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cowgurrrl · 1 year

Text

Everyone I’ve Never Met

Pairing: Ellie Williams x platonic fem!reader

Summary: “You can put your strength down. I’m sitting here with you at your kitchen table. You don’t need to say anything.” - Eden Robinson, Writing Prompts for the Broken-hearted aka you tell Ellie the truth [2k]

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, angsty angst angst, tumultuous parent/child relationship, references to what happened in Salt Lake City, talks about Anna, grief

She looks shocked when she opens the door to find you there. You smile and glance inside her little house, doing your best to keep the peace.

"Can I come in?" You ask. She doesn't nod or say anything. She just turns on her heels and leaves the door open for you. You walk as though you're entering hollowed ground, gentle and quiet, so you don't disturb anything in her home. It's clean enough to support life, although you wish she would let you take her laundry from the corner it's piling up in. She stands awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, and you smile at her again, hoping for a glimpse of that innocent girl you saw so much of five years ago. "How's Dina?"

"Why are you asking about her?" She clamps up.

"Just curious," You try to soothe her, but her shoulders are still by her ears. You take a deep breath and hold the thick file in your hands. "I know you're mad, but I've been working on something for a while and wanted you to have it." You say, placing it on the table next to her.

"What is it?"

"There were some people who owed me favors back in Boston. They were able to get me some information about your mother," you say. She looks confused but opens the folder anyway. "It was a shot in the dark. I didn't know how much they'd be able to find, but-"

"How were they even able to get all this stuff?" She asks as she sifts through the stack of papers. There's more than you thought there would be. Letters from patients that Anna helped, scraps of newspaper with her handwriting on them, a half-finished silly lullaby called Ellie's Belly. You wanted to cry when you read it. Few obstetricians practiced after Outbreak Day; even if they did, they needed the equipment to do sonograms. The likelihood that Anna knew she was having a girl before she gave birth was slim to none, but she still wrote this for her Ellie. Your heart hurts when you think about how much she loved the daughter she never got to raise.

"Anna Williams had a lot of people who loved her. When she died, people were devastated. Made them cling to what they had left a little tighter. What did you know about her before this?"

"I knew she was a nurse and was friends with Marlene, but that was pretty much it. I have her knife and a letter she wrote me," she trails off as she picks up a faded Polaroid. She shows it to you hesitantly, like she's afraid you'll rip it up. "Is this her?"

"It was in with Marlene's stuff. I don't know if this was before the Outbreak or after," you glance between her and the smiling redhead, forever frozen in time. She looks kind with big green eyes and a big, toothy smile. She can't be more than twenty-two in the picture, and you wonder how far away she was from getting pregnant. "You look just like her." For half a second, Ellie grins. Her fingers trace the outline of her mother's features. You wish she were here. You wonder if you two would've gotten along, but it seems hard to imagine that you wouldn't if she's the woman who brought Ellie into the world.

"Did you… were you able to find anything about my father?"

"Nothing concrete. Some people said he was a FEDRA officer. Others said he was a smuggler passing through. She never said anything to anyone about who he might be," You watch her shoulders slump a little, and your fingers twitch to squeeze her. You don't. "I'm sorry." You say instead. She shakes her head and shrugs.

"It's fine." She says. It doesn't feel fine, but you nod anyway. You take a few steps toward her front door, suddenly feeling like you're intruding.

"I can leave you with all this. I know it's a lot to take in."

"Wait," she stops you, looking up from the tiny ghosts of her mother, and the air seems to get trapped in your lungs. This is the most she's looked at you since she found out. "How is he?"

"He's okay. He misses you. We both miss you."

"I miss you, too. This whole thing... it doesn't just have to do with you two. There's more that I'm trying to figure out."

"I get it. If you have any questions, I'll do my best to give you answers."

"Thanks," she walks over to her cabinet and pulls down a big bottle of whiskey. You both sit at the table as she pours two healthy drinks. Joel probably wouldn't approve of you two drinking before patrol tomorrow, but you don't care. The silence is less uncomfortable now and feels the most normal in months. She sloshes the drink in her glass, a pensive look taking over her features, and you lean back in your chair to watch her.

"I can hear you thinking." You say. She puffs air out of her nose in a quiet laugh and looks at you.

"Am I that obvious?"

"No, I just know you," it spills out of your mouth, and she chews the inside of her lip. "What's goin' on up there, kiddo?"

"Tell me what really happened that day." She says. You take a big sip of whiskey as you remember waking up in the Firefly hospital. A lot of it is still blurry, and you're not sure if things will ever get clearer. You don't know if your brain is protecting you from the horrors of that day or if you genuinely blacked out. What you can remember is bloody and riddled with shell casings, broken glass, and bodies. So many bodies.

"You're not gonna like it."

"That's not what I asked."

"Marlene and some Fireflies were in the room with us when we woke up after the smoke bomb went off. We wanted to see you, but she told us you were going into surgery and explained that they would crack your skull and pull the Cordyceps out of your brain to get what they needed for the cure. Just like that," you shake your head. You didn't realize how angry you still were at Marlene for deceiving all of you, for making you think she had a future when she never intended to let Ellie walk out of the hospital. "Something snapped in both of us. They pointed guns in our faces and were told to escort us out of the hospital and to the highway, but the Firefly soldiers walked us right past our stuff. They never had any intention of letting us live, so we did the only thing we knew how to do."

"Kill?"

"Survive," you correct, remembering the blind rage that overtook the both of you that day. "One of the guys grabbed me, and that was all Joel needed. I don't remember much else, but I know we made it out with you. I know we did horrible things and killed people because nobody mattered to us as much as you did. As much as you still do."

"Why did you choose me? You could've helped save the world. They would've hailed you and Joel as heroes, but now you're just here."

"During that first year, you became our world. You made us laugh and worry and love for the first time in years. It became an unspoken agreement that you were more important than us, that if it came down to saving you or either of us, we would always pick you," you say. "So that's what we did. We picked you. We saved our world. Fuck everyone else."

"So many people have died because there isn't a vaccine. Riley, Tess, Sam," she takes a breath as she looks at that polaroid again. "My mother."

"And making one wasn't going to bring them back."

"So, you don't regret it?"

"I regret lying to you and how it's affected us, but I don't regret saving you."

"My life would've had meaning. You fucking took that from me."

"There was never any proof that the cure was going to work. They were experimenting. That's all they were ever going to do. Once we realized that, there wasn't a chance in hell that we were going to let them do that to you," you say. "If you were going to die in that hospital, we were going to die right alongside you."

"Maybe that would've been better." Hardened eyes bore into yours as she says it. She's unflinching, precise, and hits you right where it hurts. You’ve seen the same tactic in how she kills, in how you and Joel kill. The similarity makes you want to throw up.

"Maybe," you nod. "But, I would do it all over again, even knowing what I know now." Ellie shakes her head and takes a big sip of her drink. The silence that fills the space between you is unbearable. You want her to scream, to yell, to throw a tantrum. You want her to unleash all her anger so you can love her anyways. You want her to see that even as she yells and hates you, you'll still stand there and say, "I can take it. I'm not afraid of you because I know you and I love you.”

You don't know that you can ever forgive Marlene for putting so much weight on fourteen-year-old shoulders. Ellie was a kid. A kid with immense guilt who felt like the only way her life could have meaning was if she died because everyone she has ever loved had died. Even if you had the chance to go back and ask Ellie's opinion, you still think you would've done what you did. A teenager in that headspace is not the right person to make decisions about their mortality. But just because she's alive and has a new life doesn't mean the weight Marlene gave her is gone. If anything, it's gotten heavier, and she's gotten quieter.

She rubs her eyes and bounces her knee under the table, a habit she picked up from you. She's exhausted and looks like she could start crying at any second. "I trusted you." She mumbles, sounding so much like the Ellie you met all those years ago. Your throat feels raw as you stare at her.

"I know," you say. Your voice is soft but not quite apologetic. "Ellie-"

"You were right. It's getting late, and we both have patrol in the morning, so you should go." She says, standing from her chair to put her empty glass in the sink. With her back to you, you look up at the ceiling to force the tears back into your eyes. You clear your throat and stand, but she doesn't turn.

"Try to get some sleep," You say in place of "I love you," and she hums from the sink. Anna's smiling face watches you leave her Ellie's house and walk back out into the freezing night, feeling emptier than when you showed up. You glance through her window and find her still standing at the sink, clutching her stomach as her chest moves quickly. It looks like she’s having a panic attack. You want to go back in to soothe her, to hug her and tell her everything will be okay, before you remember that you probably caused the attack. You feel like you just got punched in the stomach as you go against your better judgement and start walking home.

You wonder if this is how it’s going to be for the rest of your lives— watching her life unfold behind glass, unable to do or say anything to make her feel better. At least, she’s alive, you try to remind yourself, but is it really living if she’s not sleeping, eating, or letting herself feel anything? Is it a life if she’s mourning every time she should’ve died but didn’t? Is it a life if you’re watching her slowly kill herself from behind glass, your desperate screaming falling upon deaf ears?

Or did the most important part of all three of you die in that hospital and you’re walking corpses? Does digging into a wound to find and name the bullet make the pain any better?

🍓

(June stop getting philosophical at the end of every fic challenge)

#ellie williams #joel and ellie #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #anna williams #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us x reader #platonic Ellie Williams #i wrote this for me but you can read it too i guess

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haikyuu-imagines-and-others · 6 years

Note

Hello lovelies! Hope life is going well for you. I've been having a rough few days and was hoping I could request a soulmate AU with Asahi or Tsukishima or Ushijima meeting reader for the first time on V-day. Reader is an ex-vball player and was going through physical therapy because they just want to play again. If not, no worries I completely understand. But if so you'd literally be my favorite person right now.

I love SoulMateAU!!!! I love all of them so very much! I’m sorry this is so late though haha its May and this was supposed to be posted around Valentines??? Please forgive me! And thank you for requesting! - Admin Satori

SoulMateAU Selected: @virgno Soulmate au where instead of having the first thing they say tattooed on each other, they instead have a random sentence tattooed that that person will say around them. And so you know it’s not just a coincidence when they say it, the tattoo stings and fades away.

Azumane Asahi:

How could something so insignificant be hurting you so much after years of being dormant? All you’d done is use your knees for receiving on your college Volleyball team! That’s all! And now you’re knees felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets!

You hadn’t thought anything of the pain, initially - mostly because you’d been dealing with pain your whole life. Sports life was rough on the body, after all.

But before you knew it, you were falling to the ground while walking to your next class. You managed to save yourself, gripping onto the bannister next to the stairs. But one of your knees still tapped against the hard floor…. You’d been hit in the face with a spiked volleyball almost too many times to count, and that didn’t come close to the pain you felt explode from your knee!

Thankfully, you’d been near some friends, and they helped you to your feet, scared to touch you in case it’d somehow affect you further! But you were a trooper, no amount of pain was going to keep you down! “I shouldn’t have fallen so many times…” You couldn’t help but regret your favorite move of falling to your knees right in front of the falling ball. While, hell yeah did it look cool, it was terrible for your body. So many shocking stops rocked through your body every time you pulled off that save. The crowds would go wild, you’d feel pride swelling in your chest, and the game would continue on.

The abuse of your body would keep taking its toll on it.

“I’m fine, I swear! Just go to class and I’ll see you later, okay?” Your friend frowned, not believing you’d be alright - not because you wouldn’t recover but because they knew you’d just go at the sport again. It wasn’t Volleyball season, so you had a break from the sport… but you’d be back. The game had you by the soul.

You don’t know how long you sat in the waiting room, feeling your knee twinge now and then, not knowing if it felt more ticklish or painful to react properly. If you were being honest with yourself, you were scared to touch it. Worried you’d somehow screw it up more. Which would’t be a surprise to you, since you were the reason you were sitting alone in the on campus physicians office anyway.

After a few minutes of staring at the clock on the wall across from you, being lulled into a sort of rhythmic trance, you pulled your attention away from it…. To instead stare down at your inner arm.

At the tattoo that’d plagued your body since the day you were born.

“T-Tsubaki-Sensei, I need your signature for this.”

What a dumb thing to have written on you. Did your soul mate have a speech impediment? Who was Tsubaki-Sensei? Why’d they need a signature?

Irritation had formed in the pit of your stomach as soon as you’d known what the tattoo meant. The first words your soul mate uttered. Either to you or not was really up to the fates. Your last name wasn’t Tsubaki. You didn’t know anyone by that last name, or first! There were so many places that needed the signature of a superior or advisor… You’d felt an irritation of hopelessness gnawing at your heart for the longest time. As far back as you could remember, really, there’d always been that feeling of ‘I’ll never find them’. Desperation or depression, you were torn between the two.

If anyone asked, you’d claim you’d given up. Didn’t care whether you’d find them or not - that it was their loss if neither of you found the other. Truly their loss since you were obviously so amazing, right? Your thoughts soured, taking your mind off the still twitching pain of your knee.

“I just want to go home.” Oh how you wanted to pull your legs to your chest and hide your face in your knees…. But you didn’t - that would hurt more than they were right now. And you were in public…. You could wait to get home to cry… Alone in your room and wondering where in the vast world was your ‘soul mate’.

The door to the physicians offices opened, revealing a sweet looking young woman, “_______-san? The Doctor will see you now.”

You wanted to be rude. You wanted to point out that the ‘doctor’ wasn’t really a doctor. He was nothing more than a student practicing on others to further his experience. If you’d really had the choice, you would have gone to see your family physician, someone you trusted to actually take care of you and not treat you like a guinea pig.

But you held your tongue and struggled to your feet, feeling your knees protest when you almost feel forward. Karma for wanting to be rude, you supposed. But you paid no mind to it and pushed forward, reaching the door a bit later after the announcement than you would have liked.

The nurse, much shorter than you, offered you her hand as a form of support. And you took it. “That looks pretty painful… We’ll probably be giving you crutches until we get your X-Rays back.” It was going to be a long day, you knew she wanted to say. Or at least a long recovery road.

“Well, as long as I heal quickly. I have plans for the Volleyball season coming up.”

The young lady didn’t say anything in response, internally shaking her head at your stubbornness. Physical Therapy was a timely thing, that you’d have to partake in, if you were ever going to get any better. But she remained silent, knowing you were in a foul mood from your sudden injury. Helping you onto the examination table, she took her report clipboard and took some information from you. Name, birthday, last four of social, student ID - even your blood type.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with so many pleasantries. You wanted nothing more than to go back to class. For a second you found amusement in your preference. School over a sick day? Imagine that.

Just as the young woman was about to ask you to stretch your leg out - to see the extent of your damaged knee, the examination room door opened to reveal an older man. If you had to guess, you’d say he was about 3 years older than you. A Senior. Getting his PhD. Practicing on students who had serious ailments or issues.

“My, My, Now what happened to you? Slip and fall?” You shook your head, “Jump down five stories and land rough?” Another shake of your head, “Past sports injury?” No movement from you had the doctor smiling before holding up a beige folder, “It’s in your file.” God, now you were really irritated. You just wanted to go home. Or class. Whichever got you furthest away from this supposedly funny doctor. “I’m Dr. Tsu-“

The door opened once more, and you felt a flash of anger rise from your chest - weren’t there enough people in the room making fun of your pain? You didn’t need any more!

A young man peeked around the door to see the doctor was waiting patiently for him to speak, “T-Tsubaki-Sensei, I need your signature for this.” He walked into to room, beelining straight for the doctor for what he needed so he could go.

New pain. Searing on your arm - as if someone took a flame and held it close to your skin. You inhaled sharply and pulled your arm to your chest, feeling your skin throb from the sudden irritation to it. Letting out a deep sigh, one that held the aftereffects of catching your breath, you looked down at your arm.

But you had to do a double take. Once at the young man who’d entered - scruffy looking almost, man bun, dark… deep, cute… brown eyes that kept looking around the room anxiously - then back at the tattoo… that HAD been on your arm. It was gone. Completely Gone.

The only thing that remained, to give an inkling to the presence of a tattoo to begin with…. Was a simple scar - very light, as if you’d gone to get the tattoo removed.

Then your eyes were back on the young man, and he noticed your staring almost immediately. He coughed uncomfortably, not seeing the current surprise and dilemma you felt in your heart. You’d SEEN this guy before. You’d known about him - about his high school records on his volleyball team. Azumane Asahi. The famed Ace of Karasuno’s Revival… And he was here in the physicians office? Nowhere near your current clique. So far from your possible reach.

How would you have ever found him? If not for this moment? If not for your injury.

“You? You’re supposed to be mine?” How could you not be incredulous? Years you’d wondered who he was talking to, why he had to answer to anyone, why he had a stutter to his voice - was he anxious? Scared? Worried? Come to find out, he was all three at once - a bundle of nerves just for you. Azumane Asahi was your soul mate.

Asahi suddenly hissed, his hand pressing against his ribcage - feeling a burning sensation wrack through his body. But his lightbulb went off faster than yours had - and then he was staring back at you with wide brown eyes, a soft blush coming to his cheeks when he realized just how…. Sudden this meeting was… he looked a mess and you… well, you looked beautiful. He’d heard about you, too. You were a legend from your own Volleyball team, the current volleyball team. “_-_-_______? It’s… It’s you?”

Despite the suddenness of the reconnection of two souls in all the cosmos, you couldn’t help the fond smile on your face, prompting his own to imitate you, “So… I’m assuming your my Physical Therapy Doctor?”

Tsukishima Kei:

“Are you dense?”

What kind of asshole would you end up with that would talk to you like that? All these years, you’d been self conscious - not only of your intellectual impact and skill, but of the words that marked your body. How negative and rude they’d seem on your worst of days.

To make up for your soulmates already predetermined foul mood, you’d tried so hard to be positive - to show the light in the darkness, to be able to lend a hand or a shoulder for friends who were drowning in their own sorrows…. Not that they truly had much to be sad about… You were the one with an asshole for eternity.

But thinking like that would only cause darkness to enter your heart, so you pushed those thoughts away… Because you wouldn’t let your rude soulmate predetermine your own attitude.

“I wonder if he’s actually really nice… Like a total sweetheart.”

You were shaking your head before they finished with their sentence, “I doubt it… What kind of ‘nice’ person belittles someone without even knowing them?” Your close friend, Yuki, was quite the optimist when the two of you were compared. You wondered if your soulmate would make a better pair with her rather than you, who had to try your hardest at being kind and nice. It was just so easy to be rude and sarcastic!

Yuki shrugged, “Well, who knows? You might be surprised- ______! Watch out!”

Before you could understand what she was warning you about, a large mass came crashing into your body, effectively knocking the air out of you. Their form was much larger than yours, and you stepped back in a barely recognizable sense to equalize their weight with your own. But your foot caught the wrong angle of the curb of the walkway, and you felt your ankle roll under your weight.

Thankfully, the body of the young man who’d crashed into you was removed, and apologies went flying when they realized you’d drop to take in the damage of your ankle. But you didn’t cry. You bit your lip harshly, tears springing in your eyes, and heavy breathing wracking your lungs. But not a single whimper escaped from your. Which the young man thought was odd, “I am so so sorry! Oh my God… Here, let me help you… “

You wanted to push him away, wanted to beg Yuki to tell him to leave - hell you wanted to curse your lungs out at the idiotic boy who throws his body around like a ragdoll! You had quite the extensive vocabulary for curses, so you knew it would hit home at one insult or the other.

But you only pressed your lips together tightly and nodded your head, feeling Yuki’s softer hands reach down to help you back to your one good foot, “______, it’s alright to cry, you’re hurt!” Your inhale was shaky and slow, and Yuki’s eyebrows shot up, “Uh.. Yeah we need to get her to the nurse as soon as possible…. She’s about to lose it.”

“Like her mind?”

“Like her patience.” The young man jumped into action and swooped you into his arms before trotting over to the nurses station inside the building. The journey was less than comfortable, and you felt every single of his footfalls shoot electric fire to your jarred ankle.

Thankfully, the scene of the accident wasn’t far from medical help, and you were sitting in an examination room before you could really come to terms with the pain currently ripping through your ankle. The young man stayed with you, his guilt pulling his senses from any other priority he’d had before crashing into you.

You supposed on a certain level you appreciated his taking responsibility for what he’d done. But more so than not you wanted to punch his damn lights out for possibly putting your volleyball career in jeopardy.

“________ was it? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention and I was just doing my afternoon jog around the school and I guess I got so into picking the music and - “

He shut his mouth as soon as you held up your hand, he was well trained and you briefly wondered by who but it ultimately didn’t matter, “Look, I just need you to shut up and let me mourn the loss of my foot, okay?” The door opened and in came in a tall, lanky, blond young man - not 2 years older than yourself you were sure. He was good looking, but you were currently giving the jarhead to your left the chewing out of his lifetime. “Thanks to you, I’ll never be able to play volleyball again, do you realize that? It’s all your fault, you blind idiot.”

You could have sworn you saw the doctor flinch.

Years of being nice and kind and sweet, crumbling before you in a split second - an accident that could cause your entire life to fall apart was all it took for your patience to completely snap. The young man looked downright ashamed, his shoulders low, his head hung, his eyebrows furrowed as he internally wracked his brain for anything to say to make up for what he’d probably done.

Cool fingers touched the heated, swelling of your ankle, and you jumped in surprise - restraining your knee jerk reaction to kick the perv in the face! But when you looked down at your ankle, you saw the top of the blond doctor’s head. He didn’t say a word, just allowed his fingertips to gently, with a ghostly stroke, poke and prod your ankle. He was a professional, it seemed, so you didn’t question him.

Shifting beside you had you glaring at the young sports boy, “I don’t think your career is ruined…. Maybe delayed… You know there are a lot of great athletes who’ve had to go through physical therapy to get their movement back.”

Your glare didn’t lessen, in fact you threw in an ‘unimpressed eyebrow’ to make it more severe. You felt eyes on your face, and when you glanced back down to the doctor, you could have sworn he’d turned his attention back to your ankle. Though there was a slight uplift to his cheek… As if he were smiling at you giving this jock the business.

“I know you don’t believe me, _____, but it’s going to work out! It’s going to be hard as hell, but it’ll be fine! Physical therapy is the end all to accidents!”

The fingers on your ankle stilled, and the blond doctor tilted his head a bit, his eyes squinted as if he were trying to see through what the jock had said to see the truth… Or at least the sense of his words. His lips pursed, then pressed together to keep what he had to say to himself.

But in the end, he couldn’t contain himself. “Are you dense? Physical therapy doesn’t fix everything, moron. You’re lucky it’s only a sprained ankle and not something worse. What kind of idiot thinks Physical Therapy can solve everything they screw up on?”

Stinging pulled your attention from the conversation in front of you, pulled it straight to your hip. Your hand rested over the tingling you felt under your waistband, but you needed to know. You needed to know now. So you leaned back on the examination table, resting on your hand as you pulled down the waistband of your pants just enough to see where your tattoo…. Had been.

All that remained was irritated skin… And the outline of what had once marked your body for so long.

“Jeez, Tsukishima, you don’t have to be an asshat about it just because you’re a fancy pre-med.” The jock held up his hands in mock defense, finding the doctors insults to be a bit much even for his track record.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you finally looked up from your hip, away from the red skin, from the faint hint of a tattoo…

And you met the eyes of the young man who’d uttered the rude words that had plagued your entire life. Hardened gold, sharp and observing…. You. The gulp that rushed down your throat was not your decision, but at the sight of it the doctor, Tsukishima, sent you a smirk.

“I thought… I thought you’d say that to me…” It was so soft, you weren’t even sure you’d call that a whisper, especially not coming from you.

Tsukishima stood up straight; You hadn’t noticed how tall he was when he’d entered the room. It was almost like he was ignoring you as he picked up your medical record and made his notes, indicating what actions he’d taken and what would be the next steps in your recovery. “Ryo… You can go now - I’ll issue her a pair of crutches and contact someone who can help her to her dorm.” The young man, Ryo, went to protest, but Tsukishima shooed him away without another word.

“Good luck, ______… Salty-shima.” A baby snide, but it had you snickering at your doctors expense.

Then silence enveloped the room, the air between you and Tsukishima seemed… charged.. Or maybe expecting… The two of you had been destined for the other, so you’d both known this moment was coming… That didn’t make either of you prepared for the moment you’d meet. And while the two of you tried to grasp at anything to say to the other, to their own soulmate, Tsukishima took his time in wrapping your very angrily swollen ankle in a tight but necessary gauze.

“Did you know who I was…? When you walked in?”

He hadn’t thought you’d notice his flinch, so he nodded, “The inside of my bicep felt on fire. But I had no idea it would be you before this. Aren’t you supposed to be the nice one?” A small teasing smirk, and you felt your heart soar into your throat, making a blush bloom across your cheeks at just the sight of something so snarky.

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to hit him or kiss him.

“Oh, nothing to say?” Another smirk, and you could feel his poking at your self control, “I figured you’d give me some sort of challenge.” You cleared your throat and he glanced up at you curiously, raising a fine blond eyebrow.

“My challenges seem to be more of the…. Physical … type….” You winked, and internally you were screaming. Did you really just come on to your own soulmate within the first hour of meeting each other?? What kind of horn-dog were you??

But an amused chuckle escaped his mouth as he rose back to full height, taking note in your record as he dug, “Not with that ankle they aren’t.”

You had never been so excited to be bullied.

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

For years you’d felt a harsh sense of jealousy… eating you alive every moment you were with your friends or family… With people who’d both met their soulmate and those who hadn’t yet - no matter where you were you felt raging envy ripping you to shreds.

Not because you were alone.

Not because your tattoo, the first thing your soulmate would say to you, was placed oddly on the pressure point of your neck.

Neither of those things had cause the green monster inside you to cause havoc of your life. Those two were manageable.

“You.”

That’s what your tattoo said. Simple. One word. You couldn’t remember the last time ‘you’ wasn’t used in talking to another human being, animal, plant - for fucks sake you were sure it was used when referring to companies and buildings! You wouldn’t doubt it at the very least!

So realizing how ultimately futile it would be for you to talk to every single person, and get your hopes up every single time their first word to you wasn’t you… it’d been the day you’d lost all hope. There wasn’t a point to searching for him anymore.

After the sense of despair of helplessness passed, though, you moved onto rejection. Did you really want a man who only said one word to his soulmate? One word to anyone in general? Why would you want someone so communicatively delayed?

Your course of action at that time was to avoid anyone of the opposite sex that you hadn’t talked to already. Purposely turning the other way and walking away without an explanation. You’d even done it to a few professors when they’d come to welcome you to their class. You’d be damned if you ever met this bastard who couldn’t talk to save his ass.

When you tripped over a fellow player during a Volleyball game, you thought you’d hit the jackpot! This meant being home, bedridden, the only people coming or going would be friends and family, people who knew you and could actually talk like normal adults!

But the stars in your eyes had immediately beens snuffed out when you came to conclusion… If you didn’t fix your busted knee… you’d never be able to play your favorite sport ever again.

That had been your motivator. That had pushed you to go to physical therapy and take their medications to help with the pain. Those doctor meetings were quiet. Almost cold whenever the doctor referred to you, or asked for your opinion on something. Not that they really noticed, you offered, they were too busy making money off your injury.

The very first day in the physical therapy building, in the exercise workshop, you felt…. Something close to dread fill your body.

So many young men. Each with their own physical issues. None of which… you’d ever met before.

With each eager young man coming to you, introducing themselves and offering their help in your recovery, you felt more at ease. None of them hit that magic word. None of them seemed to care for anything other than possibly touching your body. Which you immediately put a stop to, saying you were fine helping yourself.

Each day a new young man came in with an injury, sometimes a girl, and each day someone would get healthy enough to pass the physical therapy challenge and move on with their lives. Move on from this obstacle of getting better and exercising their injured body part.

But no matter how much exercise you did… Your knee only seemed to get worse. Only hurt a little more every day.

Your hand slipped from the railing that held your weight as you exercised your knee. And you felt like you were immediately going to perish now that you had no support under you. Unknowingly, you let out a yelp of surprise when you fell forward.

But you didn’t hit the ground. Your legs hand’t buckled under you. In fact they were stock straight as if you had just been about to fall face first against the floor. You’d closed your eyes tightly but when you felt yourself being pulled back up to a standing position, albeit crouching since you still needed the support of the hand rails, you opened your eyes and turned your head to face your savior!

Olive eyes met your gaze dead on, and you felt a sense of… not quite unease, but more concern. Had he been staring at you the entire time? You cleared your throat, still dedicated to not uttering a word to any male. Not while you were still an unclaimed soul. You didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of the possibility. Especially your soulmate who didn’t even know how to properly talk to someone!

You recognized your savior. He was the ace of his high school, and you thought you’d seen his teams promotional pictures all over the campus to bring in the crowds to his college games. Ushijima, you thought his name was. Or something close to it. Thankfully, you noticed he wasn’t much of a talker either, he nodded to you before turning and doing his healing lunges back to the other side of the room.

From that day forward, you couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes. His furrowed eyebrows. Had he been waiting for you to say something? Had he been thinking you would? You’d wanted to, you wanted to be polite to anyone who helped someone out… But how could you risk it?

Not that there was much to risk. Your disappointment? Your pride? Maybe just a few seconds of your time?

It hadn’t been two weeks since he’d helped you from falling on your face, and you couldn’t stop glancing over in his direction whenever you were able. You didn’t think you were obvious, but more than a few times you’d catch his gaze - and a warmth would bloom in your chest before spreading across your cheeks and making you look away.

But he wasn’t innocent. More than a few times, you’d catch him staring at you. An unrecognized expression on his face, as if he were lost deep in thought. You’d heard around that Ushijima was more of the strong and silent type, only speaking when absolutely necessary or whenever he saw fit. You respected that about him. You’d also heard he was more of the gentle giant, that he usually looked very scary and unapproachable or even like a monster… but he was nothing more than a giant teddy bear.

So it wasn’t scary for you to walk straight up to him, with your crutches pinching your underarms, “Why are you always staring at me? Haven’t you seen someone recovering from a messed up knee before? Don’t you think you could be a little more subtle?” You huffed in frustration, sending him a glare, wanting him to know you didn’t appreciate his blatant staring. “What are you staring at?” Rhetorical, you knew it was you, but you wanted to know why. What about you was causing his eyes to return to you with every chance he got.

The flinch of his was so minuscule, so minor, you weren’t sure it was what you’d seen. Maybe one of his muscles twitched? Maybe he’d taken issue with what you’d accused him of.

But Ushijima felt an explosion of fluttering erupt in his chest, and the following warmth had his olive eyes softening as he stared down at you. He wasn’t one to make the first move, and thankfully you’d done that for him. So he didn’t feel too worried when he reached out and pushed your hair behind your ear.

Revealing your tattoo.

“You.”

Just as you were going to slap his hand away, accuse him of being like all the others and saying your tattoo just to make it seem like he was your soulmate…. You felt pain shock over your pressure point. As if your tattoo had erupted into flames.

Your hand reached up and covered your tattoo, or at least where it had been, and your eyes twinged almost closed while you stared up at him. Ushijima’s expression was unreadable as he lifted his shirt with his other hand, showing off his impressive torso. SO many muscles, so much skin to touch, your fingers twitched against your jaw - you WANTED to touch him.

But that wasn’t the reason he was flashing you. Your eyes took their time appreciating his physique before landing on his pectoral muscle… His knuckles resting on his skin just before his collarbone, just above the irritated skin. You could barely make out what it had said before burning him - but the trace remains pointed to your accusatory question.

So this was your communicatively delayed soulmate.

#Admin Satori #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! scenario #soulmate au #Azumane Asahi #Tsukishima Kei #Ushijima Wakatoshi #I really liked writing these! These were fun!!

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unholyhelbig · 6 years

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Always incredible writing! Can't get enough of your storytelling and I'm sure many others can agree. Keep up the amazing stories. Prompt idea for ya since I've just been Netflixing tons of movies after work lol: Movie Tulip Fever, oldtimeAU Beca is a lowly painter who has been hired to paint a portrait of a wealthy man and his new much younger wife. She has married him to support her family. They fall in love. Btw the movie was pretty shitty lol, but I thought it would be a fun/diff idea for ya!

[A/N: Thank you so much! This movie would have been so much better if it was gay… Anyway, this is a big prompt so I could only fit so much into it. This is longer than I usually do. So if you guys want to see a part two, send me an ask about it!]

The candle gave a soft light to the crowded room. It was an arc of brilliant yellows that was cut with a horrid orange. However, the two colors worked together in an almost therapeutic way- one tiny combination of wax and wick giving a new life to the smallest room in the house.

That was no feat; the mansion was massive- coated in royal reds and cobalt blues. Nothing was spared when it came to Garret Beale. His family being ahead of all the trade on their small island- often taking a page out of the colonist’s books and resorting to working with the men of the sea. Men who pillaged and brought back three times what this home was worth, only keeping a small portion of it to get the great law of the king off their flame-heated trails.

He was a handsome man, one with charming stature and the best-assembled clothes. Garret carried himself as such- royalty that didn’t have a true bloodline, but enough to get everything he desired. Including the woman who stood with a hard stare in front of him. His deep Irish eyes were scanning over her figure, taking in the small stature that she carried. In fact, she reminded him of one of his men; not a nationally regarded painter.

She wasn’t traditional, a pair of grey slacks and a black shirt hugged her figure, her eyes almost as dark as the midnight sky. Different colors of paint popped against the fabric; it made her look more like a street beggar than anything. But he had seen her work- seen the way she made use of the canvas and vibrant colors given to her. She was an artist, one like no other.

“I’ve seen your work,” Garret said, quite dramatically as he leaned backward in his seat. It creaked and groaned in irony. A man with that much wealth should have a better place to sit. Maybe there was some semantic value, but the woman didn’t question him. Instead, she lifted her chin, keeping her jaw tensed. “it’s good.”

“Just good?” She finally spoke, lifting her eyebrows. She leaned heavily on his hand-crafted desk, annoyance sparking within her stomach. He had more money than he knew what to do with; Beca running her fingers over the carved edge. It was done well. Better than his chair. “I mean no offense, Mr. Beale, but I have spent years studying under masters of artistic ability. You’ve pulled me from sea two weeks ago, for what? To design your walls?”

“Garret, please.” He seemed unphased by her annoyance. The man knew that she wasn’t happy, practically being pulled onto his family’s property. She agreed, having to travel weeks to even get to the home. He offered up a project, one that peaked her interest. “If I wanted to have my walls recolored, I would not send word for you, Miss Mitchell, have a seat.”

She drew in a soft breath, that skeptic look still in her deep stare. However, she eventually lowered herself into the chair pushing at the back of her legs. It was cold against her spine, making her swallow back a shiver uncomfortably. She waited patiently, despite questioning the man’s privilege.

“My wife,” he drew in a long breath, “She is quite exquisite.”

Beca pressed her lips together in a frim line, instantly finding discomfort in the man’s words. The whimsical look in his eyes solidifying just how much he cared for this unnamed woman. A small smile played at the corners of his expression. “I have yet to find someone who is talented enough to capture her beauty, which is why I called you.”

“To paint her?” She eased out, “I paint what I feel, Mr. Bea- Garret.” She corrected herself last minute. “There is no rhyme or rhythm to my work. It’s near impossible for me to construct something when I feel nothing.”

“Ah,” he leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the desk. “I assure you, Miss Mitchell when you see my wife it will be highly unlikely that you won’t feel a thing.”

She gave him a jarring look. This man was quite clearly in love with this woman. So much so that he would invite a near stranger into his home to paint a fine picture of her. He had apparently done so before, many times, but was never happy with the outcome. Men, she was sure, men who drooled and didn’t focus on the task at hand. Maybe that’s why he hand-selected her. It couldn’t’ just be based on her work. He was a picky man.

“Are you insisting that I should fall for this woman?”

“No, of course not.” He waved his hand dismissively “I merely suggest that you form a bond with her before you even sit down to draw your first stroke. I’ll pay for it all.”

She lifted both brows, her head resting on her hand as she kept her fingers on her lips. She watched him carefully. “How so?”

“You can stay here, for as long as you need. I certainly have the room to spare.” He stated plainly. “I just require that you spend time with my wife enough to know exactly what I need to be portrayed in her portrait.”

“Her essence,” Beca said as more of a statement than a question. “Not just the way she appears to the human eye.”

It was interesting, something Beca had never done before. She was more into taking an edge of charcoal and sitting on the bow of a boat- sketching the way the waves ate at a flat-lined shore. But if this woman, whoever she was, took so much captivation from the world, then it would be a certain challenge.

“Do we have a deal, Rebeca?” He held out his pale hand, firm and strong.

“It’s Beca.” She took his grasp in hers, squeezing it with force. “And how could I say no?”

The warm spring day changed the atmosphere in the usually dark house. There seemed to be no such thing as vibrant yellow, and unforgivable violent the night before. Beca having an uneasy sleep in one of the cold master bedrooms. It was far from comfortable- but still too fancy for her taste.

She woke up to a long ray of sun pressing against her gaze, birds chirping incessantly on the balcony. The stone balcony that was warmed by the very star that stirred her from her snooze. Regardless, she pulled herself from the clutches of the duvet, flinching as her bare feet hit the cold floor.

Begrudgingly, the talented artist slid on a pair of black pants and a loose fitting white shirt- not ever bringing more than that with her. She was fairly simple, hating the wire corsets and edged dresses of the time. They were too heavy and nice for her to paint in.

After lacing up a pair of brown leather boots, Beca made her way to the kitchen of the house. It wasn’t too far, Garret had set the place up like a maze, although, she was at the edge of it. He gave her a half-hearted tour before fleeing from the property himself, claiming of some business he had to do. It was close to three in the morning, there was nothing he could busy himself with at that hour- but again, the woman didn’t question his generosity.

She was close to the service quarters, residing in the same sector as the staff; she was staff. Having been hired for a job. To paint a wealthy man’s wife in exchange for room and board. Part of her wanted to drag it out to its full extent, the other part hating the idea of spending one more minute in this place.

A sickly-sweet scent coated her lungs the moment she walked into the kitchen. It was large, set up and built like a room from the Spanish colonies; complete with deep yellow walls and terracotta tile with intricate suns and moons. Natural light seeped in from the grassy courtyard. It was good work, just like Garret had said, no expense spared for his family.

There was a woman leaning heavily over a mass of dough, she was tall, almost tall enough to bump her head on the chandelier, it hung low enough. Flour coated her fingers and clothing as a strand of dirty brown hair fell from the bun on her head, sweat forming on the woman’s brow. She glanced up with deep charcoal eyes at the change in atmosphere.

“Oh!” She let her folders fall back, moving her eyes down her smock as a certain heir of heat pressed against her cheek. She reached for a dish towel. “I’m sorry Miss Mitchell, I didn’t see you there. The dining room is right through the left corridor.”

This woman, whoever she was, looked petrified. Like she had done something wrong against the curiosity of the young artist. Beca having noticed the same thing as she cocked her head to the side slightly- like a lost puppy.

“I’m not looking for the dining room.” She stated simply from the doorway, trying not to scare the taller woman off. She was young, a simple look of amusement finding a way to her face. “You know who I am?”

“Of course.” The stranger let out a soft breath, pushing the base of her palms into the moldable dough. “Mr. Beale often hires new artists to tackle capturing the enigma that is his wife. Many of them leave after the first few days. They’re not very social.”

Her slate eyes flicked up towards Beca, almost as if asking a question.

“I’m not either,” She relented, a small smile on her lips. “But I know proper manners. I take it none of them have ever been back here?”

The woman grimaces, shaking her head as she struggles to blow the strands of stray hair from her gaze. She was becoming more comfortable with the conversation, with the presence of Beca in general. This was her kitchen, the woman knew not to overstep her boundaries.

“Never, Miss Mitchell.” She held back a snort. “Wouldn’t give the staff a second glance. A bit like Mr. Garret himself, if I might add.”

“Beca is fine.” The smaller girl said, shoving her hands in her pockets as the woman gave her a kind smile. She was different than the rest of them, actually making conversation and not attempting to rush the other way. She made eye contact and didn’t hold her shoulders along the straight edge of a metal plate. Instead, she looked calm and collected. Strong, even. “And you are?”

“The chef.” She answered on instinct.

“I figured that.” Beca elicited a small laugh. “I meant your name.”

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, a genuine smile finding it’s way to her flour specked face. “I’m Stacie Conrad.”

The Conrad’s were a fun group of people, a family name that Beca recognized almost immediately. She had met a man in the Pacific with the same surname, almost the same features as the chef that stood in front of her; a strong and seducing fella with a great sense of humor. If this woman was anything like her bloodline, Beca would get along great with her.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Stacie.” Beca reached out to shake the woman’s hand, reaching over the island, not hesitating a bit as the taller girl produced a powder covered one instead. She shrugged sheepishly- taking it regardless, Stacie’s mouth falling open. “What’s a little dirt?”

“Ah,” She nodded softly “Miss Chloe will love you.”

“Chloe huh?” The name rolled off of the artist’s lips. It was the first time that she had actually heard it. She was always proclaimed as Garrets wife, or even the woman no one could really paint. But she hadn’t met Beca yet. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

“You two haven’t met yet?” Stacie raised a pointed eyebrow.

“I got in around three last evening,” Beca explained, following that ashy stare towards the courtyard. It was a feat in its own; large hedges shielding the home from the outside world, lush green grass coating the full area, even a tall tree that produced bright fruit like that of a flame. Yellow and sharp. “Mr. Beale took me right to my quarters. After a tour, of course.”

“A fine man that’s proud of his home.” Stacie grimaced, stepping away from her task as she rounded the large counter. She was just as tall as Beca though, both of them turning towards the large doors, leaning heavily against the island as they stared out into the yard, Stacie crossing her arms over her chest. “Every morning, you can find Miss Chloe out here.”

“Reading?” The tiny girl still couldn’t see much but the yard- assuming the woman of the hour was situated on the other side of the large tree, back against the bark as she perused some ancient form of literature.

Stacie scoffed. “You wish.”

Beca threw her an odd glance before turning her attention back towards the area. Struggling to focus her hearing. She had been so focused before- not paying much stock to the little patch of outdoors. She noticed the taller woman first, at least she thought it was two women. Both in form fitted white suits- mesh masks over their faces. Fencing.

This woman who everyone raved bout was battling it out loudly with another, stepping gracefully against the grass, unlike any high-class girl that Beca had seen before. Both grunting as the metal of their foil’s clanked with each fluid hit. The shorter of the two took a step out of bounds, her partner not sparring a second.

“Avertissement” Beca scoffed under her breath, shaking her head.

“Aubrey never plays fair” Stacie spoke without tearing her gaze away from the pair. “I’m sure she does it to keep Chloe on her feet. You fence?”

“I used to.”

The two burst into laughter, muffled by the door that separated their spectators. Each woman panting with a purpose as the taller of the two removed her mask first- face red from the labor as she struggled to catch her composure. Stacie cocked an eyebrow at the blonde, cheeks maintaining their rosy complexion. “That’s Miss Posen.” She informed the small girl. “I swear, Chloe and she are joined at the hip. Protective, that one is.”

Aubrey went to remove her chest guard, but Beca didn’t have the attention span to continue watching the blonde. Instead, she focused on who she deemed to be Chloe. The mask was removed, a bout of coppery locks fell against her shoulders; she shook her head trying to free them from the heat of the island day. Her own chest was heaving, cheeks a bit red as she tucked her weapon beneath her arm. An angelic smile pressed close to her lips, a thin layer of sweat coating her collarbone.

“You’re drooling, Beca.”

“What?” The brunette snapped her mouth shut, dragging the back of her hand across her cheek, checking to make sure she was in fact, not drooling. Stacie was right, she could catch flies the longer she stood there, each passing second, she stared at Chloe made a heat press near her core. “I was doing no such thing.”

“Hmm,” Stacie nudged her new friend. “There is a reason they call Chloe Beale unpaintable.”

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #fanfiction #request #i really like this

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