the lens again, he’s able to preserve a particularly adorable moment. The flower girl and the ring-bearer high on the tips of their toes as they dig into the remainder of the once towering cake. He gets it, he’d been served a slice and it was the most delicate and divine thing to ever touch his palate in his entire life. And maybe he’ll bribe one of them with a crisp fifty-pound note to set aside a piece for him.

     Next to them, however, is someone who he’s only just taken notice of. He drops the camera so he can see with his own unobstructed vision. For a time, he switches between the two perspectives because he’s in such disbelief. The girl from his building, his neighbor as he’s recently discovered, is here, sitting by herself at the table with her own share of cake. She stares down at it with such intensity in contrast to the weak grip she has on her fork that seesaws in her grasp and above the edge of the plate.

     He debates whether he should approach her. Would that be weird? Would she think he’s stalking her? But why would he? Up until this morning, he thought she was just visiting someone for the week. What would he say? “Hey, I live next door! Sorry I haven’t introduced myself yet, but no time like a wedding, right?” or maybe “Hi, I’m Harry. I don't know if you remember, but we met briefly on the lift back at the Grove?” Oh god, since when has he become an imbecile at making conversation?

     Well, he supposes there are worse ways to make a first impression. He maneuvers through the other guests and pulled-out chairs, barely dodging a server with a heavy tray piled with used glassware and utensils. When he’s about a few steps from her, he halts, smoothing out his pants and making sure his collar is tucked away neatly in his suit jacket. He brushes his nose against the fabric, making sure his cologne hasn’t worn off in the six hours he’s been here. 

      “Hi.”

     Like slow-motion, she takes her eyes off her cake to lay them on him. She squints them almost suspiciously. I should’ve taken more pictures of Grandma; Harry thinks to himself. He bites down nervously on the inside of his cheek, going back and forth between walking away or evaporating on the spot.

      “I know you from somewhere,” she suddenly says, pondering. She props her hand under her chin and it’s only a few seconds later that her eyes widen in realization. “You live in my building!” She nods to the empty seat beside her.

      “Yeah,” he chuckles, graciously accepting her invitation. “I think you actually live next to me. I’m in 15D.”

     She laughs. “Really? Then why haven’t I seen you around before?” As a waiter passes by, she points to her empty glass of wine and sends him a quick ‘thank you.’ “A bit odd that I’m meeting my neighbor for the first time at a party nearly three hours away.”

     “That’s my fault,” he sheepishly admits. “I’m on a pretty strict schedule.” He holds up his camera. “Been snapping photos since one.”

      “A photographer, huh?” Her face brightens with amusements. “Have any of me on there?” Her smile is playful as she smiles shyly. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear as she stares into her lap.

     It’s surprising how taken he is by such a seemingly innocent action. It’s the first time he’s really seen her without those large shades, and he’d be messing with himself if he said she isn’t beyond attractive. She’s wearing the same dress he’d seen her in this morning, and now he’s able to fully appreciate how perfectly she fills it out. But instead, all finds himself doing is admiring the glow of her skin in the light of the setting sun, and how a dust of rose pulls across her features terrifically. 

     He lifts up his camera, wanting nothing more than to commit this image to memory. She looks up at him. At first, she has a smile so virtuous that he’s unable to get a focus on her, but soon enough it falters when her attention flips to something behind him. It draws a frown in its place that causes Harry to lower his arms. He dares try to trace the line of her gaze back to whatever’s caused such an antagonistic shift in an otherwise splendid expression.

     The groom holds his bride close as they sway to a slow and sweet melody from the string quartet. They still look as happy as they gaze at each other, cherishing the final moments of this amorous evening.  

     “We used to date. Philip and I... Four years, actually.” The words are strangled, leaving her throat as though pushed out forcefully.

     “Oh, I-” but he’s left without anything to say. She lets out another laugh, but this one is coated in melancholy.

     “We broke up because he said he didn’t want to get married,” she pauses, taking a shaky breath that feels almost painful. “What he really meant was that he didn’t want to marry me.” Her voice begins to tighten even more, and his head drops when he hears the faintest sound of that first whimper. He stares at the ends of the tablecloth in reflection. “He got engaged to Bethany less than five months later. Funny how that works, yeah? How you can spend four years of your life thinking you’re on the same page, but it turns out you’ve been four chapters ahead the entire time.”

     Harry can’t bring himself to look her directly in the eyes. The music playing abruptly turns into something more heart-wrenching despite its major key. Without thinking, he reaches across the table and covers her hand with his and gives it a comforting squeeze. There’s nothing his words can do to alleviate even just a fraction of how this must affect her.

     “I’m sorry,” is all he can whisper. “That probably doesn’t mean much, but I am.” Through his lashes he sees how she acknowledges it with genial character as she bows her head slightly. 

     A silence falls between them, but neither make an effort to move their hands. There’s a clamor of dishes coming from the kitchen that manages to distract him for a bit. Harry watches with mild delight as Bethany’s father barges through the swinging doors, and he can see how the red slowly creeps up his neck. What person, he wonders, is having the displeasure of being at the end of the fire of fury.

     Another hand layers on top of his, grabbing his attention away from the unfolding scene. He studies their hands for a moment before finally facing her.

     “Y/n,” she speaks up, gently. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

     The crevices of his dimples slowly sink in. “Harry.”

[vannahfanfics]

The King and the Warrior

Category: Hurt and Comfort

Fandom: Yona of the Dawn

Characters: Son Hak, Soo-Won

Requested By: farrah87 (Ao3)

Soo-Won gasped as he twitched awake. His eyes shot open, and the ceiling above him blurred into an abstract painting of grey-brown streaks before reforming into the arranged slats and support beams. Exhaling deeply, he ran a hand through his disarrayed locks of pale hair to find them clumped together with sweat. He knew not what he had been dreaming about but also knew: King Il, saying such harsh words with that sickeningly fake smile on his face. Staring up at the ceiling while he struggled in the aftermath of the nightmare, it took him a moment to realize that this was not in fact his bedroom.

Once aware of that fact the recent events flood back into his short-term memory, and his face flushed rose. He was now also very aware of a small body pressed slightly against him, and there was no guesswork needed to know who that was. He stiffly turned his head, the bright flash of red hair in the moonlight the only answer he required. Yona’s face was soft and calm as she dozed beside him, her hands nestled by her face with her body curled like a little caterpillar in its cocoon. He smiled gently. How could such a strong, willful person like Yona still be so vulnerable and innocent-looking? With a troubled hum, he gently stroked his sweat-streaked fingers down the side of her face, leaving three thin lines of the salty solution glistening on her otherwise unmarred skin. Even after everything, she had still been unable to leave his side in his feverous stupor.

How cruel the world was.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hak’s footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet that lined the halls of Kouka Castle as he strode purposefully through the dark. At least, his body had purpose, but his mind didn’t; technically he was not supposed to be wandering the halls at this time of night, as Soo-Won and his ilk would find it quite suspect, but Hak righteously didn’t care. He couldn’t sleep, and he was never the type to lay in the sheets trying to will himself into slumber. If his body had energy to dissipate, then he took a walk to do so, simple as that.

Hak’s eyes narrowed as he spied a silhouette shuffling at the end of the hallway. As it passed by a window, the moonlight spilling in illuminated the form of Soo-Won himself. Hak hastily hid behind a pillar, just barely peering beyond its rounded edge to watch the meandering king. What was he doing wandering around at this hour? Surely he was up to something… The king was alone, for once. Hak’s fists curled into tight balls; he clenched them so hard that his knuckles glared as white as the surface of the moon hanging low in the dark night sky. Now was the perfect opportunity to interrogate Soo-Won for a multitude of things that had been bothering Hak for a great long while.

Before he could step out from behind the pillar, however, the sound of frantically falling footsteps froze him on the spot. He hurriedly hid himself completely behind the stone structure at Minsoo called softly out to the young king.

“Your Majesty!” The young boy’s breath came in slight gasps from his feverish run. Hak edged his face beyond the pillar, watching with hawk-like eyes as he stopped in front of Soo-Won, holding a hand over his chest as he caught his breath. “Ah, there you are. You weren’t in your chambers, so I went looking for you. You cannot be wandering around at this hour by yourself! What if you were to collapse?” Hak’s eyebrows quirked at the interesting tidbit of information. Collapse? Was Soo-Won recovering from some sort of wound? Or… Hak remembered vaguely that Soo-Won’s mother had died at a young age, presumably from some sort of illness, though it was all very hush-hush. Could it be possible that Soo-Won had inherited his mother’s frail disposition and was going to suffer the same fate?

Hak would’ve expected that he would’ve felt vindicated or triumphant. Instead, he felt the cold, slow flood of fear and concern seeping into the cells of his body, leaving him with a numb, tingling feeling. Something about Soo-Won being dead unsettled him, even now, after all that had happened… He put a hand to his face as it twisted into a mixture between a dismayed look and an irritated frown. Now was not the time to get into his feelings; he needed to listen to this conversation to learn all he could about the current state of affairs. “Princess Yona was looking for you… She awoke and you were gone. She was very disturbed by you collapsing from fever…”

A blaze of pink flared over Hak’s face. He passed out right in front of Yona? She had probably come to the same conclusion that he had, and that was dangerous knowledge for the princess to possess. No doubt, Soo-Won’s advisors were going to lay down even harsher sanctions on her. This is turning out to be a bigger mess than I imagined, he thought, belly heavy with foreboding.

“I needed some fresh air, that’s all. I am feeling much better. Please go tell Yona that I will return shortly. You may retire for the night, Minsoo. I’m quite all right.” Minsoo looked like he wished to argue, but it wasn’t like he was in any position to do so. Instead, he respectfully bowed his head before scurrying off in the direction of the princess’ quarters. Immediately, Soo-Won sighed deeply and leaned his shoulder against the castle wall, one hand threaded through his long blonde hair in a gesture of stress. Hak remained unseen behind the pillar for a moment, considering his options. If Kye-Sook and the others learned of how much Hak knew, it would be bad for him, and asking Soo-Won anything was likely to worsen any potential consequences… But, it wasn’t like Hak was the least bit threatened by the lot of them. There were things he wanted to know.

“Soo-Won.”

“Hello, Hak,” Soo-Won responded dully as the knight stepped out from behind the pillar to walk toward him. The king glanced wearily over his shoulder with that stupid smile that prevented Hak from knowing what his scheming mind was thinking. Hak stopped a few paces short of him. “What an expression on your face.” Hak was sure it was quite an expression. His conflicted hate for Soo-Won was so strong that it was guaranteed to be written all over his stony face anytime they interacted. He was glaring so hard his face actually hurt, but he really couldn’t help it.

“What does Minsoo mean? What are you recovering from?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“It damn well is my concern. You kill King Il to take the throne, and go and die less than a year later? What the hell are you plotting?” he snarled savagely. The smirk fell from Soo-Won’s face, morphing his visage into a blank, unreadable expression. It pissed Hak off to no end. He clenched his teeth, baring them like a wild dog, as he tightened his fists at his side. “… Did you do it just because you think King Il killed Lord Yu-Hon?”

Soo-Won’s eyes widened for a brief second before falling back into that uninterested lidded stare. He turned his head to face away from Hak, preventing him completely from reading his expression, as if he could anyway. Silence settled between them. “Well? Answer me!”

“Whether or not that is true has no bearing on anything.” Hak growled and jerked forward, foot stomping into the carpet.

“Of course it does! I just can’t figure you out! What are you doing all this for? Why did you hurt Princess Yona? I swear, if you hurt her any more, I’ll-!” Hak stopped short as Soo-Won pushed himself off from the wall only to start wobbling precariously, like his was inebriated. Reflexively, Hak surged forward to catch him under his arms as he fell, and Soo-won’s head flopped to the side against his chest. Beneath the strands of long blonde hair covering his face, Hak could see the deathly white pallor of his sunken cheeks. He really is… Sick… he thought dumbly, just staring at Soo-Won as he rasped unevenly.

“Hak…” He groaned suddenly. The warrior stiffened, not sure what to say, before replying with a soft and gruff, “Yeah?” “Please take care of her… of Yona… I can’t die… just yet… I still have… something I need to do…” He forced the words out between heaving inhales, clearly struggling to remain conscious long enough to deliver his message. As soon as the last syllable left his lips, he breathed out deeply before collapsing completely, his full weight sinking against Hak’s body. Hak’s expression was now the unreadable one as he stared down at the unconscious man in his arms. Soo-Won was vulnerable. Helpless. There was so much Hak could do with that…

But to what end?

“Idiot,” he grumbled as he hoisted Soo-Won up into his arms. The man was lighter than he ought to be. Soo-Won’s hair was already beginning to stick to his forehead with the sheen of sweat growing there. “You’d better not die, not until you tell me just what the hell has been going on.” His footfalls seemed heavier and louder as he carried the ill king down the hallway to Yona’s room. He slid the wooden door open with his foot, prompting a slight gasp from the princess, who was seated on her knees amongst tousled blankets and pillows. He paused in the doorway as her dawn-colored eyes wobbled in the dark, swimming with more emotions that Hak could ever name. Then, silently, she stood to rearrange the blankets and gesture for Hak to carry Soo-Won over. He did so, crouching down to gently deposit him in the bed. Yona pulled the covers up to his chin, sitting on his opposite side and gazing miserably down at his now flushed face.

“What’s going to happen to him, Hak?”

“I dunno,” he answered honestly. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. He hated that he didn’t know, but there was no lie convincing enough that he could tell her. His dark eyes met hers, round and soft and brimming with tears. With a small sigh, he pushed himself back to his feet and walked around the sleeping Soo-Won to sit beside her, pulling her little body into a reassuring embrace. Her face buried into the fabric of his robes while her fingers clutched it like a lifeline, and the thick material muffled her already quiet sobs. He laid his cheek against the top of her head while releasing a deep, shaky sigh.

When was the last time anything had been right in their lives? It seemed like an eternity. His black eyes flickered down to Soo-Won’s face, which was screwed up in discomfort. … You’d better fix it, you bastard. Fix it all. In the meantime… I will protect her with my life.

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