Chapter Four: Darker Than Death

Summary: Jason chases the past and sets fire to the future

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Words: 6,274

Content/warnings: angst, descriptions of injuries, Jason's self-destructive tendencies

SERIES MASTERPOST | PREV

Four months pass like lightning streaking the sky. Suddenly, you’re a staple in Jason’s life.

Soft kisses on biceps in the middle of the night. Mornings spent eating breakfast over your small kitchen table. Lunches in his station at the shop. The scowl on your face when Jason pulls out a dictionary to prove the word he played in Scrabble is real.

He didn’t think he could be happy again. After everything—the things he’d seen; the things he’d felt—it didn’t seem possible.

You gave him back something he thought he’d lost forever. You’re hope and future. Something to fuck up. Something to lose.

Jason knows what he looks like to the people on the street. It’s hard not to when he’s jarred by himself in the mirror sometimes. A big, brooding mass of man when once he was just a boy. He didn’t get a say in his dip in the Lazarus Pit, but the skin is still his own, adorned with in he chose and scars that he earned.

But no amount of ink nor callous nor scowling can actually protect him from the wounds that still have never healed. His never ending anger got the better of him today. A close call with Batman and Nightwing left him feeling bolder than ever. He went to visit the Joker.

Beating the Joker bloody with a crowbar didn’t have the cathartic impact he’d been hoping it would. The sight just made his stomach churn. He buried the flurry inside of him as he tied the Joker up, leaving him to sit in a closet for a few days. Until it’s time to bring him into play.

The rising sickness, cold and burning all at once, doesn’t go away. Distance doesn’t help. He still feels trapped there even when he’d been the one in control.

He doesn’t remember going to his apartment and changing. When he comes back to himself at your doorstep, he isn’t Red Hood. Just a boy in a soaked t-shirt shivering in the rain.

The door to your apartment building is inches away from his face. His hand is on the doorknob. It’s locked; he realizes now that’s what pulled him out of his head.

Rain falls down around him. It lands heavily on the shoulders of his jacket. The sound hammers on rooftops, onto the rusted cars parked out in front of your building. It splashes on the already soaked sidewalk, rushing into the sewers Jason knew so well. It’s always fucking raining. He would hate this city if he didn’t love it so much. If this city wasn’t in his blood just as much as Sheila’s.

Tears slick his face. That feeling in his stomach is still there, and he feels like he’s buried beneath earth all over again. The world is pressing down against him. He can hardly breathe.

His feet carry him to the back door of the building. The memory of picking the lock open is shoved into a corner at the very back of his mind. Safe memories fail to see the light of day now, yet he seeks safety just by being here. He needs you, though he hasn’t yet fully put it together yet.

Jason fiddles with the lock with less grace than usual. His hands tremble as he works, but even filled with tears, he’s focused. Maybe a little more so than necessary. He’s overly aware of the weight of his gun. Just as aware as he is he shouldn’t have brought it here. His mind is such a mess. What if he hurt you?

Part of him itches to turn back. The laughter echoing in his ears pushes him forward.

The wood floors creak beneath his feet as he moves through the otherwise silent halls. He pauses in front of your door. His nails bite into the palm of his fisted hands, trying to find the bravery to knock.

Bravery.

Once upon a time ago, he ran across the rooftops of this city fighting goons twice his size, reassured by his mentor, a less than perfect man who demanded perfection. He thought his bravery made him untouchable.

So much for that.

He knocks. You don’t answer.

It’s 3 AM; of course you’re going to be asleep.

He should have never come here. He hasn’t even thought about what he would say when you ask why he’s such a wreck. Just like anything real in his life, it’s not like he can tell you the truth. You wouldn’t know what to do with the truth; he kidnapped the guy who killed him back when he was just a little robin. His mind feels too syrupy to come up with a good lie.

He realizes with sudden clarity he never should have gotten this close to you. Sure, he’s been planning his takeover of Gotham’s underground for years, but plans go sideways. What if the Joker gets out and finds out a connection between Red Hood and you? He can’t even stomach the thought of you with a single scratch on you, let alone in the sort of condition Joker would leave you in.

The lock clicks on your door.

Undoubtedly, you’d spotted him through your peephole standing there. When the door opens, your tired eyes are swimming with concern.

“Jason? Is everything okay?” Your voice is thick with sleep as you blink him into focus.

He feels terrible. He wants to say he’s drunk. Tell you he wasn’t thinking. Free you of his bullshit. Instead, he sniffles pathetically.

The door creaks softly as you hold it open more. You’re a lifeline for him now, the one thing that’s keeping him from sinking back into that bottomless grave, and he pulls you against him. His grip is tighter than it probably should be, but if you have a problem with it, you don’t say.

You hold him like something precious.

He hates himself.

“Come on. Come inside.” Your voice is soft as you gently usher him in. “You’re soaked.”

Streetlight from outside diffuses through the raindrops on your window. It’s the only light offered in your darkened apartment.

He stands in the doorway of your bedroom, watching you rummage around the clothes piled on top of the old floral wingback chair in the corner. You pull out one of Jason’s t-shirts, the material washed and worn until the fabric was soft.

Cotton clings to his skin as he peels his shirt off.

He hears a soft gasp as his vision is obscured.

“What happened to you?” you ask, horror cutting through your exhaustion like a knife.

Bruises—fresh ones—scatter across his skin. He hasn’t seen them yet, but he feels them there. Normally, he’s pretty good. Keeping his clothes on when he knows there’s damning evidence. The less he has to explain, the fewer lies he has to keep track of. Tonight isn’t a normal night. His head is barely on straight.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. He tugs the shirt down, obscuring whatever injuries you see.

“What do you mean, don’t worry about it? Did someone hurt you?”

God, you’re so sweet. You care about him, and you really shouldn’t. Right now, there’s a fire in your voice; you’d go up to bat for him against anyone. All the more reason to keep you out of the line of fire.

“It’s nothing,” he snaps.

“The hell it is. Jason, what is going on?” Your voice is demanding as you take another step closer. Your reach out to touch him, but you stop as if you would hurt him. You are afraid to hurt him.

He huffs and goes out to your living room, his large frame hunching in on itself as he falls into your couch. His head hangs for a minute before he looks around. He’s always found your apartment peaceful. Blankets tossed over the arm of your threadbare secondhand couch. Bookshelves stuffed with crumbling paperbacks. Feels more like a home than his place ever has, but it’s still no home of his.

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” he sniffles.

You follow him out, pausing a few feet away from him. “We don’t have to cover everything tonight.”

The certainty in your voice is too brilliant, too forgiving; some things feel like they can never be spoken about. Should never be allowed to see the light of day.

“I dug up a lot of past today.”

He hopes you never understand him because that means you understand how it feels to die. What it means to come back from that. And what worse fate could he curse someone to? He never wants that cold to find you in the middle of the night and shock you awake just to confirm your heart is still beating.

“What do you need?”

The couch dips as you sit beside him. His arm winds over your shoulders, pulling you to his chest so he can feel the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. “Just this,” he says.

So you stay that way. He cries, and he thinks about how he shouldn’t be doing this to you. He feels better because you’re here. No matter how hard he tries not to, he can’t stop thinking about how fucked up it is that he gets to feel better while making everything worse for you. He’s going to ruin your life, and he hasn’t even given you the opportunity to know that.

A few more minutes pass. Your apartment is silent apart from his sniffles, but those, too, die down eventually. Just the rain remains, pattering against the glass.

“Shouldn’t have woken you up,” he says when he’s finally composed himself. There’s a resolution in his voice that had been lacking before. He hopes you don’t ask how he managed to make it to your door.

You shake of your head pull away from him to look into his eyes. “Don’t say that. You didn’t want to be alone. That’s a good enough reason to wake me up.” Your voice is just as firm.

Doubt crosses Jason’s face. You wouldn’t be saying any of this if he wasn’t selfishly withholding the truth from you. You’d already met Red Hood, and you didn’t want him inside of your apartment. He shouldn’t be here, and he knows it. He has no right to wake you up when you’re safe and asleep in your bed. He doesn’t deserve to seek your comfort just because he can’t face his ghosts.

Your palms are warm as you gently hold his face. The pad of your thumb wipes off his tears. “I care about you,” you say. “You aren’t burdening me by letting me help you.”

For one single second, it crosses his mind to open up. You’d think he would have totally lost it, but he could open up. At this point, it almost feels as if it doesn’t matter; he’s decided this won’t be able to last.

Even now, you know very little about him. Neither of you have put a label on what you have, but there’s a bind between of you. You’ve become a feature in his life, as often as he can allow such a thing. He’s gotten comfortable with your presence, and comfort can always be taken away from him. There’s benefit in staying unattached.

He laughs bitterly. “I don’t wanting you biting off more than you can chew, sweetheart,” he says. His thick fingers wrap around your wrist, keeping your hand against his cheek.

Your lips quirk up into a weak smile, but your visible concern doesn’t wane. “I’m pretty tough,” you reply.

Jason turns his head and presses his lips into the palm of your hand. “I know you are.”

But tough isn’t always enough against the people who come after him. Not even when you sign up for it. And you sure as shit didn’t sign up for this.

Most days, you make him feel like he’s soaring. When he takes you out on the bike—Gotham blurring around both of you as your chest presses into his back—he sometimes feels like he’s too giddy to drive.

That feeling, he thinks it’s love, but he can’t accept that. He’s been telling himself he doesn’t need love. He doesn’t need family. But he can’t convince himself he doesn’t need you right now.

One day, Batman is going to catch up to Red Hood. Jason is planning on as much. But if that plan somehow backfires, he could lead Batman right to you. He can’t curse you to a fate where your path intersects with Bruce Wayne. Jason doesn’t want your life any more tainted than he’s already made it.

He can handle losing you if he’s the one that calls it quits. He can handle losing you if you hate him over whatever lies he has to tell to make you slam the door in his face. But he can’t handle losing you over the truth, especially if it’s Bruce’s version of the truth. The very idea of you siding with Bruce in all of this makes his skin crawl.

“I care about you, too, you know,” he finally says. He looks at you in your pajamas, the softness of sleep still etched onto your features. His voice feels to gruff to be speaking to you. He takes your hand between both of his, lowering it down into his lap. He doesn’t want you to hear the finality in his voice.

You smile, though your face is sad. “I know.”

“Why’re you so nice to me?” he asks. You were supposed to just be some client. He was supposed to tattoo a dead bird onto your arm and say goodbye. He did everything right; he was a detached asshole. And yet, something about you broke him open, like playing the right notes on the piano to get into the Batcave.

Like a soft breeze, your laugh brushes across his lips. You’re close to him now.

“Didn’t we just establish that?” you ask, looking up at him with an even softer expression than before.

“I’m serious,” Jason says. “Why did you even bother giving me a chance?”

What makes me worth saving?

There’s a beat of silence. Your eyes study his. He doesn’t doubt you can see the tears still lingering, threatening to spill at the first kind thing you have to say to him.

“I mean, you were a dick for a little bit, but I could tell you felt bad about it.” You look him over carefully, your lips still tugged into that meager smile. “I don’t think you’re as bad as you think you are.”

He sighs and hangs his head. His grip on your hands loosens, like he’s offering you freedom. “You’re giving me too much credit,” he says. His voice rumbles up from his chest. He has to speak quietly or else he’d be yelling. All he can imagine is the Joker getting his hands on you. The thought alone makes him feel so sick he can’t stand to look at you.

As hard as he tries to stay with the kindness in your eyes, his mind starts to wander.

The floor had been so cold; he remembers it now. He acts like he’s not afraid of dying—maybe he isn’t—but he remembers how it feels to die. He remembers how dark it is. How bitter. Laughter rings in his ears. Blood in his mouth, bile stinging at his throat. There was nothing peaceful about it. Nothing peaceful about choking on his own blood. There was no ‘slipping off’; there was only a flash, the rush of heat, a deafening blast, and the screams of the mother who had sold him out.

“Why would I stick around this long if you weren’t worth it?” you ask.

“It doesn’t count when you’re used to fucked up relationships.” He breathes a bitter laugh like it doesn’t feel like acid. Like it’s effortless to put you down. If you believe it is, maybe you’ll ask him to leave.

He’s good at this, sabotaging relationships. Even though he thinks the world of you, he can summon up the words to make you question everything about the last four months. Doesn’t matter if Jason admires how much cruelty you’ve faced. Doesn’t matter if he finds wonder by the fact you still somehow stayed kind after that. He knows just what to say to plant a seed of doubt that will only continue to fester from here.

There’s a long silence. You’re not looking at him anymore. He wants to take it back, but he knows he can’t. That’s why he said it.

“Why are you trying to push me away right now?” Your voice is soft. He can barely hear it over the rain beating on the pane of glass behind you.

“I’m not pushing you away. That’s just the truth.”

“That’s bullshit,” you say. Your voice is low, but volume does nothing to lessen the severity of the chill. He’s used to your warmth. “You’re not that much of an asshole.”

The deeper he sinks into this character, the more he wants to to run out of the room. He’s ruining the one good thing he’s had since he came back to Gotham. He’s throwing away his one actual shot at happiness.

When he looks at you, he’s looking at a future he’ll never know. Baking cookies just because you mentioned in passing you wanted some. Slipping apology notes underneath your door when he pisses you off so much you won’t respond to his texts. Telling you he loves you; whispering it in your ear when he holds you on bad days. Telling the truth because he could finally fully surrender himself to you.

The truth, Jason likes to imagine, feels like the gentle release everyone likes to describe death as. Peace. A boy blown up isn’t at peace; he’s a poltergeist. But a man who can surrender and accept the death of a life he’d taken up, like a crab molting its shell to find something more comfortable, can rest. If he was brave enough, he could adapt again. Maybe make a life that offered a truce between him and this world.

“Ever consider maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do?” he asks. He buries the thoughts of your warm embrace. So many graves in his mind, all smelling of petrichor and freshly turned earth.

It rained the night he clawed up to the surface of Gotham. He doesn’t remember much about that night—doesn’t remember much before Talia got to him—but he remembers the smell. Dirt was everywhere, until suddenly, he smelled the rain. Drops fell into his parched mouth as he gasped for air.

His eyes squeeze shut, overly aware of the sheets hitting your window. Your silence doesn’t help.

“Please,” you scoff. “Do you think I just conveniently haven’t noticed you dodging topics the past four months? Just because I’m the only one who’s been open about my fucked up past doesn’t mean I’m the only one with it.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you’ve got more going on then you’re telling me. The fact that you have secrets isn’t a secret to me. You can have things you don’t want to talk about, but don’t show up at my doorstep looking for help and snap at me when I give it to you.”

Jason doesn’t want it to end. He wishes he was just a little bit more selfish so he could will himself to hold onto you. He wishes his path wasn’t paved with blood so he could guarantee your safety.

But he can hold onto you for one more night.

He lays his head down in his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says. It’s not a lie, but tomorrow he’ll tell you it was. His fingers tangle in his hair, and he finally looks up at you. You don’t look happy, that’s for sure, but you don’t hate him.

Tomorrow, he’s going to have to do this for real. Tonight, he just wants you.

Your eyes are fixed on him for a while before you respond. “Thank you for the apology,” you say. “You’re right. You can be a dick sometimes. But I think that shows you how intentionally I choose to be around you,” you say.

If you knew the truth, he imagines you poking fun at him for saying you were the one with fucked up relationships. You’d call him a hypocrite if he ever gave you the chance to.

“Let’s go to bed.” The words are clipped. You don’t look at him. “You’ve had a long day.”

“You’re gonna let me stay?” There’s hope in his voice when there shouldn’t be. You should turn him out, send him back into the rain; he deserves it more than the comfort of your bed.

You give him a look. “People usually say the worst stuff when they need someone the most,” you say. “Something you learn when you’re used to fucked up relationships.” You stand up and offer out your hand for him.

He follows as you lead him into your darkened bedroom. Sheets are rustled and tossed back. His stomach twists at the display of your rush to his aid. There’s so much more out in the world for you, even if he wants to sink into you until there’s no more him left.

Before you, he’d grown comfortable in harshness. The darkness didn’t feel unique because it was everything he had for years. And then there was you.

He’s going to know what life without you is like. But not getting to see you sat at your kitchen table, grinning at him sleepily over a cup of coffee in the morning is better than never seeing you again because someone got their filthy hands on you.

You guide him towards your bed. One last night to lie next to you and share your body heat.

Jason shrugs off his leather jacket. He misses the soft rustling of it hitting the floor; his eyes are fixed to the sight of your skin as you get into bed. The yellowish glow of city light slips in through a crack in your curtains.

The sheets rustle as you climb in. Jason still stands at the bedside for a minute more. You won’t look at him, and he’s glad. Goodbyes he’s not yet ready to say are written all over his face.

After a beat, your eyes do seek him out in the darkness. The sheets are pulled up to your chin, and Jason is trying to remember it all, even if he can tell you’re still upset.

The bed shifts with his weight as he lays down beside you. You face him. He doesn’t look away. He shifts a little closer, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulls you to his chest. If he were a better man, he would apologize right now. A real one. But if he means it too much, you’ll never believe him in the morning. He can’t afford to not be convincing.

Jason holds you. He presses his lips to the crown of your head and shuts his eyes. More than anything, he wishes he could enjoy this moment.

In another life, he wonders if maybe this is how things are all the time with you. He can hold you without worrying about what dangers he’s putting you in. Guilt might not gnaw at him. Jason curses him even if he doesn’t even exist because who else can he blame? Fuck that guy. Fuck his happiness.

You fall asleep in his arms. He feels like he’s taking advantage of your trust by even holding you right now, but he can’t will himself to let you go. He has hours left of this, and he can’t imagine wasting those moments by sleeping on the far side of the bed.

You have a strange dream, the kind that fades from memory the more you try to chase them.

In the shadows of what you remember, you see a red helmet, one like your dangerous friend wears. You found it laying on the ground in an alley. You searched out in the darkness for a face—his face—only to realize you were all alone, standing in a green mist.

Weeks had passed since your masked friend picked the lock to your apartment so you could get inside. Weeks since he’d sat on your fire escape only to never be seen again, but for some reason, he’s visited you in your dreams.

Your dream dissolves, but fresh worry blooms in your chest as you look at the empty spot on the other side of the bed where Jason had been only hours earlier. His words come back to you.

He was grieving something last night. Thinking of the loss in his voice leaves a chalky, bitter taste in your mouth. Instinctively, your hand smooths over the rumpled sheets where he’d been when you fell asleep. They’re cold.

Sunlight spills through the crack in your curtains. A rarity for Gotham. Last night’s downpour has been reduced to puddles in the dips of the sidewalk. You naively choose to believe that maybe this brand new morning has changed things. The finality in the air last night has been swept away like a shadow by the brightness of the day.

Even if it ends up hurting your feelings, you hold onto this hope like a wilting flower. It gets you out of bed.

The smell of something sweet fills the air as you poke your head out of your bedroom. Jason stands at your stove. His broad shoulders curl over a skillet, spatula in hand. Dark curls stick up in every direction. His t-shirt from last night is rumpled with fitful sleep. He looks up from the pan, his eyes straying on you as you approach.

“Smells good,” you say, stepping out.

“I made coffee,” he says, nudging his chin to the percolator on your counter top.

He carries his sleep deprivation well; you’ve heard about the sleepless nights he spent in Europe while he was traveling. You know some nights he stays up late with his friends you’ve never met. They’re a bad influence, he told you once. You asked him if he thought he was a good influence.

You kiss his shoulder as you walk by, your hand ghosting over his tattooed bicep. “Thank you, honey,” you say, still trying to get a handle on the situation. Still clinging to hope that this is a new day.

Except you see Jason tense out of the corner of your eye.

Instantaneously, your mouth goes dry. Today might be a new day, but nothing has changed. There’s still tension in the air. Jason’s mind is elsewhere, and wherever that is, you don’t seem entirely welcome.

Your body feels rigid as you try to pour your coffee, playing pretend like nothing’s wrong.

You like Jason; woozy, youthful joy swells in your chest when he holds you. He keeps you warm from all manner of coldness Gotham offers. Being around him is secure, safe in a way that goes just beyond the fact no one even gives you a second look when you’re next to him.

It feels like the day you met, but far worse. Because being pushed away some tattoo artist is one thing, but that’s not Jason anymore. He’s not just some guy who gave you a tattoo. You’ve spent more nights with him the past month than without him. He came to you sobbing last night because he needed someone, and you answered the call. So what changed?

Cup of coffee in hand, you sit at the small kitchen table pushed up against your wall. You watch him as he cooks; his mossy eyes are always decidedly fixed down.

Your finger traces along the deep divot in the table. Sunlight spills across the scarred wood; you can’t help but feel like you’re being mocked. Miraculous sunlight in Gotham at the moment where the light feels like it’s being sucked out of the room.

A few minutes later, Jason brings a plate of pancakes, a bowl of diced strawberries, and syrup to the table, setting them down in front of you. You’ve always believed Jason makes food in place of the things he’s never told you. You wonder what unspoken words your breakfast is supposed to represent.

“Looks great,” you say. Your forced cheerfulness sounds like exactly that, but Jason doesn’t make any indication that he noticed. He acknowledges you as he takes the seat on the opposite side of your table.

You stare at the plate in front of you, forcing yourself to eat even though your appetite has dissipated. It gives you something to do. Without a task, you’d just sit there, trying to figure out what went wrong.

There’s silence. Sunshine doesn’t fill the void the way Gotham’s rain does. The tension makes the pancakes less sweet. Or at least you imagine it would, but you haven’t actually tasted a single bite.

More than anything, you want to ask about last night.

Jason’s bloodshot eyes, the desperation with which he held you, is stuck to you in a way you don’t know you can brush away. Jason, who keeps himself so well guarded behind the walls he built up, was exposed last night. You saw something in him, something you’d never seen before, and wanted so badly to understand it.

You want to say something, but you don’t know how without maybe making things worse. Don’t want to dig up skeletons any more than he’s admitted he already has.

The truth is you do know so little about Jason’s past. Any number of things could have sent him to your door last night. You’d been so exhausted, you hadn’t even thought to question how he’d gotten inside. You content yourself to thinking he’d followed in after someone.

“I think we should call it,” Jason says. He doesn’t even look up from his untouched food.

You look up from your pancakes, red strawberry juice smeared all along your plate. “Call what?” you ask. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you’re hoping your willful ignorance will maybe somehow change his mind.

“This.”

This. The undefined thing going on between the two of you for the past four months. The thing that has made home feel like home again. Someone who gave a little more sense to the Gotham you’d once known so well that had been destroyed, uprooted, just when your life was.

You feel your jaw muscles tense, your teeth clenching together to try to lessen the emotional blow. It doesn’t work—you knew it wouldn’t—but you figured you would try. “Is this about last night?” you ask.

“No.” His response is quick. If your head wasn’t reeling, you would maybe pick up on how rushed it really was, but you don’t.

You’re silent, waiting for an explanation you know isn’t coming. So you do what you know to do; you grasp at straws, hoping maybe you can fix this. Hoping maybe there’s a problem you can solved that will keep Jason here.

“Okay, then what’s it about?” you ask.

The kitchen chair creaks as Jason leans back. His skin is golden with the light crossing over your table. You see the rosemary and lilies on his arm and think of his work permanently etched into your body.

You will carry a piece of him with you forever, no matter where either of you goes.

“It’s not about anything. This wasn’t supposed to be serious.”

“I deserve more than that.” The words are clipped and harsh. More than you really mean them to be, but you’re still trying to make sense of all of this.

Things had been good. Really good. You laughed with him and relished every time you heard his clandestine laughter in return. He comes over when you’ve had a rough day and are fed up from work. You’ve cried in front of him, and while you’re sure saying he was happy to do it is a stretch, he did it without complaint. There may not have been a label on what you have together, but Jason is right; you don’t feel casual.

You love him.

The realization crawls up your throat like bile, like you might say the words at the absolute wrong time and make everything worse.

“Fine.” He looks up at you, his face hardened in a way you don’t recognize. His eyes are hardened. Not guarded like when he wouldn’t talk to you during your first appointment; they’re cold. He’s never looked at you like that before. “I’m sick of this shit. The monotony. You don’t want to live the same goddamn day over and over again.”

You stiffen. Somewhere a few blocks away, a siren wails. His gaze doesn’t waver. You’ve never wished for him to look away so badly. Under his gaze, you feel trapped. Uneasiness creeps up your spine.

For some reason, your first date comes to mind. You think of Jason at the arcade machine, the way he’d held the plastic gun so steadily.

“So why’d you come here last night then?” You struggle to keep your voice steady, but now feels like the wrong time to show any weakness.

Once, you thought Jason looked at you like a prey animal. In the tattoo shop, when he first came out thirty-five minutes late,he stared you down like he was trying to making sure you weren’t going to run in the direction. But even then, he was studying you more than anything, a habit of his you’d grown to recognize.

This is something else entirely.

“Because I’m a lonely, fucked up guy. Is that what you want to here? The warmth of your bed was better than none at all.”

Anger and agony stir in your chest. Muscles taught, jaw hardened. You can’t even stand to look at him for a minute. “So, what? We’re just done? We’re broken up?”

“We’re not broken up because we were never together,” Jason snaps.

Another silence settles between the two of you, this one charged.

“I guess that makes things more simple,” you reply, your voice low. You feel your face burning. What had you been thinking? You knew from the start he was bad news. You’d known it, and you ignored every sign anyway.

Silence settles between the two of you again. Jason doesn’t look up at you, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

God, you should have seen this coming, and yet it still doesn’t make sense. Things were good. Things were working. Until they weren’t. Until you ended up here. Now you’re at a total loss for words.

“Alright,” you say when he doesn’t speak. “Well, thanks for breakfast.” There’s no point in hiding the bitterness in your voice. What do you have to lose, right? He wants nothing to do with you, and you’ve just wasted months of your life stupidly, childishly believing that this was something that could actually work.

Jason doesn’t move right away. His dark brows are knitted close, but it doesn’t quite look like anger. The scar running through the brow makes him look more severe. You can’t imagine what kind of harsh truths he’s withholding. But you can’t look away. You think about running your fingers through his hair. You think about tracing the ink on his skin. You think about how empty your lunchtime will feel now because you’re not going to be swinging by the shop, a bag of takeout in hand.

This whole time, you’d just been a phase to him. Just another passing name he would forget in a month when he meets someone new. Someone better. Someone less acquainted with fucked up relationships, maybe. The point being, they aren’t going to be you.

And why should it matter so much? What’s four months? You barely know each other, right? Besides all of the times he listened to you spill your guts and probably kept waiting anxiously for you to shut up. All the while, you had managed to convince yourself this was actually going to be anything. You were mortified.

“I think your jacket is still in the bedroom,” you add pointedly as he keeps staring at you. Hopefully he’ll get the hint because you don’t think you have it in you to actually tell him to leave.

He stands, the chair sliding against the wooden floors of your apartment. Silently, he walks to the other room. It takes a few minutes for him to come back out. You’re so busy trying to make sense of all of this, you don’t notice.

When he reemerges, jacket in hand, Jason lingers by the front door. His eyes are fixed to the floor before he finally looks up at you.

“Bye,” he says.

Not see you later because he won’t. He doesn’t plan to. He’s done with you.

His eyes linger on you. He looks sad; you’ve gone and made him feel guilty because you thought you had more of a place in your life than you really did.

“Bye,” you say back, your voice rough.

Not it’s been nice knowing you because you can’t bring yourself to say the words. Not I think meeting you changed my life because you don’t have the right to that claim.

Jason doesn’t look back as he closes the door behind him.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider giving this a reblog 💛

boo tsukki's masterlist

welsome to boo tsukki's masterlist, a place where you will be able to find all my works.

please, check the warnings for every post as some of them may contain smut or specific topics that may trigger people.

HAIKYUU!!

tsukishima kei

aita series – a series where tsukishima kei asks reddit about his relationship problems

*aita extra*

a pleasant surprise

scary movies with you

his whole world

the graduation gift

uncle kei

the best of the world

our white lie series - ongoing series! on hiatus until july! tsukishima kei tells his friends he has a girlfriend. but that's not the truth, the truth is that you're just his neighbour-turned-fake-girlfriend.

operation: does tsukki like (y/n)?

bouquets of our love

the velveteen rabbit

a mystery ring

miya atsumu

interruptions

have you ever tried... this one?

miya osamu

the feeling of her hands

jigsaw

kageyama tobio

secret's out

a life… together?

bokuto kōtarō

the olympic kiss

the show

114 notes View Post

hinakamiya

2 years ago

When you are at a funeral and your coworkers suck

4K notes View Post

hinakamiya

2 months ago

don't worry, we're still close — tsukishima k.

third yr tsukishima k. x third yr fem!reader│word count: 2.4k

synopsis: Tsukishima just wants to spend time with his girlfriend, but after a brutal volleyball match, he feels sleepy.

cw/tags: fluff, slight angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship

Don't Worry, We're Still Close — Tsukishima K.

The moment they stepped through the front door, Tsukishima was already tugging yn’s wrist, muttering something about how she could talk to his mom later. Yn had barely managed a polite smile in his mother’s direction before she was being guided up the stairs, past the familiar picture frames and the smell of dinner just starting.

No more delays. He’d waited all week for this.

“Kei! Yn-chan should stay for dinner!” his mom called from below.

“She hears you,” Tsukishima replied over his shoulder, too tired to make it sound anything but clipped.

Yn answered sweetly anyway, her voice echoing back downstairs as Tsukishima opened his bedroom door. He let go of her to dump his bag beside the desk, kicked off his shoes, and dropped face-first onto the bed with a soft grunt.

Everything hurt. Legs, back, brain. Volleyball matches this deep into the season were nothing short of brutal. But even now, he could feel the tug in his chest more than anywhere else—because yn was still by the door, and he wasn’t spending time with her.

It had been nearly two months since they’d last properly hung out. They’d both been swallowed up by their clubs and the looming pressure of college entrance exams, barely managing hallway greetings and late-night texts. That’s why, when she called him last week to say she was coming to his game, he wasted no time asking her out for a movie date afterward.

He cracked an eye open, the sound of her voice still lingering as she spoke to his mother. The golden light from the setting sun caught in her hair, painting her skin in this warm, glowing filter that made his already-tired heart squeeze.

She looked right at home standing in his doorway. And she was still kind enough to reply properly, to make his mom smile. He couldn’t stand how much he liked that.

“Close the door,” he mumbled into the sheets. “She’ll start asking about the game and I’ll lose you for an hour.”

Yn chuckled, finally closing the door before padding over to his bed. “It’s because you never fill her in.” The mattress dipped under her weight as she sat beside him and lightly poked his cheek. “You should be careful, you know. Soon, I’ll be the favorite child.”

“Pretty sure she already likes you more than me and Nii-chan,” Tsukishima sighed. His hand caught hers—intending to push it away, maybe—but instead, he pulled it gently to his cheek.

“Ooh, imagine if she adopts me,” yn teased, eyes sparkling. “I’d be your sister.”

Tsukishima jolted upright, pinching her waist with a scowl. “Don’t even joke about that. It’s gross.”

She shrieked with laughter, swatting at him as his hand chased her across the bed, his exhaustion forgotten for just a moment. She was always infuriating with her dumb jokes.

But it was nice to hear them again instead of just reading them through texts.

Eventually, they both collapsed into the mattress, the energy slowly draining out of their laughter, leaving behind a comfortable silence. Yn laid beside him, their shoulders just barely touching, her hand still in his.

A lazy feeling settled in, blending nicely with the soft hum of life downstairs and the distant clatter of kitchenware. Tsukishima let his eyes fall shut again.

They should be watching something right now.

“Give me five minutes,” he muttered, voice muffled by the pillow. “I’ll set up my laptop.”

He felt her shift beside him. “Are you sure?” she asked softly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m not,” he replied flatly, eyes still closed.

“Kei.”

There was a different note in her voice this time. Not teasing. Concerned.

He opened one eye just enough to see her watching him. Her brows creased, lips pressed together in a way that made him look away almost instantly.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

“You don’t have to push yourself, you know,” she said gently. “I came to see you. We can just hang out. Or nap if you want.”

He hated how his heart fluttered at that.

Tsukishima rolled onto his back with a groan, one arm flopping over his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to come all the way here so I could nap.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” she pressed on. “I’d just... rather you rest if you need to.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, very quietly, he mumbled, “I missed you.”

He felt her fingers twitch against his, a tiny, startled reflex.

Tsukishima kept his arm over his eyes, his voice low and gruff. “So, no. I’m not gonna fall asleep. I want to spend time with you.”

The honesty hung between them, vulnerable and heavy in the sinking golden light. She leaned over and gently tugged his arm down until he was looking at her.

“I missed you too.”

Her eyes softened, full of quiet affection. She withdrew her hand from his and reached up, brushing a bit of hair from his forehead, fingertips featherlight.

“But I still don’t want you pushing yourself. There’s always next time, you know? You don’t have to cram all your energy into one night just for me.”

Tsukishima blinked down at her, her touch loosening the knot in his shoulders. But even that comfort turned on him, stirring the fears he’d worked so hard to keep quiet.

“That’s the thing,” he muttered, voice low. “I’m not so sure there is always a next time.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, then sat up slowly, not looking at her right away. His hands were folded in his lap, fingers fidgeting like they were trying to twist themselves.

“I know we said we’d make time, but we’re going to different colleges. You’ll have your own schedule. New people. New routines. And so will I.” His jaw tightened. “But even before that’s started, it already feels like I barely see you.”

Yn listened quietly, not interrupting, her eyes steady on him.

“And it’s not like I think we’ll fall apart or something,” he added quickly. “It’s just…” He trailed off again, searching for the right word to shape the fear he didn’t usually let himself acknowledge. “It’s stupid. I just—I don’t want to look back and realize I wasted the time we do have.”

There was a long pause. Then, he muttered under his breath, “Sorry. I’m not good at saying this crap.”

When he finally met her gaze again, yn’s face lit up with a tender, knowing smile.

“It’s not stupid,” she said, pushing herself to sit upright. “And it’s not crap.”

Tsukishima didn’t say anything, but she didn’t seem to expect him to. She went on, her voice dropping a little.

“I think about it too,” she admitted. “The distance. The changes. How fast everything is moving. There’ll be days when we’re too busy or too tired to call. Maybe even weeks.”

She leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “But Kei… I know us. I know that no matter how much time passes, when we do talk again, it’ll still be…”

Her hand found his again, fingers sliding between his, squeezing them. She paused, a small laugh slipping out.

“... you. Probably still messing up my hair instead of saying hi. Fixing the strap of my bag without saying anything. Pinching me when I make jokes, like earlier—ow, by the way.”

That earned a snort from Tsukishima.

“And me? Still making bad jokes on purpose. ‘Accidentally’ stepping on your shoes when you call me short. Pulling your hoodie strings just to annoy you. Trying to act all cute just to hear you say I am.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but she didn’t let him deflect.

“That’s what I mean. It’s never ‘Oh, how have you been?’ with us. We don’t have to start over every time. We just… click back into place. Time doesn’t erase that. Distance doesn’t either.”

When Tsukishima finally spoke, his voice was smaller than usual. “You’re awfully confident.”

“Not confident,” she corrected. “I just know what we have. I trust it.”

He was quiet, his fingers tightening slightly around hers.

“You trust it?” he repeated, like he was trying to taste the weight of that.

“I trust you,” she said, pulling back to look at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You care more than you let on. And I know that if something matters to you, you don’t let go easily. And neither do I.”

That stopped him.

Because for the first time, all those uneasy thoughts didn’t sound like warnings. They just sounded like noise. And maybe this was the answer that he had been missing.

They didn’t have to see each other all the time to still matter to the other. It was never about being together. It was always about what they were to each other.

“… You're really annoying when you’re right,” he muttered, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Yn grinned, pretending to grab her phone. “Wait! Say that again. I need to record this.”

He huffed a laugh, finally leaning back into the pillows again. The fatigue crept in quicker this time now that the tight coil in his chest had finally loosened.

He looked over at her, eyes half-lidded. “I don’t think I can stay awake for a movie.”

She chuckled. “I know.”

Her fingers brushed against his cheeks as she took off his glasses, setting them on the nightstand.

He yawned before he could reply, the last of his resistance unraveling. As he closed his eyes, he tugged her closer, wordlessly urging her to stay beside him.

“I’ll probably be out for a while,” he murmured.

“Mhm.”

“Wake me up… when it’s time for you to go. Okay?”

“Sure,” she whispered, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

And she would. But not until long after he drifted off, his breathing even, the golden light of evening slipping quietly into dusk.

Yn padded down the stairs quietly, the soft creak of the steps barely registering beneath the distant clatter of pans and the gentle bubbling of something simmering in the kitchen. The house smelled like miso and something savory being stir-fried, and her stomach gave a quiet, traitorous growl.

She rubbed her eyes and wandered in, still barefoot and slightly dazed from the warmth of Tsukishima’s room.

“Ah, yn-chan,” his mother greeted with a smile, glancing over her shoulder from where she stood at the stove. “Kei knocked out?”

Yn smiled softly, stepping into the kitchen. “Like a light. He didn’t even fight it this time.”

His mom chuckled and waved her over. “I’m making yasai itame for dinner. Want a taste?”

“Maybe later. I’m just thirsty.” Yn went to grab herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter.

They stood like that for a moment. Just two women in soft silence, bound by mutual affection for the tall, tired boy sleeping upstairs.

Then his mother gave her a knowing look. “You’re still looking at places?”

Yn paused with the glass halfway to her lips, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. A few more popped up this week, actually.”

His mom hummed thoughtfully, gently stirring the pot in front of her. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”

“I am.” Yn’s voice was firm, determined. “I know it’s not a perfect solution, and there’s no guarantee everything will go the way we want it to. But…” She bit her lip. “If I can find a place somewhere in between our schools—close enough for the both of us without losing half a day commuting—I think it’ll help.”

His mom smiled without turning. “You know, I thought you were just being polite the first time you brought it up. But then you started asking about train lines and furniture stores.”

Yn laughed quietly. “I just… I don’t want us to drift apart.”

The honesty of it made her chest tighten. She hadn’t said it out loud before. Not like this.

“Kei worries about it too,” yn continued. “But I didn’t want to tell him just yet. Not until we’re both past our entrance exams. He’s already stressed. If I add more to his plate now…”

“You’re protecting him,” his mom said simply, finally turning to face her.

“I guess I am.”

There was a pause, and then the woman’s expression softened into something fond and just a little proud.

“He’s lucky, you know,” she said. “He doesn’t say it much—not in words—but Kei… he’s never brought a girl home like this. Never looked at someone the way he looks at you.”

Yn ducked her head, flustered. “I’m lucky too,” she murmured. “It’s hard sometimes, but… he’s worth it.”

“Mhm. Just remember—love’s important, but life’s more complicated than that,” his mom said. “You’re both young, and… well, I won’t embarrass you with the talk—”

Yn nearly dropped the glass, coughing as she choked on her own saliva.

“—but just promise me you’ll be smart. About everything.” Her gaze was firm, but not unkind. “College is hard enough without extra surprises. And if there’s ever a question you’re too shy to ask him, or your parents or even me… just remember, there’re clinics near campus that have discreet pamphlets.” A pause. “And condoms.”

Yn turned away, a furious blush rising to her cheeks. “Oh my god…”

“Motherly duty fulfilled,” she said dryly, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Now, I’ll just have to give Kei my version of the talk when you finally tell him.”

Then she reached over, patting yn’s hand. “But if you ever need help figuring out the other stuff—laundry, cooking, cleaning—my door’s always open, yn. And if Kei ever slacks off, text me. I’ll guilt trip him for you.”

Yn laughed, the tension dissolving into something lighter. She gave her hand a squeeze in return.

“Thanks, Tsukishima-san.”

“Just call me Mom already,” she said, grinning.

Yn flushed. “That still feels too… early.”

They both laughed, the sound echoing gently in the small kitchen.

As yn finished her water and rinsed out the glass, she glanced back toward the stairs. She already missed being next to him, even if he was fast asleep.

She wasn’t sure what the future would look like, not exactly. But knowing that Kei would be in it, and that he cared enough to worry about it just like she did, made it feel a lot less daunting.

And a whole lot more certain.

808 notes View Post

hinakamiya

1 month ago

★ DON'T FORGET TO KISS ME OR ELSE YOU'LL HAVE TO MISS ME. tsukishima kei

.ᐟ Content summary: Boyfriend Tsukishima headcanons part 2

.ᐟ Includes: Tsukishima x fem!reader

.ᐟ Word count: 1.75 k

.ᐟ Content warnings: none, just fluff, sfw, kinda realistic?)

.ᐟ A/N: Since the first Tsukishima bf hc were so well received, i wrote a second part as a thank you for all the support on the first work <333. The title of this it's lyrics of this song by beabadoobee.

.ᐟ ☆ Part 1 ☆

☆ He gets very offended if you don’t want to share a spoon or straw with him. He actually finds it disgusting to share any cuttery, straw or glass with somebody else because well, ew, only god knows where their mouths have been and he’s not taking any chances. But with you, it’s a whole different story. If you even dare to wipe the rim of his glass before drinking from it, he looks at you so offended and literally gives you a narrowed eyed look like daring you to keep wiping. He takes this as you non verbally saying you find him disgusting, just a little dramatic, right? But of course it’s nothing serious and he knows you both are joking. After the aforementioned occurrence, he would act very much offended until you give him some kisses to show him you are not disgusted by him and of course, he always gives in.

☆ Asking for affection isn’t something he does, but when he wants you to hug him or kiss him he starts to play with your hair or gets really close to you. If you are oblivious to his attempts to convey his affectious needs, he just sulks for like 5 minutes before asking something dramatic like “why are you being so cold with me today?”,while looking at you like this. He does initiate affection with you often but he just likes to be dramatic because he knows you play along in his little game and after his dramatic complaint, you give him all the affection he craves.

☆ His phone has a different notification sound for you. You are the only person on his phone who has a distinctive ringtone and notification sound, it sounds like something normal but considering how Tsukishima doesn’t look like he cares for those little details, it took his family and friends out of guard when they figured it all out. The call ringtone he chose for you it’s the Nana theme song or some sound similar to that one because for him you sound exactly like that, and for the notification sound it’s something that sounds like the sparkles in the movies, something cute and whimsical like that. It’s a little cheesy but this is peak Tsukishima being a discrete loverboy for you.

☆ Gaming together it's a must. So any game works for him and most of the time lets you choose what you want to play but i feel he 100% loves to play cozy multiplayer games with you, like Minecraft or Stardew Valley, these two are his favorite. In Minecraft you are mostly building stuff and having a competition about it, and you always win because he has 0 creativity sense and what he builts always looks plain and a little wrong placed. Now, Stardew Valley was a game he found silly and a waste of time because it looked boring, but he actually got hooked on it pretty quick after he tried it for the first time. As I mentioned before, he sucks at decorating so you take care of your little farm so everything looks pretty while he goes in search for all the items you need, you forage, make artisan goods and fish while he collects wood, rocks and goes into the mines to fight the monsters there because it’s fun for him and he always gifts you your favorite crystal at the end of the day <3

☆ It may be a little silly but you have a shared tamagotchi that it’s like your child. The idea of this was surprisingly his. It happened because he got the tamagotchi as a plus gift after his mom bought something in a random store so his mom let him keep it even though he didn’t want the damn thing, he thought of throwing it away but thought that you might like it so he gifted it to you. After that, you were constantly taking care of the little virtual mascot to a point that got Tsukishima wondering about all the effort you put in taking care of a bunch of pixels and how you got stressed sometimes you got when you were busy and couldn’t attend the necessities of the virtual thing, so being the sweet boyfriend he is, he offered to take the tamagotchi and take care of it even if he didn’t saw the appeal in taking care of it. Soon he came to find that even if the whole thing of taking care of some virtual pet was a little dumb, it was funny (in a good way) to think of you basically co-parenting that dumb virtual pet that he grew to like. Then one day he said you should share the tamagotchi because it was already like your child, when you agreed, he took his role as a father very seriously and actually took good care of your virtual child.

☆ You know how in some couples it happens that there’s a person that it’s really picky with food and the other person eats basically everything that’s edible, yeah well, in your relationship Tsukishima it’s the picky eater. It may be that you are also a very picky eater but he takes that to a whole new level. Yes, he doesn’t like green peppers, he can’t stand any onion except spring onion and yes, he doesn't eat chicken if it’s not nuggets or chicken breast because he’s disgusted of the cartilages and chewy things, that’s all very reasonable and all but he sometimes he has very specific and a little odd pickiness habits. There was this time when you had started dating in which you were having a little date in a cafe and of course you both ordered some cake, he ordered a strawberry shortcake and started to take the strawberries off the piece cake… When you asked the reason for this, you expected that maybe he was saving them for the end but no, his answer was calm and nonchalant: “I don’t like strawberries.” You were dumbfounded, he just shrugged and continued his task before explaining he liked the taste the strawberries left lingering in the cream of the cake but he hated strawberries and only liked that almost unnoticeable flavor they gave to the strawberry shortcake… Dating him after that meant to deal with his very unusual picky eater preferences, but well, you learned to love his suspiciously neurodivergent habits. For the record, if you are the kind of person that eats pretty much everything, he’s gonna be placing on your plate everything he picks off out of his food <3 (as i was editing, this tiktok popped up in my feed and this is basically Tsukishima i'm afraid lol)

☆ His family loves you a lot. His mom loved you even before personally meeting you because of how much Tsukishima talked about you to her, a mother knows, and she knew you were good for him because she could see how Tsukishima seemed more cheerful and full of life after he started dating you and that gained you her approval. Now, his mom always invites you constantly to lunch or dinner at their place, invites you to family outings they have and you regularly receive some food or baked goods from her. Now Akiteru, Tsukishima’s brother, he absolutely likes you and it’s happy about your relationship, but since he and Tsukishima are still working in building their brotherly relationship up, he keeps his distance a little bit but he’s always nice to you and stubbly let’s you know how glad he is you are taking care of his little brother.

☆ His love language is acts of service and physical touch. So, he isn’t good with words and love it’s a very complex kind of feeling, expressing it it’s hard or easy depending on the person and Tsukishima in this case, couldn’t bring himself to say all he feels for you out loud, he just can’t, so instead of just keep quiet and no do anything about it, he found another way of letting you know how much he loves you; acts of service and physical touch. He always carries your bag for you, even your handbag if you use one, he always pays for everything and doesn’t accept your money when you want to pay him back, walks in the side of the sidewalk, always gets you your favorite snacks and food, fixes your hair when the wind ruins it, tells you when your makeup it’s smudged and sometimes he even tries to fix it, pays attention to everything you say, opens the doors for you, places his hand on your head or covers the table corners when you bend down so you won’t hurt yourself and so on. Now physical touch it’s a tiny bit more important to him because he is very vulnerable when he’s affectionate towards you, he’s shy about it but tries his best to be nonchalant and casual when he holds your hand, wraps his arm around your shoulders as you walk, when he hugs you by the waist, when he nudges your noses together, when he kisses your cheek or your forehead, when he kisses your lips as his hands cradle your face… In all of those acts of service and touches, he completely pours out his heart and hopes you know how much you mean to him.

☆ Like it’s stated in the previous point, kisses are a very meaningful thing to him, whether the kisses are pecks, small kisses, long kisses, makeout sessions and any of that, kisses are not something Tsukishima takes lightly. The first time you kissed he almost passed out from the rush of emotions, the memory of how it felt and how you tasted it’s engraved deep in his brain and the more you kissed with the pass of time, his fondness for kissing you grew and grew more everytime your lips met. His kisses depend on the place you are, it can be a peck if there’s too much people around or it can be a long lasting kiss if you’re alone, whatever it is but he always has to kiss you goodbye, that became almost a non-spoken rule, he has to kiss you whether it be on the lips or your cheek or your forehead but he has to or he’ll be feeling so uncomfortable about it, like an itch that he has to scratch to kiss you as soon as you see each other again. If he forgets to kiss you, he’ll be missing you until his lips met with yours once again <3

388 notes View Post

hinakamiya

4 years ago

Omg requests are open-

Can I get a scenario of Xiao x reader, who is super insecure about themselves, and one day after a particularly harsh comment from Xiao they just start crying? They know it’s just how he talks, but they can’t help but feel like he doesn’t even like them sometimes...with lots of fluff at the end if possible pls. ;’)

Ty so much!! I LOVE ❤️ your blog!! I hope you have a great day :3

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: xiao x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: harsh words from xiao, insecurities, not proofread

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: thank u for the request! and honestly this is so possible w xiao :( he's very blunt :( but he means well!!

xiao knows you're insecure

... kinda

it's one of those things that have been buried deep within his mind. he's not going to think about how you stare at yourself in disappointment, or how you seem to hate the sound of your own voice

it's not that he's cold, he's just unaware. unaware of the true depth and meaning of the word 'insecure'

an example is, right now. right now, after he merely responded like how he did to all mortals, you were crying. and a part of him hates the sight of your tears, yet at the same time, he's confused

why? why are you crying? he can't seem to tell, so when he stretches his hand out and you recoil, it's when xiao realizes

oh.

the problem is him.

"[Name]...?" Xiao called your name weakly—no, wait, not weakly... hoarsely.

The adeptus was dumbfounded. Why were you crying? The peculiars of mankind would forever confuse him, and this instance was another one of them.

And then he watched. He watched as you hid away from his gaze, refusing to accept his touch as if he were a searing hot pan.

xiao bites his tongue and walks away. he concludes that if you do not want to speak to him, then he will not force you

to him, the action was necessary and logical. to him, it is a good moment to cool down and look around

but to you. to you and your wounded heart, you and your growing anxiousness—that was goodbye. xiao has had enough of you, after all, he has much more to worry about than someone like you. someone who was weak compared to his strength

oh, how xiao was so utterly oblivious to "the peculiars of mankind"

so after a few hours, xiao returns. he returns... no different from how he was before. he's a stubborn yaksha after all, a little patrol will not somehow make him realize his wrongdoings

imagine his utter shock when the door to your room is still locked, and there's no sign of you emerging

hm.

so he knocks. three times. three times before huffing and turning away

fine. if you didn't want to see him, so be it!

and like the stubborn man he is, he leaves to go finish his adeptus duties

Xiao heaved out a sigh of relief once he saw you at the balcony of Wangshu Inn. Concluding, 'they're finally done crying', he approached you cautiously before standing right beside you.

"Xiao?" You noticed his presence instantly, and the adeptus couldn't help but recoil once his name left your lips.

Countless of times has he told you 'whenever the world caves in, call me. I'll be there', yet this insignificant moment, this brief time where he wished his name was the last thing that slipped from your mouth, Xiao had realized:

'I messed up.'

The way you spoke his name made him retract because of the dying storm that seemed to cascade from your throat. Like your anger was bubbling in place of your sadness, a thunderous crash and bang.

"... Do you even love me?" You spoke without a reply, as if you didn't care about what meaningless fodder would trickle from his mouth.

xiao pauses, his urge to reprimand you for such a question skyrocketing

did he love you? definitely! did you think he'd return if he didn't? did you think he'd come knocking at your door, asking—begging for you to open up?

and all of this inner turmoil is stuff xiao suffers from alone. he's used to suffering alone, and this, this is not any different

"of course i do," he says with the most sincerity possible, as if he were making a vow or a contract to rex lapis during the archon war

"it doesn't really feel like it," you look at him with a gaze that'd break his spirit if it weren't for him being battle-worn

and this. this insignificant moment is the moment xiao realizes how deep your scars go. how you too had been suffering with your own inner turmoil, just as he

for someone like xiao, saying sorry isn't easy. he has many things to be sorry for, but he does not utter such words so carelessly

"i'm sorry," he whispers to you, to the night sky, to liyue and to the spirits of old

he knows these two words will not earn your forgiveness, they should never. so encased within that 'meaningless' sentence, xiao promises:

i will never hurt you like this again.

that is his contract. his long overdue contract.

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hinakamiya

7 months ago

Fic recs - oneshots (part 2)

Felt like doing another post like this (might make it into a weekly thing idk, until I run out of recs I guess lol)

So like before, this post includes only sfw oneshots:

nothin' gonna hurt you, baby (nothin's gonna make you cry) by MikaelLo - Ghost is captured and drugged while on a mission. Soap finds him and together they deal with the fallout.

Shaken by bleepyear - Soap is haunted by the events of Chicago. His hands won't stop shaking when he holds a weapon. Ghost notices.

In A Hole In The Earth by Louffox - Soap is told to shut it on a mission. He takes it too seriously when he falls down a well. (this one is one of my favorites)

Dead & Bloated by saucebass_yahoo - Soap learns something shocking about Ghost that sets a plan into motion. Do dead men celebrate birthdays?

A Burning Hill by dandeliondick - Soap stopped touching Ghost completely one day. Ghost spirals.

Break Stuff by shiftpink - Soap has trouble making it through the day without wanting to break something. Ghost helps his friend.

you're my end and my beginning by crown_twist - What if teenage Simon got a sneak peek of John MacTavish? (this one is so fuckin sweet it kills me every time)

stay by crown_twist - Soap finally figures it out, and promptly fucks it up.

watch by crown_twist - Soap confesses to the wrong person

get high in the moonlight by wolfspit - Ghost gets drugged and it's not the "fun" kind of drug. Soap keeps him from choking on his own spit.

keeping you safe by oh_ellie - Ghost and Soap always see each other off for their missions. Except for the time Soap was too agitated at Ghost. And that's where he fucked up.

lipstick marks and teacups by flyby2 - Soap finds Ghost making tea when sleep evades them both.

Sit For You by Shitty_Nerds_N0tes - After a rough mission, Soap picks up his old sketchbook and Ghost gets a look inside.

Hypothermic Heartaches by Gummichii - Soap becomes hypothermic and starts taking off clothes. Ghost has to find him before it's too late.

sweet by ElizaStyx - It's the middle of a sleepless night, Ghost and Soap slow dance in the moonlight.

stay frosty by orphan_account - another hypothermia fic, this time both of them freeze their ass off [idk why I have so many of these lmao]

All I wanted Was You by Aessedia - Soap gets injured on duty. Ghost sees it happen and becomes feral in his need to save him.

Choosing Regrets by Sillililli - Simon thinks he can talk Johnny out of wanting him, but Johnny's always one step ahead. [edit: this one is nsfw I labelled it incorrectly in my own notes 😓]

last vision by sherashalala - Soap gets injured and thinks that hiding said injury is a good idea.

Heather by eddie_dxaz - Soap finds a girlfriend. Ghost struggles with it.

I'll stop here for today, still have an unreasonable amount to go through, and that's not mentioning any fics that don't fall into these categories! But I'm happy to do this, wanted to show fic writers some love, since a lot of these really deserve more haha

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hinakamiya

1 year ago

STILL WITH HEARTS BEATING

alhaitham x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, insecurity issues, fear of vulnerability, hurt/comfort, selfship coded a/n: a vent drabble, so everything is super self indulgent + based on me lol

“tell me atlas. what is heavier: the world or its people’s hearts?” — darshana suresh

although he prefers to keep his nose buried in a book, alhaitham is still as perceptive as ever, taking note of all the minuscule changes in your demeanor, even whilst you don a mask to stifle your woes.

he sees it first in the wistful sighs scattered amongst your too calm breaths, in your crafted smile, too practiced to be natural, and the strained words that fall too heavily out your lips, each in a race to prove that everything is normal and fine—that any anomalous behavior might only be the ramifications of an exhausting day.

your name rolls so naturally off his tongue, as he reaches out to you, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the bedroom and sleep away your swallowed emotions.

“are you alright?”

he asks out of courtesy, but to him, the signs are clear as day: the sharp inhale and slow exhale as you rally to fabricate another facade, chin tilted just a smidge too high as you turn to face him, dull eyes glistening with the remnants of unshed tears, forced to retreat by the winged flutter of your lashes.

to him, the signs are clear as day that you are not, that you are only putting on a brave face, something which he finds odd within the threshold of your shared home.

“just tired is all,” you reply, speaking in half truths. after all, it's exhausting trying to keep up appearances when all you wish to do, is to curl into yourself and rot into your bed.

you flash him a quick smile, small and devoid of warmth; a lame imposter to the very one he’s grown so terribly fond of.

he repeats your name, this time softer, brows knitted with equal parts skepticism and concern at your empty words. filled with even emptier spirit, he notes.

nonchalant, rehearsed, refined—and yet, he can hear the melancholia that spills into your tone. see the downward twitch of your lead-laden lips and the watery shift of your eyes as you avert your gaze in self-consciousness.

“you don’t have to hide from me,” he murmurs, and you want to believe him, want to believe that you’re brave enough to lay down your defenses, that you can trust him to hold your porcelain heart in his hands without threat of endangerment.

you open your mouth to speak, but not a sound comes out as the words turn to bile in your throat. to swallow the bitter liquid, or to spit your heart out and lay it bare for him to see. for alhaitham, who is more than just an akademiya giant, but a cornerstone of sumeru itself: brilliant and brave, kind in spite of his unconventional displays. the sun who shines by the heat of his own radiance.

his moon, he calls you. and yet the moon does not glow; the moon whose only light is a reflection of the sun.

you purse your lips, internally willing yourself to believe that these tears will not spill. it'd be egregious—like coughing up blood when you too have a reputation to uphold, a certain presence to be perceived. for even the moon, who shines by grace of borrowed light, is steadfast in its quiet elegance.

“it’s fine,” you insist, “really.” it’s heavy under the weight of your pride, but at least your heart is safe here in your chest, isolated and tucked away.

you push until he relents, relaxing his grip around your wrist. good, you think, he's given up. but then why does it so painfully squeeze your heart in a way you cannot convey—like a hair-lined fracture upon your brittle bones.

but alhaitham is no fool; he intends to prove he’d catch you before you can shatter, freeing your wrist, only so that he might pull you into his arms instead. there is no shortage to the vast infinity of words he can say, but matters of the heart have never been his forte… and so he hopes that his actions might speak more profoundly than his words.

the sudden impact blows your eyes wide with surprise, tears already threatening to spill from the solace of just his embrace. there are no sounds other than his steady heart and even breaths, no scent besides the faded woody fragrance of his cologne. it's safe here, cocooned in his arms, and you think that for a moment, perhaps everything is and will be fine.

you relax against him, basking in his warmth, as you rest into the crook of his neck, absentmindedly staring at the patterns on the floor.

“you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispers, “but please don’t hide from me.”

your hands, pressed flush against his chest, curl into themselves, relieved that he cannot see the tears welling in your eyes. he does, however, feel that first crystalline droplet that slides freely down your cheeks, melting into the fabric of his clothes as more follow. alhaitham runs his fingers through your hair, while his other hand hugs you by the small of your back, holding you ever closer. the occasional sob racks your body, silent and reluctant, but it’s a start.

a heart is a complex web of earnest emotions, floridly woven into secrets he cannot fault you for keeping locked away in a vault. perhaps one day, you’d rely on him, let him in to share the burden. and if he should be so lucky, perhaps you'd deem him worthy to be your home, so that you might rest with him, without armor. as for now, he’ll gladly cushion your fall, give you a soft place to land.

in the night’s dark embrace, the moon’s milky light paints patterns through the stained glass window of your bedroom, and behind you, your lover’s arms stay wrapped around your waist, holding you close beneath the blankets.

“… alhaitham?” your voice is delicate, spun from silk amidst the quiet of the night.

“hmm?” he peaks an eye open at the unfamiliar use of his full name.

“if I ask you something, do you promise to answer honestly?”

“I don’t see any reason not to.” The low vibrations of his tone tickles your skin as he replies with a kiss to your shoulder.

“am I…,” you hesitate, voice wavering as you contemplate whether words whispered into the wind might write itself into stone. “am i… enough for you?”

the seconds seem to stand still, as if all the world and even the sky itself, were holding its breath in bated anticipation.

finally, a creak cuts through the silence as the bed shifts alongside alhaitham, who now hovers over you, his body and arms trapping you in between. the intensity of his gaze prompts you to look away, but he reaches for your chin, holding you gently so that you have nowhere to look, save for his technicolored eyes.

enough for him? is that what you were upset about? what a shame, he thinks.

“If you could only see what I see,” he murmurs, with a kiss to your forehead. his moon, his stars, his entire night sky, who guides him in the dark.

“intelligent, intuitive, independent,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw, and down your neck in between each word. “outspoken and fiercely strong. beautiful, capable of anything…”

alhaitham glances up, only satisfied once the insecurity is dispelled from your features, replaced by an absolute reassurance.

"… which I knew from the moment you made me fall completely in love with you."

he peppers your face with little kisses, and you can’t help but let out a soft laugh, almost embarrassed. “haitham…”

alhaitham pauses at your first genuine smile of the night. “I mean every word. you’re more than enough, just as you are. and no one can should be able to take that away from you, so…”

he rolls back into bed, pulling you with him as he goes, so that you might drift to sleep with your head rested atop his chest, listening to the steady tune of his heart, as it sings to you in your dreams.

a/n2: this was actually vry therapeutic but i did not intend for it to get this long, and so i m a bit embarrassed (don’t perceive) however if u have made it this far, as always, thank u for reading ♡

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