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machine-gun-casie · 3 years

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tavern music

synopsis: corpse hears tavern music coming from your room (gn!reader)

warnings: rpf, reader gets cheated on, kind of unrequited feelings, mostly hurt/comfort and physical affection tho (what im trying to say is that this is mostly self indulgent)

wc: 1.7k

a/n: havent written in a while but i found this in my arsenal, fixed it up a bit and viola. original plans for this was definitely something longer that would end with them being together but im not up for writing rn. been feeling really shitty lately and ive been needing something like this in my life. hope u guys like it ♡

He couldn’t hear it at first. His headset was on and everyone was being so loud on the discord call. When he started the stream, he really thought it was gonna be a long one. But he’s only two hours in and he’s ready to get the hell off because something was definitely wrong.

“Corpse?” His name being spoken finally broke him out of his trance, he only hummed in response. “You’ve been really quiet. Are you sure you’re up for another game?”

“Actually,” he starts as he closes a few tabs, “I think I’ve gotta go. Today was fun, though. Thanks for having me guys.”

After a chorus of ‘goodbye’s and ‘see you later’s, Corpse disconnected from the discord call. “Thank you guys for being here,” he addressed the chat, “sorry I’m ending so early today. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time. Take care of yourselves. Later.”

After hanging up his headset and getting out of the chair he’s been sitting in for far too long, Corpse made the short trek to your room.

You had only been roommates for less than four months, but Corpse could confidently say that you have become one of his closest friends. Getting a roommate was the last resort that he never wanted to actually resort to. But alas, medical bills were piling up and youtube and music don’t make half as much money as people think they do. So cutting rent in half was the best plan he could come up with. He did have an extra guest room that no one ever stayed in. Of course having someone move into his personal space was terrifying to him. He didn’t just want to post an ad on craigslist or something. So he asked a couple trusted friends to ask a couple trusted friends… And that’s when you came in.

You were the trusted friend of a trusted friend of a trusted friend. When you met, you didn’t make a comment about his voice. Your face sure as hell showed your surprise but you didn’t say anything. To Corpse, this meant one of two things. You either knew who he was but didn’t want to freak him out, or you didn’t know about his online persona and were just genuinely shocked by his voice. It only took a few minutes of knowing you to know that it was the latter. Thank god. You were like anyone your age with social media. You had a few accounts, followed a few people, but mostly used it to stay in contact with friends.

It only took you guys a week to realize you had way too much in common. After many a late night when he wasn’t streaming, and many an early morning when he was just done streaming, you two became inseparable. Nothing could keep you apart.

Except for one thing.

You had a boyfriend.

There was nothing wrong with your boyfriend, per se. Just the fact that he was your boyfriend and Corpse was not.

Yeah, Corpse definitely had feelings for you.

But right now, feelings didn’t matter when he could hear tavern music coming from your room.

He knocked lightly and pushed the door open slowly. “y/n? Can I come in?”

No response came, just sniffles and sobs. The lack of refusal on your part gave him the courage he needed to open the door wider and step into your room. He had only been in your room a couple of times since you had moved in. But he had never been in a room that gave off the feeling of a person so well.

You were curled up on your bed, facing your open laptop screen and the tavern music coming from its speakers. With every sob shaking your chest, Corpse felt his heart break. “y/n,” he murmured softly, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s not working.” Came your reply, heavy with tears. “You said it would make you feel like you're going on an adventure but I still feel like crap.”

“What happened?” Corpse asked as he sat down on your bed, facing you. You slowly sat up and crossed your legs at your ankles in front of you.

“He-” You sighed heavily. “He cheated on me.”

“What?”

“He cheated on me -has been cheating on me- with my best friend. My little brother found out.” You groaned and dramatically dropped your head onto Corpse’s thigh. His hand immediately came in contact with your cheek as he brushed a few stray tears away.

There was rarely any physical contact between you and Corpse. Sometimes you’d give him a high five, sometimes he’d give you fist bump. And there was that one time you came up behind him at the grocery store and hugged his arm to your chest. You immediately whispered something along the lines of ‘creep won’t leave me alone’ followed by a loud ‘hey babe!’

Corpse could barely admit to himself how much he liked that.

But this? This felt good. Corpse’s large warm hand on your face somehow made you want to cry more but in a good way. The tenderness with which he held your face made your heart squeeze as it remembered moments like this with your boyf- ex boyfriend. But then it remembered your brother’s words.

“Hey, what’s up?” You spoke as you answered his call. Your brother wasn’t much of a caller, so it made you worry.

“Hey, where are you right now?”

“I’m home, why?”

“y/n… There’s something I gotta tell you.” He sighed and you could clearly hear the guilt.

“Did you break my DS!” It was your first thought as you had given it to him the last time you had seen him. “Dude! I’ve had that since I was seven!”

“No no, I called about something else.” He cut you off mid-whine. “But also I did lose the pen.” You huffed out a sigh of frustration but stayed silent so he could tell you what he wanted to tell you. “I saw your boyfriend at the park today.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “And?” How did this warrant a phone call?

“He was with Bob.”

When you had met your best friend, your brother was only a toddler. He had decided that her name was Bob, so it stuck. You always called her Bob, she was saved as Bob in your phone, your whole family called her Bob. But you still didn't understand. Why was he calling you to tell you that your boyfriend and your best friend were at the park?

“Why are you calling me about this? You know that they’re friends, right?” You let out a chuckle, albeit still pretty confused. “They’re allowed to hang out without me.”

“They weren’t hanging out.” You could hear your brother push out a strained sigh. What wasn’t he telling you? “They were making out on the swing set. As in, both of them on one swing. And I double checked, it was definitely them. I-I told mom and she said not to tell you, but I couldn’t not tell you when I’m the one who saw it!”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say a word.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

There was no lying to yourself, you had doubts about your best friend and your boyfriend. But you constantly brushed it off. He wouldn’t hurt you like that. Hell, she couldn’t hurt like that. Not after everything you had been through together.

But you had seen his call log by accident one time, he called her more than he did you. She face-timed him one time to ask his opinion about a dress she was going to buy while you were in the changing room. She had done a handful of things since your relationship with your boyfriend started that made you uneasy. If this was their first kiss, which was something you doubted, then they’ve both been emotionally attached to the other for far too long.

All those tender intimate moments, all those dates, throughout everything, he wasn’t faithful. Not emotionally, at least. None of those moments that you cherished meant anything to you anymore. He had played you. With none other than your best friend since middle school. You didn’t know who to be more mad at.

The thoughts of betrayal from someone who you considered a sister and the hurt of being cheated on made you nauseated.

So when the large warm hand on your face stroked your cheek again, you didn’t mind it. This was Corpse. Not your cheating boyfriend. Not your lying best friend. Corpse. And you knew that he would never hurt you.

“He’s been cheating on me for a while I think.” You mumbled against his sweatpants. “Maybe a couple months. I don’t know.”

Corpse furrowed his brows in thought. You had told him you were going to visit your boyfriend for your one year anniversary next week. “Weren’t you go-”

“Yeah.”

“And Bob’s been your friend since-”

“Yeah.” Your chin wobbled as you answered. You brought your arms up around Corpse’s thigh and hugged it. It was a strange position, but you didn’t care. He was so warm and nice and hugging him properly required more movement on your end than you were willing to do.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Corpse sighed and reached out to untangle your arms from his leg. He gently pulled you across the few inches of bed between you and sat you in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, immediately sobbing into his shoulder. “Do you want me to turn off the music?” You shook your head no against him and he chuckled before he solemnly sighed. “When did you find out?”

“When I came home.”

“But you came home hours ago. Have you been in here this whole time?” You nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were streaming, didn’t wanna interrupt.” You shrugged.

“y/n,” he sighed disappointedly, “you’re my best friend. I can end a stream if you need me.”

“Okay.” Your voice, broken and weak and tired, made him feel so guilty. You had been crying your heart out for over two hours just down the hall from where he was.

He gently grabbed you by your hips and tried to push you away, but you only held on tighter and whimpered. “I just wanna get you some water.”

“I don’t want water.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.” You whispered. “Please stay.”

Fuck. How could he say no to that?

So he stayed.

#corpse #corpse husband #corpse x reader #corpsehusband #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband fluff #corpse fanfiction #corpse fanfic #corpse fluff #gender neutral reader

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madokasoratsugu · 6 years

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living dead

[muhyo/enchu/yoichi/biko friendship fic]

summary: The little ways whereby Muhyo, Yoichi and Biko cope (or don't) with Enchu's departure.

a/n: deep sigh. i was Sad so i wrote this instead of working on an impt essay. my grades are dying. so am i. so is everyone’s heart in this fic LMAO. pls read and enjoy !! as usual read on ao3 if possible, thanks!

ao3 / ffnet

Brushing a hand across his forehead, Muhyo feels Enchu tremble with barely contained giggles as his fingers snap against his forehead, an epiphany of giggles of erupting from the pale haired boy.

Enchu’s skin is soft, unscarred. It turns red from the gentlest squeeze, bruises from the slightest push.

He is fragile, that much is clear; but Muhyo doesn’t realise how easily his gentle friend hurts until the town is burning around them, people’s screams fill the streets and Muhyo hears Enchu whisper “you took everything from me”, voice cracking and eyes glossed over with madness.

(madness or sorrow, blame or grief, lies or truth

i love you or i hate you

those whispered words, always whispered in such a shy voice as if the words were a secret only for muhyo’s ears, echo in muhyo’s mind every time he feels the weight of his executor’s book in his hand;

his mind wanders further and the words get louder when he finds an assistant with a smile that captures the essence of fragility his friend once wore like a cloak wrapped ‘round his lithe frame)

--------

“You’re lying, lying, Enchu, why, why, don’t-don’t go! Don’t do this Enchu!”

Yoichi’s pitiful screams seem to pass right by the boy in mention, who smiles mockingly down at the tear streaked face of his former friend.

The judge to be’s hands are shaking, fingers frozen around his pen and seals.

He hears footsteps behind him, knows them well enough to know it’s Muhyo’s, knows Enchu well enough to spot the flickering panic in the way his chest dips in a quick exhale.

Opening his mouth, Yoichi gives out one last strangled plea.

“Soratsugu…!”

(yoichi remembers the pale haired boy with his brilliant smile, remembers how the corners of enchu’s sky blue eyes would crinkle with amusement, remembers the way enchu’s thin arms had curled around his waist, remembers enchu’s soft sigh whenever yoichi buries his face in the crook of his neck.

yoichi remembers, treating enchu who looked like he would snap in half at the softest wind, like the finest of china.

most of all, yoichi remembers the sound of enchu’s soft laugh;

like chimes, long bidden sorrows, a tired song.)

--------

“You’ll get sick again if you eat too much.” Biko always half-heartedly chides, another steaming loaf already being brought to the table to be cut.

She knows better than anyone else, of his weak health, too breakable bones and tragic immune system; she’s their room’s unspoken for doctor, fingers calloused and scratched from herbs and artifact making, constantly smoothing down Enchu’s back as he heaves into the toilet bowl for the umpteenth time that day.

“I can never, not when you’ve baked it.” Enchu always laughs as a reply.

(then enchu takes rio away, the first(perhaps fourth) person to mean so dearly to biko she would gladly have traded an arm, an leg for her to be returned;

yet all biko can think is ‘who’s been accompanying you these cold nights in the lavatory nowadays enchu, you havent been taking care of yourself; look at the weight youve lost, im glad youre alive’

and she weeps for the boy whose heart was weaker than his body,

for the boy she would have traded her soul to be returned.)

--------

None ever talk about the white haired boy when they gather (if they gather).

They trade boisterous greetings, loud smiles, but never, never broach the subject of their once-friend emblazoned on every ‘wanted’ poster, every front page of every newspaper.

Not even when Biko cooks for four; not even when Yoichi turns to reach for a hand that isn’t there; not even when Muhyo leaves Biko’s house, leaves all that he knows and dearly loves, and doesn’t turn back for two whole years.

--------

When Enchu left, he took something from them.

They don’t know what it is, but they all know it left them hollow, desperate, maddeningly sad.

It’s a something that pushes Biko to practice artifact making late into the night, cutting herbs by the moonlight and fusing metal by day, until her spirit is as scratched and burnt as her hands are; but never her heart, no, never her heart.

It’s a something that made Yoichi give up two whole years of his youth to pour over data sheets and dated photographs, scrutinising grainy images and decoding unfamiliar jargon until he earns a detested title he never needed.

It’s a something that weighs on Muhyo like his executor’s cloak, something that he never allows himself to put aside, contracting every envoy he can get his hands on to become a person worthy of a title he swore he would polish until every living being regretted ever gifting it to him.

--------

They were interviewed just once, about what they thought of the fallen student, the magic law exile, the betrayer.

Nobody has ever found the transcript, tape, or interviewer.

--------

“Muhyo, we’ll try again tomorrow.”

Biko’s voice is quiet, her hands soothing as she rubs salve over his new burn.

Muhyo remains silent, wishing a snarky remark out his mouth, but his leaden tongue prevents him.

Yoichi sits slumped beside him, clearly exhausted from the tempering drain of envoy contracting.

Matching purple bruises rest under both their eyes, but both show refusal in the firm grip of pen and book.

Biko presses harder onto Muhyo’s skin. Muhyo flinches. Yoichi murmurs a joke about her poor skills as a doctor.

One of the four emperors of Hell is difficult to contract, but it’s necessary.

As necessary as the scars that embed itselves deep into the trio’s heart, with every failed attempt, with every lead becoming a dead end.

As necessary as the pain they condemn themselves to, in hopes that one day they’ll understand the pain they unknowingly forced upon the one dearest to them.

“We’ll try again tomorrow.” Biko says, much more firmly.

She screws the salve container shut, and drags a comforter from her bag. Draping it carefully over the duo, Biko leaves no room for refusal, no room for either to shake and cry and give up - not for them, not for herself.

“We’ll try again tomorrow.” Biko repeats.

Hearing the flat note in her voice, Yoichi pulls her down to rest beside him while Muhyo finally mumbles an agreement.

--------

Time is supposed to heal all wounds.

Time is supposed to help them move on.

Muhyo points out the irony once, quite literally. The belltower with a clock face has never been fixed since the night the town burnt, a pronounced crack running across it’s glass face.

The hands of the clock inside are cracked, splintered. But running mechanisms keep it ticking in place, forever trying to move forward but failing.

Seeing that, Muhyo had laughed for the first time since the night his world fell apart.

Hearing that, Yoichi held Muhyo’s hand a little tighter, while Biko pressed closer to Muhyo’s side.

--------

Enchu is fractured glass, muddy snow, wilted bellflowers.

Enchu is a thousand metaphors, and then more.

Enchu was someone who loved and loved and loved -

And tired of it.

When he appears like he disappeared, in a flurry of confetti adorning a smile too crooked to be genuine, all three remember what the association, the world, always forced them to forget.

Enchu isn’t a metaphor.

Soratusgu is a broken boy who lost too much, too fast, who hurt too easily and pushed himself to try even when he couldn’t.

Soratsugu is a beloved friend.

And they would never, ever, forget that.

--------

“When we can properly meet him again,” Biko starts, softly. Always the only one brave enough to broach the subject, to force them to confront and heal, no matter how broken and backwards their healing may be. “What do you want to say?”

Yoichi visibly settles, lips thinning in a small smile. “That’s a hard thing to pick from an entire bucket load i’ve saved, Biko. Maybe where have you been all this time, you ass?” Always the only one brave enough to say what he thinks, from fear that one day they’ll be gone too, because he said something too late, too little.

Muhyo snorts, taking a step back to distance himself from the hubbub of the inventory store. “As if we already don’t know.” He mutters, leaning heavily against Yoichi’s side. Always the only one mincing his crude words, hiding a softer, gentler side, too afraid of hurting and being hurt again; yet speaking up anyway, because what are words if not to communicate and love?

Yoichi laughs, in a way that makes Muhyo helplessly grin and Biko hide a smile in the curve of her elbow.

“That’s right, we do, don’t we?”

--------

There’s a strangled cry, an outstretched hand, an alarmed yell, and Enchu pummels into the demon carriage, carried by love and magic and the faith of three friends.

For the first time, in a long, long while, the trio watches Enchu let go of his breath, and cry.

Biko is wiping away his tears as fast as they fall. Yoichi cradles him to his chest. Muhyo is slumped against his front, half-conscious.

Still, all three manage to say one phrase lying on the tip of their tongues for two long, long, years.

“Welcome home, Enchu.”

There’s a hiccup, a strained but familiarly beautiful laugh.

“I’m back. I’m back. I’m home.”

And for the first time, in a long, long while, the world settles around Biko, Yoichi, and Muhyo, and everything feels like it will finally be alright.

#muhyo and roji bureau of supernatural investigation #muhyo and roji #tooru muhyo #soratsugu madoka #himukai yoichi #yuu abiko #melon writes

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