#07 have it really hard this year...

[daisukekambehateaccount]

academic upsettyposting in the tags don't mind it

[kenyummy]

✰ 07. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 07. a fools own parade.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: im not really sure if it counts as it's a very small passage but tw for a lil bit of an identity/existential crisis??? not very sure haha I mostly just write what comes to mind

also, first father appearance! yay! he finally shows up, and he's as mysterious as ever, hehe. next chapter will be either dink focused or ... someone else... 🤔🤔🤔

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

You dab at your nose with a tissue, cringing at the sight of crimson still pouring out from it. How hard was that guy's chest, anyway?

A thick bandage is stuck tightly on your nosebridge, taped to your skin and soaked in blood. Changing it every hour was a giant pain, but you'd rather have a bloody bandage than clothes.

Thinking back on it, you almost can't imagine the look in Tim's eyes again. Nothing strange. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but different enough to make the hair on your arms raise.

(You're the greatest anomaly in his life. Isn't it natural a detective wishes to solve such a damning mystery?)

How differently his entire composure grew once he saw you laying there, dirtied hands clutching your face. Was it normal for a guy like him to change his entire stance at such a moment? You'd be inclined to believe he couldn't care less about something like this, from all those diary entries spanning several years.

But seeing that look, when you'd stopped him from coming closer, putting distance between you two, as you thought there'd always been, how could you possibly think that? That look of worry, fingers twitching as he reached out, and expression of pure betrayal when you'd stepped backwards. Away. From him.

Wasn't that how it'd always been? You couldn't stop thinking. Maybe you were wrong? Maybe your spidey sense, for the first time in your life, was wrong?

They say that a fool's time spent thinking is wasted time.

You spent hours sitting at your desk pondering all of this. What it meant. Why your siblings seemed to all give you this strange, sinking feeling in your stomach. Raise goosebumps up your arms.

Soon, these thoughts spiralled back to your home. How you could help Reed. Speed up the process. Not wishing to mess with his delicate work nor rush him, but also getting restless with this family.

This family who's known you for their whole lives, yet seems to similarly know nothing about you. This you, their you, any you. Too little to care, too much to hate. The worst kind of balance that upset the universe and made your stomach twist with bile.

But at this point, you weren't too sure who was who, which was which.

If, tommorow, you'd lost everything and if you were caught in a blazing heat, would it be you who had died? Or somebody else? Would it be you in that coffin, underneath a stone who's name carved into it, did not belong to you?

The concept of being your own person, what did it mean? What could it mean when there were more of you, exactly the same, only shaped by their environment? An endless amount of copies, down to the genetic level, each in different worlds yet unmistakably the same?

When you stare into the mirror, nothing is the same except the red that flows down your knuckles when you slam your fist into it. Nothing remains the same except what you look like inside.

Though—in the end—even that belonged to them, didn't it?

You barely ever see your sister, nor her blonde friend. The ginger haired woman has more pressing matters to attend to than ever seeing you, it seemed—something you'd actually grown to appreciate, seeing how positively suffocating those other "siblings" had started to become.

Dick, who was thankfully off in Blüdhaven around now. Jason, who should be out doing his own thing, but seemed to always spare some time for you... as much as you insisted on him not doing that. Tim, who always stared with a little too much intensity and danger hidden behind a sharp smile.

And Damian—your only blood-related sibling, seeming to take great pride in such a fact as he brings it up far more often than not.

You'd begun to realise a distinct lack of a parental figure in your...—

This. This life.

Not yours. This life absolutely was not yours. Everything is seriously messing with your head. Belonging to another unfortunate soul, who happened to have your name, shared your face and voice, yet was everything you never were. Experienced things you never did, yet as you lived in a freedom they could never dream of.

You pitied them more than anything else. But that didn't mean you could just give everything you've ever known up. Your people, your city, your friends, your freedom. This blood that runs through your veins and makes your heart beat steady—it may belong to them, but you never will.

As it spills, you will be free. Losing that chain that binds you and perhaps you will be allowed to feel that wind hitting your face once more. Allowed to swing, fly, feel air and be everything you were destined to become.

Your suit forms over your body and you leap out of your window, leaving nothing but a gust of wind in your wake.

Because, despite everything, it is still you.

The Spectacular Spidey seems to swing and never sleep—the alliteration in the title of this news article you've read makes your head hurt. Said only as an unfortunate pun referring to how you swing from building to building, and only operate during night hours.

(Yet, still careful on avoiding your dearest family... as difficult as that may be—your senses are seriously saving your skin... wait, now you're using alliteration—)

You don't have anything against working during sunlight. In fact, it would be preferable for you. But escaping from school has now become increasingly more difficult after you'd "opened your heart" to MJ and Harry.

Both were completely convinced you were spiralling down a bad path after how you'd acted with Jason, or concerned for both your homelife and general wellbeing—sometimes you truly did damn yourself for picking such good friends.

Nevertheless, you couldn't possibly be worrying about something like that right now, when there's a much bigger problem right in front of you.

A man dressed in a rag-like coat lay beneath your heel, defeated and hands bound together with your webbing.

You'd originally expected to leave immediately, hoping to catch Reed before he was off looking for whatever new part he needed for his grandest project. But now, you can't even hope to move at this point—swamped by flashing cameras and microphones shoved into your face.

Suddenly, you're so incredibly grateful you wear a mask, because you aren't too excited at the prospect of having such unflattering photos of you taken.

"Spidey! What are you doing in Gotham?"

You stammer, "Uh—well, you know—"

"Spiderguy! What's your thoughts on the articles calling you a knockoff Batman?"

"How am I anything like him?" You gesture to your bright red suit. "Also, it's not Spiderguy—"

"Spidey! Spidey! How do you create that webbing fluid? Is it organic? And is it environmentally sustainable? Who's going to clean it?" The reporters move closer and closer.

You inch backwards, "Uh—well, you know, my webbing dissolves in a couple hours by itself, and of course it's sustainable—"

Before you can finish, a multitude of voices all ring through your ears at once. Piling atop eachother, all at the same time, forming into a mush of different tones and accents, indistinguishable from one another.

You can't even hear anything anymore, not until a voice, loud and clear, cuts through a multitude of others and strikes your ears with ease, "Hey, Spidey! Our viewers have a question for you—how have you gotten past Batman? I'm sure you know he doesn't allow metahumans in Gotham, right?"

You freeze. Shocked, but soon, that shock soon morphs into confusion at what exactly a metahuman is.

"I... uh—" You glance to the side. You know, doing this will spark way too much gossip for your own good. Doing this is practically asking for those headlines that, while technically true, are completely outlandish. You were a reporter yourself (for your alter ego, to be fair—but it still counts).

You know this can't end in any other way than complete disaster.

That's why you reach up, webbing to a building and wave goodbye to those pesky paparazzi, "No comment!" With all the wit a Spider must have, you decide that your flight or fight response instead chose: Web away with a sly remark.

"They should be around here, Batman."

Oracle's voice rings out through the earpiece. Barbara had taken the liberty of helping him in his little crusade after seeing that stunt on live television—that spider-hero running away after hearing that metas weren't allowed in Gotham... though, it provided more questions than answers.

Babs was growing restless. For one: that reaction possibly explained why they were so wary of any member of their family even coming close to them. Always running at the first sight of them, webbing away faster than they could hope to catch up. Escaping Batman and his Robin, Babs couldn't help but wonder about them.

They're good. Smart. They're not some new hero. Clearly whoever's behind that mask has experience.

But this raised far too many questions in it of itself. Why had you only popped up now? Why not years ago —if, judging purely by her own gaze, with the years of experience in crime fighting you must have? Why Gotham?

And perhaps, the most daunting question of them all, "Who exactly are you, Spider?"

Bruce's gruff voice reaches her ears, "What was that?"

Her eyes widen, not realising she'd spoken aloud. Shaking her head, she relents, "No... sorry, it's nothing. Right... according to witness sighting and where they were last spotted, you should be meeting them in the middle right now. Do you have any sightings?"

Bruce shakes his head, jumping over to the top of the next apartment block roof—cowl landing in a swoop behind him. "No. Not yet. See if there's any new sightings."

Bruce Wayne was beginning to grow tiresome of this new hero's antics. Running around through Gotham without a care in the world—all too bright and cheerful as if this was all that mattered. Running around as a meta—unchecked and absolutely dangerous.

Nothing good could come out of this. Not without knowing exactly who you were and what you wanted. He never was a dictator type—never had it in him—but with a crime-riddled city like Gotham, he had little choice.

One small mistake could ruin everything. Collapse all that he's worked so hard to create. A better city, a better future. A regular human—as he is—couldn't possibly ever handle a rouge meta... and in the end, this city may not want him, but he really is the type of hero it needs.

So, that's why, instead of patrolling through his sector—he asks Orphan, Batwoman, and Spoiler to take over for tonight, so he can do some much needed digging into this anomaly.

Tim told him that his webbing sample, one he managed to collect around a month ago, when he'd first come into contact with them, had dissolved within hours. Not enough time to perform any kind of intricate testing, not by a long shot.

Batman has taken the almost passive stance—uncharacteristic of him—but now, he realised with such a slippery Spider, he had to do what he does best, and corner them.

His whitened eyes dart up at the flash of red that flies past him. He snaps his head back and finds the Spider—the one he'd been looking for all this time—swinging from building to building, fast.

But not nearly fast enough. With one false swoop, Bruce is after you, grappling towards you, eyes narrowed and mind absolutely determined.

"Batman? Batman?" Oracle pipes up—he assumes she's been talking for the past couple minutes, but only realised she was speaking into his earpiece now. "Can you hear me? Do you have a visual?"

"I see them. Nearly have them."

The Spider darts their head over their shoulder almost frantically—moves stuttering when they see how close he's gotten toward them.

"Hey! Why are you so obsessed with me, huh?" Thrir voice calls out—unlike anything he'd ever heard. "I mean, okay—yeah, I get it. But if you want a fashion taste like mine, I can make you a suit of your own!"

He clenches his jaw to stop himself from saying anything back.

Their voice grows more framtic at his silence, "H... Hey! You're getting really close, there—let it go! I'm not a villain! I swear!"

More silence, and they seem to let out a loud groan of frustration, seemingly aimed at him.

They stop. Heels landing flat atop a building, and Batman, with his cowl wrapped around him like a cloak, follows on their heel, stalking closer towards them.

You raise your hands in defence, stepping backwards and shaking your masked head, "Waitwaitwait—! Don't get violent with me, I don't want to fight you!"

"Then what do you want?" His voice grows deeper, more gruff and cold. "No metahumans are allowed in Gotham without my permission. There's too much trouble that comes with it. Too many difficulties."

He pauses. "Too much crime. Too many deaths. Unnecessary, preventable ones. Who are you to be an exception?"

"I said wait—!" You shriek as he practically stalks into your personal space bubble. "I'm not a metahuman!"

He stops in his tracks. "... What?"

You let out a heavy sigh, now that he's stopped. Batman taps on his earpiece, "Oracle, can you hear this?"

"Reading, Batman."

You look around, to see nobody. "Oracle? Who's Oracle?" You never read anything about an Oracle.

"None of your business. Now speak. If you aren't a metahuman, what are you?" His whitened eyes narrow, and suddenly those pointy ears aren't so silly looking anymore.

You blink. Once, then twice. "Would you believe me if I said I was from an alien planet full of spider-people?"

Despite the reprocessing telling him your backstory would have on you being near non-existent—you still aren't too fond of the idea of the Batman, your father, knowing your secret backstory.

Besides, Oscorp really does exist in this universe, too—Norman is actually pretty nice. You don't want any unwarranted blame falling on him.

"Not a chance." He folds his arms over his bat-symboled chest and you falter with a sigh.

Worth a shot.

"Fine." Not to say he was the reason you finally relented—but his stare was pretty unnerving. "I was bit by genetically modified spider on a school field trip. It altered my DNA so I became stronger, faster, could stick to walls and became three times more flexible than the average person."

You finish with a winded breath, eyes scanning his expression for any hint of an emotion. You found none.

"Why should I believe you?"

Pausing, you glance away. Crouching down on that rooftop, on the ledge, staring down at the city below. Dimly lit roads and the people littering it. So much like your home, yet so different.

You could see why Batman was this city's protector. You could see why he was so careful about this world, and you almost respected him for it. At the same time, though, you couldn't help but think to all those chicken-scratched diaries.

By a helpless child, unable to depend on anybody but him in this world, and he had still failed. For that, you couldn't face him. Not now, not ever.

"You don't have to believe my story." You finally manage to unlodge the words from your throat. "I'm just saying that whatever your rules are—my existence doesn't defy them. You have no reason to keep chasing me down."

His sharp, whitened eyes narrow. It's the only thing visible in such deep darkness where he lingers.

"Actually..." Oracle's voice rings out through Batman's ears. "Their story... might have some truth to it. Check this out—Oscorp's been working on developing a, quote, super-powered spider. Says spider venom is the cure for disease and pandemics. They've been developing in this field for a while."

A super-powered spider sounds absolutely ridiculous, he thinks. But nothing he hadn't seen before. In a world full of aliens, heroes, personification of life, death, and everything in-between—he shouldn't be surprised at the prospect of gaining superpowers from spider venom.

Looking down at you now—slouched, facing away from him, and almost seeming restless... "Oscorp."

You look back at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Did that spider come from Oscorp?"

... You bite down on the inside of your cheek, hard. Looking back away before you could stop yourself. "No. I'm not from around here. I live far. Far away."

"What do you mean by far away? Why are you in Gotham, then?" He steps closer, to the point he's standing over you with all that intimidating bat-aura that makes the criminals of Gotham run for the hills. Still, you can't bear to see him. Because if you do, you know you'll spill everything you've been holding in like a waterfall.

"I don't know," you admit, honestly. "I don't know why I'm here. I want to go home, but I don't know where that is anymore. All I know is that, while I'm here, I might as well help people. Because... that's what I do."

For a moment, there's no sound other than the honking of cars on a busy road. He's quiet, as silent as he always is. Always was. For a moment, you think you almost see him as that father from so long ago.

But only for a moment.

"... How old are you?"

To your surprise, he doesn't immediately go to accusing you of lying again, or keep his standoffish persona any longer—only asking you this simple, yet strangely personal, question.

In simple words, you're really confused. "What? Why does that matter?"

"You sound young. Too young. And from the way I've seen you fight, you're experienced in fighting high, street-level crime. If I had to guess, I'd say you've been doing this for at least three years. Maybe more."

Sweat beads at the back of your neck, and suddenly everything starts caving in, crumbling like failed architecture. How did he know? How could he have possibly—

Batman continues, "The way you talk, and the way you behave in the public eye, you can't be an adult. I'm assuming you're a child. Meaning you've been fighting crime since you've been in your early teens, right?"

"What are you talking about?" You stand up at your full height, staring up at him. Glaring, as well as you can manage from underneath those refractive lenses. He doesn't back down. "I'm not—"

"You're a child," He repeats. "Don't carry this weight. You don't have to carry the weight of—" Gesturing towards the ground below, he stares down at you, strangely sadly, "All this. Especially not all by yourself. Not as a child."

The only word you want to spit out at him is hypocrite.

"Don't act all high and mighty. That Robin you have looks 12. You're saying a 12 year old is capable of fighting crime but I shouldn't? I'm nearly an adult, for god's sake! I'm—"

You slap your hands over your masked mouth, but still continue. "Don't treat me like I don't know better. You don't know me. You have no idea what has happened in my life."

"I only take Robin under my wing because he needs it. So I can watch over him."

You glare, "So what? So he can turn out like you?"

"So that he doesn't."

And to this, your lips feel sealed shut. You want to say something, but you can't. What could you possibly reply to this?

Even Oracle is silent. Not a word, not a peep. Nothing. The honking of cars has ceased, and it's like the world itself had just gone quiet for that one, stunning moment.

"You're not from here, so I don't know you," Finally, he speaks, and it's like the silence has been shattered like glass. "You're right. But... you're a child. You aren't obligated to this. This isn't your responsibility—to make this world better. If you can live normally, you should."

Isn't such normalcy why you ended up like this in the first place? All those entries, wishing to be like the rest of them—and here your father is now, telling you to be yourself.

If only they had heard this, you think, bitterly. Then, you'd know you were right. That he would only ever see you if you had become one of them.

The thought makes your stomach churn. How pretentious could this man—this devil—possibly be?

"You're wrong. To live normally like this, when I was given the strength to be better, to do things to be a better me... that's just wrong." You clench your fists, hard. "I already made that mistake before. It doesn't matter whether I'm 18 or 80. All that matters is that I'm doing what I know is right."

You pause, allowing the words to sink in. "But to discard the normally in your life is a waste. That's why I live the way I do. To protect the normalcy around me, the ones who can't protect themselves. With great power comes great responsibility... my responsibility is to be the best Spidey I can be."

...

You angle your wrist up and don't bother to look back at him when you walk away, "You and your birds can come after me all you want, but I won't stop doing what I think is right. 'Cause I'm a hero."

When you thwip away, you aren't so sure how you'd forgotten that. How a hero protects the ones they love above all else.

Your family aren't heroes. Perhaps, to the public, and even the whole world—but not to you. They'd failed to protect that child, a miserable, small child, left in that massive world.

To make it so they felt they had to save people, to take that responsibility of power to matter—that was their greatest failure.

"... Batman?" Barbara's voice is a dramatic shift from the silence that started to consume him. "Batman,are you okay? Batman? ... Bruce? Are you..."

He takes a moment to regain his composure, world still spinning as he speaks, "I'm fine. They're... they're okay." Saying the world's like they're hard to spit out, or like he's unsure himself. "I'm coming home."

Barbara wants to say something. About that spider. About what they said to him. Power, responsibility, protection, normalcy, love. But she doesn't. By the sound of his voice, he seems just as frazzled as she is. A conflicted Batman means no good for anybody, including her.

So, she will let him think. Oracle can take a back-seat for now. So can Batman. For now, she's just Barbara Gordon. And he's just Uncle Bruce.

Holding her tongue, "Cass and Steph aren't back yet. Kate left a while ago... said there was something she needed to do. ... Everyone else should be at home, I think..."

"Okay." He murmurs, quieter.

Barbara shuts her mouth and leans back in her chair. There's nothing else for her to say, so once more, there is silence.

...

When Bruce returns back to the Manor, he finds himself pushing past everything and everyone, including Alfred, and rushing up the stairs. Not even bothering to take off his suit fully—tossing his helmet behind him and walking away.

Down a hall to the left, then up right, then left again. Stopping once he, finally, stands in front of a door. Blank. Colourless, dull. Like the rest of the manor, blending in away from those extravagant suits and too-bulky armours.

After a brief moment of confliction, he brings his fist up, and knocks. Standing there, almost the size of the doorway, waiting for any kind of reply.

"Hello? What—"

You freeze at the sight of your father staring down at you—this time, his eyes were as blue as ever and his face was less grim. This time, you could see the greying of his dark hair and the crease of his brows.

This time, there was no escape.

"[name]." He says your name as if it's foreign, unfamiliar. Testing it out like a new spice or seasoning, then seeming to come to the conclusion that he likes it. "It's been a while."

You're frozen in place, mouth open yet unable to speak. What could you possibly do now? Run? Swing? Duck past—

A hand places itself on your shoulder and every siren in your body blasts itself tenfold. Blaring like the most buzzing and painful alarms—so awful that you have to grab the side of the doorframe to stop yourself from falling over.

Panic gnaws at every side of you, chest rising and falling erratically when your headache grows.

What is this? This is so much worse than when I'm with Jason—

His face morphs and blurs as does his words, yet you manage to catch the few, "I think we should spend more time together. Become closer, like how it was before. You are my child after all. The only one who doesn't have patrol or scoutings with me. That calls for more regular ways of bonding, right? That's my responsibility... as your father."

He's smiling. Hardly so, but you're about to collapse. A deafening buzz in your skull, you spit out any agreements you can manage through squeezed eyes, waiting for him to go, to leave, so for a moment, you can finally breathe.

"I'm glad you agree," he says, moving back. Clearing his throat, he looks down at you, recovering as he gives you space. "Next week, then?"

You clutch your head, jaw taut and stance tense. It's a wonder how he hadn't noticed your absolute discomfort, but you digress—just wanting him to go. "Sure."

"Good, then—" Before he can finish, your door slams shut in his face and once again, that barrier has returned. Bruce pauses, staring at that slab of wood keeping you from his line of sight.

Bruce lingers for a few moments longer, fingers hovering the handle, before retracting back and swallowing thick.

Batman walks away, but glances twice over his shoulder, cowl falling behind him.

You slump down your door with a heaving sigh, feeling your head start to clear and breathing stabilise.

That feeling of fear, of utter terror—it was the feeling you'd get with Jason and Tim, but tripled. It was torture. Absolutely awful. Unbearable. You'd not relt anything while you were Spidey on that rooftop, but seeing him here now send your senses spiralling into a whirlwind of chaos.

You grab your head and it falls onto your knees, pulled up to your chest.

Your eyes fall bleak and everything blurry again. Are you going to cry, like a child? To prove him right again, that you're afraid of this? Of him?

Maybe you were more similar to his version of you than you were lead to believe. Maybe—

Still, though, your phone buzzes.

A strange sounding noise compared to the cheap, hand-me-down one you had in your other room. Probably spammed with stupid videos from MJ, and worried texts from Harry. Maybe even the odd "how are you?" from Matt, or something.

(You still don't know how he texts, but that's beyond you).

You pick up your phone, despite the lingering thought it could just be from one of your family members. Siblings, or father.

... You were half right.

From a contact customised to say, the #coolest auntie, there's a text.

Hey, kid. Let's go out. It's been way too long.

You stare down at the bright phone screen for a few seconds longer than you should've. Surprised, sure, but just as confused. Swallowing and considering your options for a second.

You haphazardly let your fingers fly over the keyboard. If your contact name for her was this comfortable, she must be a good person, right? Maybe she could provide an outside perspective on everything. Your family, their hero-lives, even you.

You press your lips tightly together narrowing your eyes down at her contact profile picture. Short, red hair and a smug smile. Pale skin, and the features reminiscent of your father.

Sure. Where?

When you watch the text bubbles pop up on the screen, you can't help but wonder what exactly you're going to do next.

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taglist is open!

[twovialsofamortentia]

just like that! episode 07 ft. prongs

🎧 make you mine- madison beer

a/n: this is part one of a series me and @prettydaisygirl are working on because we’re feral, this is kind of like a prologue, so follow daisy for the next update!

warnings: talks of sex, alcohol, streamer!james being sexy, but also hopeless for pornstar!reader, who makes twitter porn and has a sex podcast

“So,” you giggled, hoisting your legs up under you on the sofa, crossing them. You held your podcast mic in one hand, just resting your fingers around the stand, the metal cool on your skin. “I can’t really have you on this podcast without first and foremost talking about the fact your followers call you Prongs. That’s sexual in itself.”

“I know, it’s so bad, it was never meant to be like that.” James laughed, running a hand over his face. “It’s a nickname I’ve had since uni, from an old inside joke, but you’d be surprised at how many people make it a sexual thing.”

“Well, I know that your mates take the piss out of you for being the one that gets all the attention from the girls. I mean, there’s literally thousands of girls making edits of you on TikTok, I see it all the time.”

“Oh god, I know, it’s actually insane, I’m not going to lie.” James laughed, a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s like a really weird feeling because obviously for me I’m not, like.. an influencer, or anything, I’m just me. It’s hard to come to terms with it.”

“Thankfully that’s not a problem I have in my line of work.”

James cleared his throat, laughing nervously again, and you swore you could see him blushing red.

“Jesus, I forgot about that.”

“Most people do when they see me with clothes on.” you giggled, leaning forward to reach for your glass of wine that was on the table. “D’you watch my stuff?” you asked as you swallowed your mouthful of wine. “I’ll cut this out, I always ask this question and cut it.”

“Jesus..” His face was definitely red now, though whether it was from you questioning it or the sight of you in front of him, he wasn’t sure. “Not religiously, but I knew about you when you’d just got started. You’re like three years older than me, so when I was like, seventeen, God- I was just- feral, for want of a better word.”

“Really?” you smiled, curling up further against the back of the sofa. “That’s- actually kinda cute. That you’ve followed me the whole time, and now you’re here.”

“I don’t think cute is the word to describe seventeen year old me putting a lock on my own bedroom door so I could watch your videos.”

You laughed at that, eyes squeezing shut as you leaned your head back against the sofa.

“Anyway, I’ll cut all that out.” you giggled. “I just find it helps to ease into talking about sex by getting it out of the way that I’m a pornstar, you know?”

James chuckled. What else could he do? He had spent his teenage years jacking off to the sight of you with no clothes on. You used to be his phone lockscreen. He used to moan your name in the shower. Now he was in your living room, and you wanted to spend the next hour essentially talking dirty to him.

"Uh, sorry-" James cleared his throat, voice cracking. "I'm like... suddenly incredibly awkward."

"It happens." you shrugged. "You need five minutes before I start asking questions? Cause, I mean- I have no innocent questions. They are just all filth."

“No, no, you’re good. I’m ready.” James lied.

“Okay, okay.” you took a breath, adjusting yourself, knowing that was where you’d cut the audio to begin again. “Quick fire, to get you warmed up: Weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?”

“Jesus-” James said for what felt like the millionth time in five minutes, voice cracking. “Don’t know, actually.. probably like- a nightclub bathroom?”

“That’s a tame answer.” you replied quickly. “Okay, next one: Place you’ve always wanted to have sex?”

“Library.” James said rapidly, laughing at the absurdity of it. “Don’t ask why, I couldn’t tell you.”

“It’s the being quiet thing. I get it.” you giggled. “Car sex, yes or no?”

“Oh- oh, yeah.” James laughed and ran a hand over his face, a little embarrassed, but that didn’t stop him from watching as you moved on the sofa, leaning over to place your wine down on the table, his gaze dropping to your cleavage for a moment.

“Mile high club?”

“No, not yet.”

“Threesome?”

“Once, in uni.”

“Two girls?”

“No. Short answer.”

“Okay, I’ll move on. Choking or hair pulling?”

“Hair pulling.”

“Spitting or slapping?”

“Spitting.”

“Mummy or Daddy?”

“Oh, God, both.” James groaned, laughing. “These quick fire questions are murderous.”

“That’s why I always end with that one.” you nodded, sipping your drink. “Expand on it. People don’t usually say both.

“Yeah, well- I’m still trying to, uh- figure out that one myself.”

You smiled at that, sipping your drink and giving James a moment to recover from your fast-paced quizzing. You had watched a few of his streams, and a couple of his friends' vlogs, in preparation to have him on the podcast. He didn't seem like the type to be obsessed with you, like you'd seen from previous guests, but you could tell from the way he was watching you when he thought you weren't looking that he was thinking I know what's under those clothes, and I like it.

"Talk to me some more about the library fantasy." you asked him, leaning forward to set your drink back on the table in front of you.

James hummed an exasperated little laugh, nodding slowly as he tried to find the words that wouldn't get him totally rinsed by his parents if they ever happened to stumble across a sex podcast made by a retired pornstar- unlikely, he hoped, but nothing was impossible for Monty and Effie, and he knew he'd be in for a lifetime of teasing if they got their hands on this. He didn't even want to think about the lashing he was going to get from the other marauders.

"Well, it's just one of those, innit," he began. "Everyone's got one thing they just find really sexy, for no real reason. I guess it is the being quiet part of it, really- I've never sat and thought about it."

"Have you ever done it?"

“No.” James laughed loudly. “No, God, I wish.”

“I get it though.” you giggled. “Up against the bookshelves, that’s what does it for me.”

“Oh, stop, you’re killing me here.” He groaned, hiding his face with his hands, peeking at you through his fingers.

“It’s because you’ve not drunk enough!” you laughed. “Get that down you, you’ll be fine then.”

James nodded, reaching for his drink. He didn’t want to get wasted, because then he knew he’d do something ridiculously stupid like make a move on you. And, while his mind was screaming at him to do that, he knew that it was probably ill-advised.

It was also James’ way that alcohol made him very, very loose-lipped. He was hoping that would work in his favour, and not the other way around.

He managed to control himself for a good twenty minutes, but James felt the alcohol hit him like a freight train as soon as he watched you stretch your legs out in front of you, and he remembered exactly who he was sitting next to. You. He knew you.

He knew you, but he didn’t.

James knew you were twenty when you first started posting on twitter. He knew that you used to have a boyfriend with blond hair. He knew that there was a tattoo of a dragonfly on your lower back, and he knew what noises you made when you came all over your own fingers, because he had watched you do it a dozen times.

But sitting in front of you for the first time ever made James realise that those were good enough things to know about you, but they weren’t enough to really know you.

And James didn’t like that.

“Okay, so.” you started, sitting up straight, and crossing one leg over the other, adjusting your microphone to reach your mouth in your new position. “What’s your body count?”

“Is it really bad if I say I lost count?”

“No, but I wouldn’t have expected that from you. Have a guess?”

“It’s probably something in the realm of about fifteen.” James shrugged. “I lost my virginity when I was.. sixteen, I think? And then in uni, I was just sort of.. set loose. Wanted to fuck anything that moved. You included.”

“Prongs, are you flirting?”

“Maybe, little bit.” James was definitely a little tipsy now, and that meant any filter he had on earlier had disappeared as quickly as the drink had. “Is it working?”

You laughed at that, taking a moment to decide whether you wanted to answer honestly. If it was too flirty you’d just cut it out.

“It might be.” you chuckled, once you had calmed down. “I’ll- fucking cut that out-“

James shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of his drink, and when he darted his tongue out to swipe the excess off of his lips, you noticed.

You also noticed every time his eyes raked over your figure as if he had never seen you before. Granted, until today, he’d only ever seen you on his phone screen. From what he had told you since you had started recording, though, James had seen you a lot.

“Leave it in.” he told you. You weren’t often in the business of doing as you were told, especially on your own podcast. This time, though, you nodded, smile spreading across your face.

“You know, anyone that’s just listening to the audio isn’t gonna see, but the way we’re sat right now- So like, normally it’s like, opposite ends, but we are- I mean, I might as well be on top of you.”

“If you like.”

“Oh my God.” you giggled, sitting back against the sofa slightly. “You know, you’re a little younger than me, but you’re pretty fucking smooth.”

He laughed, a little bit of a tipsy, hiccuping giggle, that actually set off a wave of butterflies in your stomach.

“You say that like I’m sixteen.” said, watching as you sat back, his gaze raking over you. His mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry, and he took another drink, clearing his throat.

“Of course not, you’re definitely-“ you cleared your throat. “A man, but you’ve been streaming since you were like, eighteen, right?”

“Something like that, yeah.” James nodded, and this time there was no embarrassment as his gaze roamed over your body. “I just used to stream for like, three people. It started with me getting an account so we could all play Jackbox, which is why I was down as Prongs and not something more creative- I just didn’t think anyone was gonna see it.”

“Hah- take it from me- the internet is forever.”

“Yeah, well, you make it look good.”

Ten minutes of shameless flirting and filthy questions later, you wrapped up the podcast, after accepting the offer to crash one of James’ upcoming streams, so that you could get a taste of what it was like to be live, just like you had given James a glimpse of your professional niche in having him on the podcast.

“Oh, I don’t know...” you began to protest when he suggested it, unsure if you would be as welcomed by James’ audience as he was bound to be by yours- James’ fans are all teenagers that are in love with him; your audience is essentially just horny people in collective agreement that James is a fucking smokeshow.

“Don’t be daft, they’ll love you, you’re a laugh.” James insisted, waving you off as if it were the most obvious thing in the world that you would be loved anywhere you went. “And you’ll have a few hundred people telling you how beautiful you are, I’m sure you’re used to that.”

It took a few more minutes for James to convince you, but eventually, he did, and you let him out of your apartment, hugging him the way you did when he came in, except he lingered a little longer this time. You didn’t know whether it was because he didn’t want to leave, or because he was less nervous to be around you, but neither of those were inherently bad feelings.

“I’ll call you.” you told him certainly, clinging onto your front door frame as you watched him head down the steps onto the pavement.

“If I could show a clip of you telling me that to seventeen-year-old-me, he’d have dropped dead on the spot.” James laughed. It was taking enough of his will not to do the same now. Thankfully, for the sake of his dignity, and his chance with you, he managed to stay upright long enough to wish you goodbye, flash you a wink, and walk away.

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Phainon with a reader who tries to run away but with the song- "veronica, open the door" from meant to be yours ifyk wht mean......

Ah, Heathers. You have no idea how much I love it.

Meant to be yours

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

Valentine’s Day was always an eventful time.

You weren’t exactly famous, but you had enough admirers to receive a decent number of gifts every year—small tokens of appreciation, letters with clumsy handwriting, and carefully wrapped sweets. It was harmless. Fun, even.

This year was no different. The morning started with a few gifts waiting for you, a mix of chocolates and little trinkets from people who admired you from afar. Phainon watched with mild disinterest as you sorted through them, his sharp gaze flicking over each item with the wariness of a guard dog.

"You really accept anything from anyone, don’t you?"

"It’d be rude not to. And most of these are just harmless chocolates."

Phainon didn’t seem convinced, but he let it go—until later that evening when you bit into one of the sweets and felt a sharp, searing pain tear through your mouth. The metallic taste of blood spread instantly, and you recoiled, coughing as you spit out the candy. A glint of something sharp caught the light, coated in crimson.

Phainon was at your side in an instant. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your head so he could see the damage. His expression darkened, eyes narrowing as his gaze flickered between your bleeding lip and the candy on the floor.

"Who gave this to you?"

You barely managed to answer. You had seen Phainon irritated before, but this was something different.

Phainon didn’t give you a choice. One moment, you were still reeling from the pain, and the next, he had you on your feet, practically dragging you out the door.

"Phainon—!" You tried to protest, but his grip on your wrist tightened.

"You’re going to the doctor" he said, his voice eerily calm, but the way his nails dug into your skin betrayed the tension in his body. "No arguments."

The trip was a blur. You were vaguely aware of Phainon keeping an arm around your shoulders, his pace quick and his grip firm, as if he expected you to collapse at any second. The moment you stepped into the clinic, he didn’t even let you speak for yourself.

"My friend ate some sweets" he informed the doctor, "Something sharp was inside."

"You're lucky you didn't swallow it." the doctor said, peering into your mouth with a critical eye. "The cut isn't too deep, but it'll be sensitive for a while. Avoid anything too hot, spicy, or hard to chew. And definitely no more mystery chocolates."

You winced as they dabbed disinfectant on the wound. You felt Phainon's entire body tense beside you and his gaze burning into the side of your face, but you didn’t dare turn to look at him.

The doctor sighed, scribbling something down. "Just be careful. If you start feeling unwell, dizziness, nausea—anything unusual—come back immediately. But for now, you're fine to go."

You muttered a small thanks before sliding off the chair, but before you could even move toward the door, Phainon’s hand was already on your wrist.

He didn’t let go.

Not even on the way home.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the dim light of your phone screen.

Phainon [11:07 PM]: Does it still hurt?

You sighed, rolling onto your side before replying.

You [11:09 PM]: It's fine. Just a little sore. You [11:09 PM]: Stop worrying so much.

He didn’t reply right away, but you could see the three little dots appearing and disappearing as if he kept typing, deleting, and retyping his response.

Phainon [11:12 PM]: I’ll handle it.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Handle what?

You wanted to ask, but something in your gut told you not to.

Instead, you turned off your phone and tried to sleep.

The next morning, Phainon was already waiting for you outside, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. When he saw you, he immediately straightened, his gaze sweeping over you like he was checking for any signs of harm.

"Did anyone bother you last night?"

You blinked. "No? Why would they?"

He didn’t answer, but then, as you turned the corner, his body suddenly went rigid.

"Go inside"

You followed his gaze and spotted the person standing at the far end of the street. A man, older than you, dressed in plain clothes. He wasn’t doing anything suspicious, just standing near a lamppost, looking down at something in his hands.

"Phainon, what—"

"Inside."

You hesitated but took a few steps toward your door. When you turned back to glance at him, he was already walking toward the stranger.

At the time, you thought nothing of it.

But later that evening, the news spread.

A man had been found dead in an alley. His throat slit cleanly, the wound too precise to be from a random attack.

And when you saw Phainon again, there was a small, almost unnoticeable red stain on the sleeve of his jacket.

----

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the glow of Phainon’s phone screen. The soft click of his nails against the glass echoed through the silence as he scrolled through your social media.

His eyes flicking between posts, comments. He was thorough—checking likes, reactions, and replies. It was a routine now.

Then he found it.

An unusual profile.

The account was old but recently active. No personal photos, no real name, just vague posts and replies under your pictures. Nothing overtly hostile, but something was off.

His fingers hovered over the screen.

Phainon [12:47 AM]: Who are you?

The response was quick.

Unknown [12:48 AM]: Who’s asking?

A slow smirk curled at the corner of Phainon’s lips. Interesting.

Phainon [12:49 AM]: Someone looking to talk. Face-to-face.

Unknown [12:51 AM]: Lol. You’re coming off strong, man. What do you want?

Phainon [12:52 AM]: You seem close with Y/N. Thought I’d introduce myself.

The typing bubble appeared, vanished, then returned.

Unknown [12:55 AM]: …You’re not their boyfriend, are you?

Phainon’s grip on the phone tightened.

Phainon [12:56 AM]: Meet me tomorrow. Let’s talk.

He sent a location. An alley. Quiet, empty at night.

The typing bubble flickered again.

Unknown [12:57 AM]: Sounds shady as hell.

Phainon [12:58 AM]: Just a conversation. Unless you have something to hide?

Unknown [1:00 AM]: Fine.

The air was cold. The alley was dimly lit, Phainon leaned against the wall, idly spinning a cutter knife between his fingers. The silver blade glinted under the light.

Footsteps approached.

The man—young, nervous—stepped into the alley. He hesitated, shifting on his feet, eyes darting around.

"You’re the guy from the messages?" he asked, voice guarded.

"I am."

"You’re kinda creepy, man."

Phainon chuckled. "Am I? You’re the one lurking around my friend’s profile. You ask a lot of questions. Seem awfully curious about where they are."

"So what? You got a problem with that?"

"I do, actually."

The knife clicked as he extended the blade.

The man’s eyes flicked to the weapon, then back to Phainon’s face. "…Dude. You’re seriously pulling a knife on me?"

"That depends. Were you planning something?"

The man scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re insane. I just follow their posts. It’s not illegal."

"You’re right. It’s not."

The blade slashed upward, catching the man’s throat before he could react. A sharp, wet gasp escaped him as he stumbled back, hands flying to his neck, blood gushing between his fingers.

Phainon caught him before he could hit the ground, gently lowering him as if handling something delicate.

The man’s mouth opened, choking on air, struggling to speak.

Phainon crouched beside him, tilting his head. "You know," he murmured, "you’re right. Maybe you weren’t a threat. Maybe you were just some nobody with too much time on your hands."

The body twitched. The blood pooled. And Phainon wiped his blade clean against the man’s jacket before standing.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Then, with the same casual ease as someone finishing an errand, he stepped over the body and walked away.

Tomorrow, he would check your social media again.

----

It didn’t stop with that first body.

The deaths began piling up. Some were dismissed as tragic accidents. Others, the authorities labeled as suicides.

The first was a boy from your school—a popular guy, known for his playful flirting with you. His body was found hanging in his bedroom one morning, the door locked from the inside. A suicide note was placed neatly on his desk. The handwriting matched his own.

But his friends swore he had been fine the day before.

Then there was the girl who used to compete with you academically, often smugly boasting about outscoring you on tests. She was found in a bathtub, wrists slit open. Her phone—dropped carelessly on the bathroom tiles—had messages on the screen. Ones she had apparently sent to herself.

"I’m sorry." "I can’t do this anymore." "Goodbye."

People mourned. Teachers gave sympathetic speeches. Candlelight vigils were held.

And Phainon?

He never said much.

Then, days later, another death. A boy who had confessed to you once, only to be rejected. He had jumped from the school rooftop. The security footage showed him stepping over the edge without hesitation.

No one had pushed him. No one was there.

And yet… the way he stood, completely still, right before he jumped—almost like he was listening to someone.

The pattern didn’t go unnoticed.

The police arrived at your school, officers questioning teachers and students alike. But no one knew anything. No connections were found. No evidence of foul play.

And Phainon?

He answered their questions with ease.

"I didn’t know them well." "I don’t think they were struggling, but I can’t say for sure." "It’s really tragic."

No one suspected him.

Then, one night, you learned the truth.

It was late. But you had left something at school- your book, forgotten in the rush to leave.

The campus was empty, eerily silent under the flickering streetlights. You moved quickly, slipping through the hallways, grabbing your thing, ready to go home.

But then you heard it. Someone's voice.

And there he was.

Phainon.

Standing in front of a student you vaguely recognized. A trembling figure backed against the wall, eyes wide with terror.

And in Phainon’s hand…

A stationery knife.

"You don’t have to do this..." the student whimpered.

"But I do, You’ve been getting too close."

"I-I won’t say anything, I swear—!"

"You think I trust you? Come on. Let’s make this easy. No unnecessary pain."

The knife glinted.

The student collapsed.

Phainon let the body fall, crouching beside it, tilting his head in quiet observation. Then, just like always, he wiped the blade clean and pocketed it.

You stumbled back, breath ragged. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

You had to leave.

You turned and ran, slipping away before he could notice.

The next morning, you couldn’t look at him.

Phainon greeted you as usual, "Did you sleep well?"

You didn’t answer.

"Something wrong? You seem off today."

You forced a nod, gripping your bag tight. Your palms were clammy.

And from that day on, you avoided him.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t text.

But Phainon didn’t like it.

It started with a knock at the door.

Your stomach twisted the moment you heard your mother’s voice: "Oh, Phainon! What a surprise! Come in, dear."

You sat frozen in your room, staring at the door as your mother led him inside.

"Is Y/N in?"

"Yes! Upstairs. Let me-"

"Ah," Phainon interrupted smoothly, voice as polite as ever. "No need to bother Y/N. I’ll just stop by another time."

Your mother laughed lightly. "Oh, don’t be silly! They’ll be happy to see you."

You weren’t happy to see him. You weren’t happy at all.

But the doorknob didn’t turn. There was no knock on your door.

Instead, after a moment, you heard his voice downstairs again.

"Actually, I have to run. Thank you for having me."

You thought you were safe.

You thought he had left.

But as you walked through the quiet streets that evening, heading anywhere but home, you felt it.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

His voice cut through the air, close.

You turned sharply. Phainon stood behind you. The dim streetlight cast eerie shadows across his face.

"I—"

"You haven’t been talking to me. You won’t even look at me." He took a step forward. "Did I do something?"

Your should pretend that it’s fine. Pretend you don’t know.

But the image of the knife, the blood, the lifeless bodies flashed in your mind. And before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out.

"I saw you."

"You what?"

"That night. At school. I saw you. I saw what you did."

"You’re not making any sense."

"Stop lying." Your voice wavered, but you forced the words out. "Just say it. Confess. Admit what you did."

"So....You’re scared of me."

"No....I..."

"Why? I did it for you-"

"Because I should be.. Because you're a murderer."

You turned and walked away. Left him standing there.

You didn’t look back.

Not even when he called your name.

----

Phainon was gone.

He didn’t show up at school.

No texts. No calls. No messages.

And somehow, that scared you more.

Because Phainon never left without a reason.

And whatever he was planning next…

You wouldn’t see it coming.

For days, Phainon didn’t return to school.

At first, you tried to convince yourself that it was over. That maybe—maybe—he had finally decided to leave you alone.

But then, the feeling started.

That creeping sensation of being watched.

At home. On the way to school. Even in broad daylight.

You stopped leaving your curtains open. You avoided walking alone. You tried to tell yourself that it was paranoia.

Then, one night, you saw him.

Through the window.

Standing across the street.

Watching.

And when your eyes met—

He smiled.

You kept your door locked. You double-checked the windows. You kept your phone close, ready to call for help.

BANG

You jolted awake.

Someone was pounding on your front door.

Your phone screen lit up. Phainon. Calling. Again. And again.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

You stayed frozen in bed, your breath shaky.

"Y/N… Open the door."

You squeezed your eyes shut. No. No, no, no.

"I know you’re awake."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay silent.

"Come on… just come out and talk to me."

"You used to talk to me." His voice was quieter now, almost sad. "Why won’t you talk to me anymore?"

"I miss you...."

You gripped your blanket tight, every muscle in your body locked up.

More knocking.

"Y/N, open the door please..."

"I won’t leave until you talk to me."

More pounding.

"Please, Y/N... I just want to see you. Everything I did.. I did it for you. I protected you, cared for you,.. Don't you see? I... was meant to be yours..."

No more pounding.

After awhile, you forced yourself to move, crawling out of bed, tiptoeing toward the window instead of the door. Hands trembling, you peeked through the blinds—

And there he was.

Not at the door anymore.

Standing in your yard. Staring straight up at your window.

His phone still in his hand.

Your own phone vibrated again. Another call.

Then, a message.

"I can see you."

You stumbled backward.

Another message.

"If you won’t open the door…"

The typing bubble appeared.

"I’ll come in myself."

Your hands shook as you backed away from the window, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the sound of your own breathing.

You can't seem to find a space to hide.

Click.

Did the door just unlocked? How? How?!

The door creaked open.

A hand clamped over your mouth. An arm wrapped around your torso, yanking you back before you could even scream.

Your muffled cries were useless as your back slammed against his chest.

"Shh," Phainon whispered against your ear. His grip tightened as you thrashed, "It’s okay, I’ve got you."

You tried to scream, but his palm pressed harder against your lips.

"You kept running. Kept hiding. That’s not very nice."

Tears pricked your eyes. You twisted in his grip, your nails digging into his wrist.

"I didn’t want to do it this way, but you left me no choice."

Do what?

"I took care of your parents."

Your eyes went wide, frantic, searching for any possible meaning—any possibility that you misheard him.

But he only smiled, voice gentle. "Don’t worry, they didn’t suffer."

No, no, no—!

Your scream was muffled against his hand, your entire body wracked with terror.

He killed them.

"You don’t have to be scared" he whispered. "You have me now. I’ll take care of you."

But just when his grip loosened slightly, and in a blind surge of desperation, you bit down on his hand.

"Ah—"

He flinched, just enough for you to break free.

You stumbled forward, sprinting toward the door. But the second you stepped into the hallway, you saw your parents. Sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, eyes empty, throats slit clean.

A sharp, ugly scream tore out of you.

The world spun. Your knees buckled.

-----

Your body was heavy.

Something soft beneath you—a bed. But the air felt wrong.

Not your room.

Your head throbbed as your eyes fluttered open.

"Finally awake?"

You turned your head slowly to see Phainon sat at the edge of the bed.

"Sorry about earlier" he murmured. "I know that was… a lot to take in."

Your hands clenched the sheets.

"But it’s okay now," he continued, leaning forward. "You’re safe here. No more bad people. No more threats."

He reached forward, his fingers brushing your cheek with disturbing tenderness.

"You’ll start your new life here," he whispered. "With me."

----

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ If you don’t see me posting as often, it’s either because I’m busy or feeling sick. I have over 130 requests, but I’m working on the plots and will finish some of them soon!

[mr2swap]

Swap syndrome 2: armpit addiction.

-damn heat… -

The time on my cell phone showed 2:05, the idiot Travis had made me wait but in a way that made me happy I would have to charge him $50 more for being late.

Today was a very fucking day at the gym, it was so hot that I had to change my shirt, but still the rancid aroma of sweat coming from my hairy armpits filled the interior with my car, I was in the same parking lot of the gym where it is only A couple of minutes had left a huge sweat stain on the floor.

But despite everything I loved my new life, after the great shift and finding myself in this boy's hot and muscular body, from the beginning I knew this was a good thing, when I woke up in Travis's bedroom and looked down to see two juicy pecs, a sculpted six-pack and long, hairy legs, the first thing I did was take out my huge cock that was hidden among a leafy bush of hair and give myself the best handjob of my entire life.

It had been a little over a year since that moment, I quickly got used to Travis' life, kept his muscles big and strong and all thanks to his tiny YouTube channel where he showed all his exercise routines, but that was all wasted talent for Travis' glorious, beautiful body.

I no longer had my college degree or anyone to turn to, yet I was able to easily make money from all these fags, who wanted to sleep with me and this body.

Still not in the same city where I used to live, I watched the news and learned everything that had been happening in the world and that the real Travis was out there in my tired, flabby 40-year-old office worker body.

A tapping on my car window brought me out of my thoughts, it was the real Travis I grimaced in disgust as I looked at my old face once more in front of me, I looked at the time on my phone once more, and now it was 2:07 that now meant $70.

The door of my car and Travis jumped inside it, his first action was to completely inhale the disgusting smell inside the car, after that he lunged at me trying to reach my armpits, After that he lunged at me trying to reach my armpits, but in one movement I moved his old, ugly face away from me.

-You know the rules Travis, first I want the bills-

He extended one of my hands while he took out his wallet and extended a small wad of cash. In one quick movement, I snatched the bills from him and began to count them one by one while a nervous expression formed on the real Travis's face.

-Are you fucking with me? Only $500? -

There was nothing left of the old confident Travis, the confident, outgoing boy had disappeared, in his place there was only a perverted faggot who paid me for a few minutes of my attention due to swap syndrome. When we swapped our bodies, I thought I would get rid of him to always, but this pathetic middle-aged man was clinging to me like a leech trying to get close to me with his twisted homosexual intentions. I didn't really care what he did with my old body, but I thought I could make some money a month by squeezing every penny of this situation.

-Please! Just, just 5 minutes! I had to pay this month's rent and my landlord told me that if I was late another month he would throw me out on the street.-

I rolled my eyes as Travis the bitch kept giving me stupid excuses about how hard it was to find a good job now that he was a middle-aged man and he was tired all the time from working so much.

-Okay, just shut your fucking mouth.-

I put my hand on his head and pushed him into one of my hairy pits and choked his nose with the sour sweat that was collecting in my armpits. The initial struggle quickly turned into pleasure, I could feel Tyler's breathing slow. He shook until he filled his lungs, his mouth savored the curly hairs of my armpit and sucked up the small drops of sweat with his dirty tongue as if he had crossed a desert.

Tyler's small hands slid to his crotch and he began to frantically massage his cock over his pants, occasionally Tyler would move away from my armpit to get some air and lick my muscular arms with his disgusting sticky tongue, I watched as they passed minutes on my cell phone and before 5 minutes had passed, Tyler's small wrinkled cock soiled his pants with semen.

I pushed Tyler away and a satisfied smile formed on Tyler's face, his chest rising and falling as he tried to recover from the addictive experience he had just experienced, a few hairs from my armpit had stuck to his face and a stain of sweat had formed on the collar of his shirt.

I didn't have time for this, this experience had made me horny, I wanted to unload the enormous amount of cum that wanted to escape from my huge hairy balls, but the disgusting man next to me was not worthy of this...nor did I have another $500

I extended one of my long, muscular arms and opened the door of my luxurious sports car.

-Now get out bitch, see you next week-

As soon as I clean every trace of Tyler from my car, I'll call some of my girls, so I can fill their pussies with my beautiful, hot seed.

This is a second installment of the swap syndrome story, but the only thing they share in common is the same syndrome that is spreading among those affected by the great shift, you can see more by visiting my Ko-fi page:

Hello, if you liked this story, and you want more, you can take a look at my new Ko-Fi page to see my most recent stories, see my new stories and support me to continue creating this hot content.

[really-fanny-longbottom]

okay sooooo

i had this little thought right

okay so maybe like reader has been a part of the inner circle for a looooong time like since the batboys were kids and they've all been friends forever, naturaly azriel has been in love with her since then, and a few years ago he realised they were mates (she doesn't know)

this one time she walks into the townhouse in just a bra and trousers, casually just walking in drinking coffee while the rhys and cass are just flabbergasted (cass being cass is eyeing the goods real hard because shes always been hot and he knows it) rhys is smirking and all (hes no less honestly)

then az walks in and hes just like what the fuck, she tries to explain smth happened to her shirt on the way and hes just grumbling and takes off his own shirt and is like put this own (cass is naturally making comments that make az's blood boil)

then you can choose where that goes from there

lmfaoooo im so sorry i couldn't get this idea out of my head

its okayyyy if you can't write it!!!

hi! sorry it took me so long to post but i've been really busy with university and only now have i had some free time.

anyway, here it is! thank you so much for this request, i loved writing it!

i hope you like it! 🫶🏻

my hero

azriel x reader | a small but very happy incident. words: 2.2k

masterlist

tick 

tack

tick 

tack 

"ugh," a heavy groan escaped your lips at the sound of the clock. you seated slightly, your head pounding without mercy. 

as you looked at the window, your eyes fought against the early sunlight, before adjusting and finally allowing you to fully open them.

it took you a few seconds to remember your surroundings, and to be honest, to remember anything. 

the confusion didn't last long when all the memories from last night hit you all at once. 

you had gone out for the night with morrigan. you went to rita's for a girls night.

a night with a lot of drinking and dancing and singing and drinking again — mysterious headache solved.

you looked down on you, seeing the shiny short black dress you had chosen for last night specifically. 

you passed your hands through your messy hair and took a glance at your bedroom, absorbing the chaos that a very drunk you had caused.

how could just a person cause such a mess?

tick 

tack

tick

tack

"ugh!" a loud annoyed groan left your lips again

at the sound of the clock that kept attacking your brain. 

before you could think twice, you turned and reached out to punch the clock, causing it to fall to the ground.

you lowered yourself on the bed sheets with an arm over your head.

this was going to be a very long day.

and that's when it you.

your eyes and two seconds later, your legs were fighting against the bed sheets. 

after losing that battle, you ended up falling to the ground with a loud noise. 

a small 'huff' came out of your mouth before getting up and running to the clock as quickly as possible to check the time. 

10:07 am

"oh, shit."

you were late for your internship at the clinic.

"oh, shit."

you quickly begin to look for clean clothes at the same time you try to get rid of your dress. 

you manage to find something that looked relatively clean and put it on, your heart racing as you tried to get your hair to not look like a complete mess.

when you finished putting your hair in a more presentable state, you hurried to put on your shoes, but when you noticed the time again, you only managed to put on a sock before grabbing the first pair of shoes in sight and running out of your room. 

as you run for the stairs, you didn't have time to react before a body collided with yours and spilled coffee all over your t-shirt.

the hot contents against your skin forced you to let out a small scream and dropped the shoes to the floor as you struggled to pull the fabric of your t-shirt away from your body. 

"shit, shit, shit!" you cursed at the same time you blew on your t-shirt.

great, as if your day wasn't already going badly. 

"sorry," a small voice said.

you met your attacker's gaze as you looked up to see a beautiful female with green eyes and brown hair — morrigan's friend. 

right, you had forgotten that she had come home with the two of you — with mor. 

the female looked mortified as you stared at her annoyed. when you saw her opening her mouth to say something, you quickly stopped her.

"don't," you raised your hand at her, you didn't have time for this, "just. . .just go."

you pointed at morrigan's bedroom, whose door was slightly open. the female followed your direction, shrinking a little as she passed through you.

"idiot!" you cursed quietly. 

you looked at your bedroom and considered your options: the chances that you may find a new clean t-shirt in the middle of that mess, were very low and you were already late.

so you gave up and made your way down the stairs, starting to unbutton your shirt before completely taking it off, leaving you in your black lacy bra, and entering the kitchen.

rhysand and cassian who had been enjoying a late breakfast found themselves speechless upon your entrance. 

their gazes followed you as you moved to the sink and started working on removing the stain.

the males shared a gaze between them, identical smirks forming on both of their faces.

"good morning, y/n." rhysand greeted you as he took a sip of his tea cup.

you jumped startled, your eyes found theirs immediately, "gods, i didn't see you there."

rhysand's smirk grew wider. "oh, we know."

"did you get mugged?" cassian asked as he took in your figure.

you were barefoot with only one sock and shirtless.

"what?" you asked confused. 

cassian's eyes roam over your body.

"oh, no, morrigan's friend though it was a good idea to spill her coffee all over me. freaking idiot," you murmured the last part, still focused on the task in hand.

cassian let out a snort "well, i'll make sure to thank her personally for this amazing view."

you rolled your eyes at his comment "oh, shut up, cassian. we grew up together, we've all seen each other naked at one point."

rhys smirked and grew before adding "sure, but we were either kids or teenagers at those times." 

cassian glanced at his brother, amusement all over his features "maybe we should go back to those times."

with another roll of your eyes, you tried to suppress a smile at your friend's comment while trying to get rid of the stain.

as on cue, the shadowsinger entered the kitchen to join his brothers for breakfast.

instead, he was surprised with a view of you shirtless — his shirtless mate.

the very reason, rhys and cassian had begun to tease you in the first place. 

what made this whole situation much funnier — the fact that you weren't aware of this detail. 

and things had just become a lot more interesting now with azriel in the room. 

his eyes widened at the sight of you but when he turned to find his brothers, his eyes darkened and a low growl was released.

"nice of you to join us, brother," cassian said casually as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

he can practically feel the heat coming off of azriel, like smoke coming out of his ears.

"what's wrong, az?" rhys asked him, knowing exactly what was going on but seeing azriel riled up was too funny to miss it.

at the sound of their voices, you looked up and your eyes found a pair of hazel ones.

"oh, hi, azriel." you greeted him with your sweet smile — the one he liked so much.

the shadowsinger found himself melting at your words, at the way you said his name. 

his eyes instantly softed, a small blush coming to his cheeks and a goofy smile on his lips, "h-hi, y/n." 

you gave him a warm smile before going back to your task.

azriel regained his composure at the sound of his brothers' muffled laughter. 

he sighed and rolled his eyes at their behavior, he hadn't catched a break from them since he revealed the mating bond on one drunken night.

cassian elbowed rhys gently in the ribs to get his attention, when his eyes found his, the general gestured with his head to the shadowsinger. 

"hey, az" cassian tried to contain his urge to laugh, he knew what was about to happen. 

"what?" azriel managed to say, his eyes still on your figure.

"we were just talking. . ." cassian started, his voice teasing "about going back to those times when we were teenagers." 

azriel face scrunched in confusion, he shot his brother a look. 

"you know," cassian continued, his peripheral vision caught rhys trying to control himself  "those times where we didn't care about being naked in front of each other." 

both rhys and cassian snorted at the sight of azriel's face turning red.

"what?!" the male let out a little too loud then he had intended.

rhys proceeded, "yeah, you know. when we didn't care so much about formalities. don't you agree, y/n?" 

you rolled your eyes again at rhys comment, "i think you two have too much free time" you chuckled, "cauldron has mercy on the poor females that will ended up as your mates."

"hey!" both cassian and rhys protested.

azriel smiled at your comment, but it fell when he observed both of his brothers eyes roaming over your body, grins splattered on their features.

azriel moved to the edge of the table, placing his hands on the surface of it before giving them a glare and clenching his jaw.

"stop looking at her like that before i break your faces" he threatened through gritted teeth. 

cassian and rhys were quick to lift their arms in surrender, both muttering a small "yes, sir." 

azriel rolled his eyes in annoyance. his attention was caught when he heard you cursed quietly. 

he sent one last warning look to the two males before moving to stand behind you.

he was so close, that all it took was another step of his for your back to be pressed against his chest.

azriel would love to know the feeling of that sensation, but he remained where he was.

he peeked through your shoulder and saw that you couldn't get rid of the annoying coffee stain. 

"gods, madja is going to kill me for being late." 

without a second thought, azriel took a step back.

"here," he told you.

you turned to find him taking off his own shirt.

your eyes roamed his body — his sun-kissed skin, his muscles, his illyrian tattoos. 

you loved those tattoos. 

"put it on," he extended his hand to you, holding out his shirt.

"oh, that's not necessary, az. i-"

"it's okay, y/n. i- i want you too. by the way, why don't you go get your shoes and i'll take you to the clinic? it's quicker that way and you don't have to walk." 

your face softened, "really? you would do that?" 

the corner of his lips lifted for a small smile, only you to make him feel this way.

"of course." 

you grabbed his shirt, "ugh, thank you, az."

you put it on and azriel tried to not let the sight of your small feature into his too big of a shirt to affect him, but he failed when his heart skipped a beat.

you moved forward and grabbed his cheeks, kissing him on the left one.

caught off guard, azriel tried to hide the fact that his skin had heated up under your touch. 

a new blush came to decorate his cheeks. 

"hm. . .i-" the male couldn't find his words with the sound of his heart roaming in his ears. 

"you're my hero, az" you gave a big smile before making your way to the stairs to collect your shoes. 

azriel stood there in the middle of the kitchen with a hand making it's way to his face to touch the place you kissed him.

cassian and rhys burst out laughing, not being able to remain composed of their brother in love. 

cassian got up from his seat and walked towards his brother, clasping a hand on his back.

"behold of the big bad scary shadow-," cassian leaned over in laughter, "shadowsinger" he managed to complete. 

rhys appeared on his other side, "oh, brother. only if your enemies could see you now, they would think how big of a fool they are."  

azriel clenched his jaw again, and when he turned to answer them, he was stopped by a honey-sweet voice.

"i'm ready," you told him from the entrance.

once again, the shadowsinger was left completely disarmed.

a goofy smile reappeared on his face. 

he didn't even spare a glance at his brothers before making his way to you, "let's go then."

cassian and rhys were left in the kitchen laughing to themselves.

•••

the trip to the clinic was quick.

azriel landed softly on the ground, keeping a hand on your waist and another on your back to make sure you were stable.

you took a step forward before turning to him.

"thank you again, az. you literally just saved my morning." 

and there it was that goofy smile again.

"oh, it's nothing really. my pleasure." 

you let out a small giggle. you reached forward, surrounding his neck with one of your arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek again.

azriel's heart raced and his voice caught in his throat. 

you took a step back "you're my hero, azriel. what would i do without you?" 

you caressed his cheek with the back of your hand before giving him one last smile and moving towards the clinic.

"hm, i-" was all the male managed to say while watching you entering the clinic with his shirt.

he watched as you grabbed the door, and turned to him to wave goodbye. 

azriel returned the gesture. it was at that moment that he realized how much power you had over him.

he didn't push away that feeling, in fact he embraced it.

it was about time to let the walls he had built so long ago disappear. 

and you were the right person for that.

azriel made a decision at that moment.

at the end of the day, he would come pick you up and ask you out on a date.

he would buy you flowers, tell you how he felt and take you to dinner.

he just hoped you felt the same way.

and that you said yes.

a/n: thank you for reading!

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @littlelou22 @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @meul-a @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa @mrsjna @lively-potter @avajustreads @talesofadragon @circe143 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @dark-chaos-314 @tequilya @scoliobean @saltedcoffeescotch @charlotteintumbleland @agirlwithwifiandalaptop @987coley

*if you asked to be tagged and you weren't, it's because i couldn't find your blog.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[imxnotxhere]

Azriel Fic Recs

** Updated 03/07/2024 **

A collection of amazing fics I think everyone should read. Also an appreciation for the writers that carry this fandom on their back.

One Shots:

@azrielhours

soft spot - smut, fluff - "Azriel is very particular about his lovers; typically hard-hearted women chosen so they don’t develop an emotional attachment. Reader is one of these lovers, except she’s the sweetest and cheeriest on his roster. This causes Az to begin breaking his rules about intimacy, especially when she unwittingly ends up at his home for work one evening and spends the night."

take care - fluff - "There Was only One Bed trope, reader and Az stay at an Inn overnight, they take care of each other."

i want you to rest - fluff - 10/10 comfort fic - "Reader has a nightmare while on a mission w the boys. Azriel comes to the rescue, brings her to his room to comfort her. She doesn’t want to sleep so he stays with her through the night."

lessons on relief - smut - "Azriel is the last of the boys to lose his virginity"

tight enough - fluff - "Reader needs help tightening her corset and no one's around to help but Azriel."

captured - fluff - "The camera has been invented and Azriel takes up a hobby of capturing reader, proving how pretty she can be."

@tadpolesonalgae

unchained - smut

stockholm syndrome - smut, dark!az - please check the warnings before reading!

birthday girl - fluff

dreamy - smut

@azsazz

the caress of murder and moonlight - smut, rhys x azriel x reader - "Rhysand and Azriel are having a secret meeting out in the woods. Upon hearing your scream, the race to save you, and you thank them in the only way you know how."

after hours - smut, modern au, office au - "You and Az work in the same office and you've been crushing on each other for quite some time. Late at the office one night, he decides to do something about it."

body and soul - vamp!az au, smut - recommend checking the other parts

dirty work - smut

leisurely - fluff

@azrielbrainrot

i'll be here - fluff - "You feel a little out of place at a celebration in the House of Wind and a certain Shadowsinger comes to the rescue."

such a perfect place to start - fluff - "Something happens that has you questioning the nature of your relationship with the shadowsinger."

maybe we could be the start of something - fluff, modern au, band au - Your friends invite you to a bar and you could never imagine who you'd meet there."

darling i'd wait for you even if you didn't ask me to - fluff, modern au, band au - "You have a really bad day and Azriel is there to help you through it."

you take me higher - smut - "What happens when you run into Azriel at a bar after a long mission?"

loose lips and big feelings - fluff - "Azriel gets a little drunk and you take care of him."

the right time - fluff - "Azriel wakes up with a massive hangover and the girl of his dreams sitting in his kitchen."

when prayers fall on deaf ears - angst - "For the first time in his life, Azriel is not ready to accept death."

all over my skin - smut - "You find yourself in an empty room between the High Lord and the Shadowsinger."

sweet somethings - fluff - "You help Azriel put on a necklace and almost get lost in his eyes."

@serpentandlily

no going back- angst - "Azriel has been your mate, your husband, your love for centuries. But a certain Archeron sister has him questioning your relationship after all this time. You soon find out that there are simply things that can not be unsaid or undone. And sometimes, there are things you can’t come back from."

the shadowsinger's secret - "After years spent trying to befriend the shadowsinger to no avail, you are finally ready to give up after accidentally overhearing him speak poorly of you. But when a gossip session exposes a life-changing secret, you realize you can’t let go of Azriel just yet."

birds of a feather - angst - "Azriel had been your closest friend, made from the very same things as you—birds of a feather, as they say. But you were not the girl he chose to fall in love with. So all you could do was love your mate in the shadows until the day you died."

we should stick together - angst - "Azriel deals with the aftermath of losing his mate."

@illyrianbitch

death and his reaper - angst - "After suffering a devastating injury in battle, Azriel finds himself on the brink of life and death where he meets you, The Mother's reaper."

winner - "You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning."

@fever-fluff

take my hand - angst, fluff - "Azriel really wants to hold your hand, but he's afraid that he'll hold it too tight."

@florencemtrash

he feels safe with you - "Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation."

@utterlyazriel

let me keep you company - "You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect."

@prythianpages

i've been waiting for you - "Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate."

be safe - fluff - "You are on your way to Day Court when Azriel stops you. After the two of you fall victim to Cassian's and Mor's teasing, Azriel realizes why he can't just let you go."

@leafsandstarlight

forced revelations - fluff - "While on a mission with Azriel, reader is tricked by a creature into revealing that her feelings for the Shadowsinger go beyond mere friendship."

bad idea, right? - smut - "You stopped sleeping together months ago, but when Azriel invites you back to his place after seeing you at Rita's you just know you're going to fall right back into his bed."

@writingcroissant

just a little crush - fluff - "Everyone secretly longs for Azriel, but Azriel only longs for her."

hands - smut - "Azriel has really nice hands. And he knows how to use them, too."

@safetypinxtales

lonely with you - angst, fluff - "it seems like everyone's found their mates, except you. On a sleepless night you turn to your friend, in hopes that being alone, together, will feel slightly less lonely."

@acourtofmenandthirst

love you in the dark - angst (really heavy on the angst)

@milswrites

somewhere only we know - angst - "Azriel comes to visit you for the first time in a while."

sweetened dreams - smut - "Having access to the people of Velaris' dreams was a gift you did not take for granted. Having access to your mate's heated dreams? Absolutely delicious."

@azrielscrown

innocence - smut, fluff

@gothicbabydollz

azriel x archeron!sister!reader - smut

@honeybeefae

desperate times - smut - "While tending to Elain's garden you come across a mysterious flower with an even more mysterious pollen. As the effects of it start to hit you, you have to fend for yourself to get the edge off...or do you?"

@writingsbychlo

be yours - fluff - "you ask azriel how it's possible he's still single."

@lalacliffthorne

idiot - smut - "a fight gets out of hand, and suddenly, everything´s turned upside down"

Series:

@azsazz

cupid's chokehold - fluff, angst - this is such an interesting concept - "You are a Cupid, a nearly extinct creature of Prythian. When you get caught trying to shoot Elain with your arrow, well, it's a little hard to explain what you're trying to do."

@illyrianbitch

an education in malice - smut - "With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin."

@azrielbrainrot

moonlit shadows - "When tasked to find the once famed Temple of the Moon Goddess, Azriel only expected to find old, forgotten ruins if anything at all. He could have never imagined that not only would he find a temple but also someone who would change his life forever."

@pellucid-constellations

i laugh like me again, she laughs like you - angst - "Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time."

of oblivious minds - fluff - "You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore."

@utterlyazriel

how long have i searched for you? an eternity my love - fluff - "azriel finds his mate in the most inopportune time and he convinces himself you haven't sought him out for good reason. he couldn't be more wrong."

@tadpolesonalgae

i can't bring myself to hate you - angst, smut (only one chapter for now at least) - this fic is my roman empire, literally obsessed with this. prepare for the pain and to kind of want to hit azriel over the head

eat you up - smut, dark!az - please check the warnings at the beginning! if you're ever in a mood for dark!az this is the perfect remedy (stockholm syndrome is a sort of epilogue? for this)

teeth and talons - smut, demon!az - "you’re accused of witchcraft and sacrificed to the shadow creatures, only to be saved by their ruler who’s suspiciously in sudden need of a bride…"

@leafsandstarlight

inadvertently yours - "As Eris Vanserra’s most trusted spy, you‘ve found yourself spending a surprising amount of time with the Night Court’s Spymaster. When your rendezvous with Azriel is discovered by High Lord Beron, the only way to protect the alliance is to pretend that you and Azriel are madly in love."

annual visit - fluff, smut - human reader, modern(?) au - "Each year on Halloween, Azriel visits the mortal lands with his friends to partake in the human debauchery that occurs. When he meets reader at a local bar, he can't take his eyes off her no matter how hard he tries."

@acourtofwhatthefuck

bluebird - fluff, angst

studious part 2 - smut

@lalacliffthorne

bat boys roommates - fluff, modern roommates au

Drabbles:

@gothicbabydollz

az spitting in your mouth - smut

@princess-tulip-writes

az pleasuring his mate with truthteller - smut

@fieldofdaisiies

azriel... - fluff, smut

azriel's hands - fluff, smut

@grandlinedreams

drabble - fluff, suggestive

[megapteraurelia]

EPITHIMIA. — talisman #2.

☾ SUMMARY; — having been sent up to tokyo as an exchange student to spy on the first-years, your objective had been crystal clear: don't meddle. don't change anything. just observe. you didn't expect fushiguro megumi to foil your plans that quickly — but it's not like you could help yourself, not when he refused to be someone you could respect. so, what else to do but meddle?

☾ WARNINGS; — fem!reader; enemies to lovers; forced proximity; attempted character study?? (badly done!!); angst; gojo being annoying; ppl being hypocritical!; kind of angsty yuji too; TW: mention of blood, death;

☾ WORD COUNT; — 20,458.

☾ AUTHOR'S NOTE; — i lied. there's no romance here because i'm stupid and i couldn't stop writing other scenes. there will be a part three (and if all goes well that SHOULD actually be the last part). also, frick action scenes! also had to sacrifice some of the aesthetics because i can only add 30 images oops

— back to masterlist.

15th of April; 07:22. — kugisaki nobara.

Fushiguro syndrome. — as coined by Kugisaki Nobara: part-time sorcerer, quarter-time model, quarter-time self-proclaimed doctor.

Definition. A rare but deeply annoying affliction characterised by excessive brooding, emotional constipation, and the compulsive need to shoulder the entire weight of the world whilst pretending it's fine. Symptomps. — saying 'I'm fine' while visibly not fine. — intense staring instead of talking. — going silent mid-conversation because feelings are hard. — randomly disappearing to punch curses alone without backup. — at least one major emotional crisis repressed into a singular eyebrow twitch.

They weren't fighting.

And honestly, that was weirder than when they were.

Nobara noticed it the second they all met up in the dining hall for breakfast: the sun cast high, the light refracting through the glasses of water on the tables, leaving behind a sparkling surface. Megumi's arms were crossed nonstop, his shoulders struggling to hold the tension, sporting the worst eye bags she had seen in ages (Should she recommend him some good eye cream?)

He fixed the ground with a glare, eyes narrowed like he was trying to exorcise his constipated feelings, before sitting down at one of the tables off to the side. Nobara thought that he looked like a statue with too much gel product in his spiky hair, the way he didn't even eat his food, just stared at it.

On the other hand, there was you, who kept fiddling with your uniform as if it wasn't sitting right on your body. It couldn't be that, though, because the tailors of Tokyo Jujutsu High were very high-calibre. She would know, her uniform sat perfectly, and she was quite finicky in that matter. So, it had to be something else.

Nobara couldn't read you, though. You kept to yourself and made no move to really integrate yourself to their friend circle and sure, as an exchange student, this entire stay here was supposed to be temporary, so to some extent, she did understand that maybe, it was better not to get attached. But then, there also was no telling how long you were staying, so wouldn't it be better to make friends?

But you didn't and so Nobara didn't, either.

It wasn't like she really disliked you, but she wasn't going to waste effort on somebody who didn't know to appreciate it. She was fine to ignore you most of the time, which wasn't hard, considering that you only let some comments slip sometimes, but then you had to go and be a bitch to Megumi.

It wasn't like she really cared about Megumi; if anything, he was annoying with the way he was zapping all the fun, but she couldn't stand by and watch him be hurt like that. In the end, he was her teammate and…..her…..friend……so she couldn't not feel a certain way about it.

In any way, there was no greeting, no arguing, not even a single snide comment about the other's expression, punctuality or whatever it was they used to bicker about constantly. No sarcastic jabs, grumbled responses that made her roll her eyes so hard, it gave her a headache.

Not a single thing.

Just silence and a whole mountain range of tension between them — and it wasn't even the fun type of tension. Ugh, this was so boring.

Nobara leaned back on the bench, her food untouched as well as she pretended to yawn, but mostly, she just wanted to gauge how bad it was between you two. She had seen you going at it before — loud, sarcastic, the kind of arguments that made Yuji glance between you two like some kind of referee in a sports match, so the weird silence — the chattering of Yuji's with the rest of the students aside — was honestly disgusting.

Yuji's voice, cheerful and loud as always, broke through her thoughts. Really, this kid had no tact or decorum. "Sooo, what's up with these two? It's like there's a black hole of energy today."

"Salmon," Inumaki said and stabbed a piece of fish (Fish? As breakfast?) to bring to his scribbled mouth. Nobara eyed the markings on his cheeks and Inumaki was quick to zip up his jacket and hide them behind his collar like he could hide from the world. Nobara didn't really mean to make Inumaki feel self-conscious but wow, these marking did not help out.

Yuji, on the other hand, kept eating the fish and the rice like he was starving, though knowing him, he probably was. Seven hours without food? A surprise he was still alive. With stuffed cheeks, he spat a few grains of rice onto her plate. She pushed it away. Gross little chimp.

"Yeah, it's like, they're magnets in reverse, you know? Like…repulsing? Was that the word?"

"Repelling," Maki's eye roll was so incredible in conveying her exasperation, Nobara was in love. "It's like watching two stubborn blocks of wood trying to figure out who is more stubborn."

Nobara had to try out the eye roll, too. "More like, who is a bigger pain in the ass."

Then she leaned over her food, ignoring Yuji's star struck chipmunk face when she pushed him back by the shoulder to shout over to you, "Oi, did Megumi infect you with Fushiguro Syndrome, too?"

Your voice was cheerful when you replied, "I think I'm just peachy, Kugisaki, thanks for asking!" but Nobara could spot fake-happiness from a mile away — the way your knuckles whitened holding your chopsticks, the annoyed twitch in your eyebrows, the distracted flitting of your eyes over the fish. Yeah, definitely Fushiguro Syndrome. You were sporting the most theatrical fake happiness anybody could ever ask for. Not that she'd know who would want it, but in case it was an attribute searched by anyone, at least she would know where and who to direct them to.

"She absolutely isn't."

"Yeah, no way in hell."

"Salmon, salmon."

Yuji swallowed the food without even chewing properly, a few rice grains still sticking to the side of his mouth. He tried getting them with his tongue when Inumaki pointed towards them, but gave up when the blonde sorcerer kept shaking his head. Nobara probably could tell him exactly where it was, but to his dismay and to her enjoyment, she did delight in watching Yuji make a fool of himself.

"It's weird, though," he said in between licks (no! Not this way — the rice grain was under his lower lip on the right side!) and then stuffed his cheeks with more food, "I mean, they've always been kind of odd with each other, but now it's different. It's like…they're those crabs that get stuck in the same hole and just…pinch each other until they both get annoyed enough to walk away, but they can't leave because they're stuck, and it's hilarious."

"What in the hell," Nobara paused. "are you talking about, Itadori."

Inumaki Toge nodded. "Bonito flakes."

"You seriously agree with him, Inumaki?" Maki quirked up her eyebrow, one of her chopsticks waving in the direction of Yuji and Inumaki as if to make sense of their non-sense, to bring to life the magic of understanding neanderthal-speak.

Megumi stood up with the slight screech of his chair skidding on the floor, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he walked out the dining hall without sparing a glance towards anybody. There was a distinct scoff coming from your direction, your chopsticks scratching hard against the surface of your plate, before you too pushed your plate away and got up to leave.

Nobara wondered if you had only been here for Megumi's sake, whether you had meant to leave at the same time, to give the impression that your presence at breakfast was just to make Megumi uncomfortable — maybe a reminder of whatever transpired between you both. But honestly, Nobara couldn't care less. Worrying about other people could mean that she'd stress over them enough to cause her hair ends to split or, worse, get grey hair.

God, just kiss or kill each other already, she thought with an exaggerated eye roll, but in the end it wasn't her business. Not really.

…but she definitely was going to text Yuji about it later.

16th of April; 13:26. — gojo satoru.

Gojo Satoru was many things.

Handsome (undefeated). The strongest (naturally). Adept at approximately all the things he put his hands on. But nosy? Not really. But once he was curious, there was no stopping him, and curiosity for Gojo Satoru was a dangerous thing.

Sipping from a can of peach soda, especially sweet, he sat lounging on the stairs. Below him, on the courtyard lawn, stood his little assortments of students, amongst which were his enigmatic black-haired student and his new Kyoto's little sharp-tongued mole. Well, exchange student, if he were to stick totechnicality, but then again, that word didn't do a lot of justice to the actual reason you were sent here.

Both of his students were standing a little too far apart; there was no speaking and no fighting like all the other times that he had the pleasure of witnessing. But that was the thing. There had been a fight.

If he could be generous to call it that — which he always was, mind you — the last mission ended with a little…disagreement. He hadn't been there, but the report Ijiichi had given him was quite clear. Something had happened that broke whatever little tolerance you both had for each other. Of course, he could imagine what it was, because Ijichi had been very detailed in the way both of his kids derailed into a shouting match over blame.

Gojo sipped his drink.

Interesting.

Megumi wasn't the type to carry grudges, usually. He carried a lot of responsibility, sure. A liberal amount of regret tossed in there, too, but what sorcerer didn't?

But something as petty as resentment? Not usually his deal. The nasty glare he had fixed on the exchange student was speaking volumes, though.

And you?

He had noticed it before; the way you made things personal, the way you didn't let up. Gojo thought that it wasn't the worst thing to happen to Megumi, especially if you could get him out of his mind once in a while. So he never saw a need to intervene, beside the fact that he didn't think Megumi would be unable to handle what you threw at him.

He could already imagine the glare sent his way if he meddled in Megumi's business beyond his own relationship with him as a teacher. Though, not that that really kept him from anything.

But personal tension, especially if it was persistent, had a way of bleeding into teamwork — or as 'team' as that work between you seemed to be, which did make it Gojo's problem, after all.

One eye peeking from underneath the blindfold, he noted the way Megumi's jaw tightened when you turned away without acknowledging him; the way your cursed energy flared aggressively when Megumi muttered something under his breath. There was a tight rope between apathy and something glimmering beneath it, heated, unspoken and definitely unresolved, tied between both your feet; ready to get you tripping if you moved too far away from each other.

He could be doing the responsible teacher thing: sit them down. Encourage open communication, blah blah — no.

That wasn't his style, and way too boring. What kind of teacher would he be if he didn't subtly abuse his incredible power for lighthearted surveillance?

Gojo Satoru tilted his head and his gaze fell on Yuji and Nobara, a slight tight-lipped smile widening, "Let's see what my adorable disasters are up to."

20th of April; 10:08. — gojo satoru.

"Already done? My, what hardworking bee you are, Megumi!"

"There any more, Gojo-sensei?"

"There's always an abundance of low grade jobs, but you sure you're not gonna turn into a zombie on me? Ya giving your brain enough time to catch a break?"

"I'm fine. I'll handle it," then, his voice a bit quieter: "I won't make any more mistakes."

Gojo tilted his head, his eyebrows drawn high, "I'll have Ijichi give you the details on the way. Just know that you'll lose your handsomeness if you turn into one of those undeads; flaky skin and all, you know? Now off you pop."

Though maybe he'll finally stop resembling his father then, Gojo thought, his finger turning the cuff of his uniform as he watched his student leave the room, a slight limp as he stepped on his right ankle.

22nd of April; 23:48. — zen'in maki, just called maki.

Zen'in Maki, just called Maki, hated reminders of her parentage.

For all the obsession with strength and cursed techniques, Maki found that the name of her clan in blood was less a title and more of a curse itself; a chain clinched around her throat since her birth, growing with her as she transcended childhood and grew into the young woman she was today. It was not rare for somebody to utter the name in her vicinity — not by virtue of upsetting her, but because even though she thought it was undeserved, there was no denying that the Zen'ins were one of the three great sorcerer families.

Even though it had been some time since she left the clan compound, she still felt the weight of it — the expectations she was meant to fail, the sneers she was meant to endure, the silence that was meant to shame her into obedience.

The traditional and backwards way her clan in blood operated made hers boil, and even though she would like nothing more than to circumvent any mention of this bitter reminder of her apparent inadequacy, she steeled herself each time the name passed somebody's lips. Because to flinch is to give in, to react is to admit defeat and to allow them to control her beyond their property by mere allusion. And Maki, with her stubborn heartbeat and her body honed into a weapon, refused to bow.

Her eyes, as sharp as ever, flitted over Megumi's black hair, though barely illuminated in the darkness and stillness of the night. Sometimes she forgot that he shared the same blood, but it wasn't the clan's much-heralded inherited Ten Shadows Technique that reminded her. It wasn't the black hair either that they shared. It was this.

The look in his eyes as he gripped his blade and performed katas with his sword. The cleanliness of it, the efficiency. It was the expression on his face that had her narrow her eyes, that had her muscles tensing as if to ward off any attacks — the same calculating silence masked as focus, the same quiet detachment.

She used to see that look in the training halls of the Zen'in estate: when her father would bark corrections with a tone that promised bruises and punishment; in Naoya's face when he used to kick the animals that lost their way onto their property, on the faces of several clans men. A mask that said feelings get you killed.

She watched him pivot, bring the blade up with a sharp, precise movement that made no sound but cut through the air like glass; the harsh exhale like there was a mountain of air buried deep in the cavity of his lungs needing to be set free. It was the feeling that this reminder of the mask brought out within her, the desperation to rip off that same look on her own face, the hollowed out thump in her chest that had her approach Megumi.

"You trying to break some record or are you just trying to kill yourself out here?"

Maki didn't expect a response and true to that, there was none following. She knew it all too well — this honed focus, the strangulation of an-ever growing vignette.

"Seriously, what the hell is going on with you?" Maki stopped a few metres short from where he was denying his body any rest, "It's well past curfew and you're bleeding all over the place. Training's not going to do you much good if you can't even hold your damn weapon."

Along the razor sharp sound of the blade slitting the air into two, Megumi's voice sounded out, painted with heavy breaths: "What about you then? What did you come out here for, huh?"

Silence. A slight stiffening of limbs.

"Don't pretend we don't know," Megumi halted in his movements, and his eyes — a wild, storming ocean — fixed her with a look, "You come out every night like you're being chased. Like you'll fall behind if you stop. So what is it — are you here to check on me or were you planning to do the same thing?"

Maki stayed quiet longer than she meant to.

There was a slight pressure behind her ribs, in the cavity that was her chest. Something curling up in on itself. A part of her wanted to scoff and tell him he was projecting, but the look in his eyes stopped her. The restless edge. The way he trained past exhaustion, the circles underneath his eyes, a promise that collapsing meant personal failure. The way he avoided eye contact when people asked if he was sleeping.

She knew what it meant. She knew where the road lead, because she was still walking it.

He wasn't wrong. The truth was that she hadn't come out here to check on him, that it wasn't on her mind until she saw the way he had danced over the training grounds. That she came because her body was buzzing from the inside with energy to waste, constantly caught between fight and flight, even when there was no one left to fight.

Her knuckles were still sore from last night. From the night before that. From the week before that.

Never leave me behind.

Maki's exhale was quiet. There was a promise and she broke it. She had left first.

Every time she trained until she couldn't feel her legs, every time her fingers bled grasping the hilt of her blade, it was with the breath of her sister's whisper down her neck. Because she had to believe that it would make it worth something. That she was getting closer to earning her way back, that she wasn't abandoning her twin — just biding her time until she could tear the clan down with her own two hands.

She glanced at Megumi, the tension in his muscles, the barely healed cuts on his arms, the faint trickle of blood from the ripped open callouses on the palm of his hand and the way he was holding himself together like his world was taped up hastily and might shatter. She saw herself in him, younger her who kept pushing forward because stopping and turning around meant seeing what she had left behind.

"I didn't come here to hurt myself. I came to train."

Something almost akin to a scoff escaped the boy, though it also could have been him breathing out in exertion, "Right. Because your hands weren't wrapped in tape yesterday either, right?"

"That's different," she said but Maki wasn't typically somebody who lied to herself.

Megumi bent at the knees, deep, the sword reflecting the moonlight for a split second, his shoulders twitching in a shrug. "I'll stop if you stop."

Maki felt it sit in the pit of her stomach — the guilt at her own decision, the rightful anger at her clan, the choking pressure of her desire. Then she rolled her own shoulders, steeled herself and with it came the resolve: even if there was nobody who would understand her, who could walk in her shoes, who could save Mai from the Zen'in clan's clutches, she would have to continue on.

There was no other way it could go.

"You're overthinking your third stance."

His voice was rough, almost desperate. "Show me."

25th of April; 01:18. — you.

There was a folded strip of black paper sitting on your bed, pressed and knotted with a red threat.

A talisman.

Kyoto-issued, so it seemed. You'd recognise the ink pattern everywhere having seen it in your school, a subconscious reminder that you weren't here to have fun. Well, it wasn't like you were having any special fun, but still, the appearance of such a charm had your spine straighten up immediately.

Carefully, you let your gaze roam through your entire room, but nothing seemed out of the norm. If anything, it might have been even too tidy, though that also might be your paranoia talking. As much as your room looked like it always did, the talisman was very well out of norm.

Kyoto Jujutsu High usually didn't get in contact with you, unless there was something dire.

And that couldn't be, because you hadn't noticed anything worthy of noting down yet, because nothing was happening here. Nothing of significance for Gakuganji, at least. Nothing that warranted them contacting you directly and sending you a message so obviously.

You picked up the paper, your eyes recognising the charm written up, general polite well wishes, and underneath in strokes that only a select few could read:

As we have yet to receive any updates, we would greatly appreciate a brief report at your earliest convenience. Should circumstances remain unchanged, we may be required to explore other available options. We appreciate your continued efforts and trust you will keep us informed.

Of course. There was no name, no seal, no malice in those words. Seemingly. Only incredible politeness, a veiled threat, so if one were to read it, it would sound like a mildly scolding letter.

You stared at the charm, the crease where it was folded neatly. Your first thought had been that you missed a report — that somehow you'd let something slip. But you knew yourself, knew the meticulousness with which you always prepared the seals, knew that the correspondence was as tight and precise as your technique.

You pursed your lips in thought.

If they had sent something now, that meant your charms weren't reaching them for a while now. You hadn't thought much of the silence after each of the transmissions; no confirmation coming back wasn't unusual. The Kyoto faculty preferred silence, the kind of quiet superiority that made them respond when they deemed it important, not one second before.

But now this.

If your reports weren't arriving, then either something had intercepted them…or someone had. Both implications had your forehead create way too many wrinkles for your age and instinctively, you glanced toward the window, the slow sway of the courtyard trees like a whisper about to tell you its secrets.

The paper folded without resistance, at the same seam as before. It didn't matter if someone had been interfering, you decided; you had no proof or any grounds to throw around accusations, especially since that wasn't Kyoto's intention to begin with. They'd rather replace you than make sure to find out who was trying to foil their plans. Beside the fact that it wasn't your job to speculate. It was to observe. To report. To be useful.

It wasn't quite the way you liked to do things for it made no sense to you that other people would offer up information out of their own volition. If there was no action taken, how could you ever find out about people? How were you ever going to prove your usefulness to the people who deemed it so easy to replace you?

You hadn't expected to feel anything, reading those words — certainly not this hesitation. Not when you were here with a purpose; but still: it twisted inside you, low and persistent.

Which meant no more distractions.

Because if your chest twisted like that then that meant you had been dragging your feet, it meant that a part of you had started to hope the assignment would quietly dissolve before it reached a critical point. Because it meant that you started to get attached when you were just being thorough.

You straightened the paper, smoothing the wrinkles that didn't exist. No more chasing tension for your enjoyment's sake. No more watching Fushiguro Megumi to see if you could crack the surface, to see if his innards spilled out with all the thoughts and feelings he kept hidden, the fight with himself to figure out who he was. No more trying to provoke him.

You'd wasted much time trying to figure out what lay behind that tired sharpness in his eyes, the way he flinched at praise, the way he always looked like he was dragging something unseen behind him.

You couldn't make that mistake again.

Whatever role he played, whatever potential Kyoto thought he might harbour and develop, it wasn't yours to decipher. It wasn't yours to push. It wasn't your mission. He wasn't.

Whatever interference had occurred, it wouldn't happen twice.

26th of April; 16:34. — fushiguro megumi.

"She's not that bad, you know?"

Fushiguro Megumi didn't want to look up to see the pink of Yuji's hair drown with an orange sheen, to watch the sky bleed into lavender, evening announcing itself slowly, gently.

He thought that he really didn't want to talk about it.

There wasn't anything to talk about, not about you, and not about you with Yuji. Especially not him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his input — at times. But this? This wasn't something Megumi wanted to lay out for anyone, not something he wanted to talk with Yuji about.

Not the argument that him and you had, about the accusation standing in the room, about all the things that he knew Yuji felt strongly about. Megumi knew that he would take it hard.

So he scoffed, his chin finding its way onto the palm of his hand, "Yeah, well, she thinks being loud is the same thing as being right."

"Cool. But that's not what I asked," Yuji leaned back, his elbows finding the stone steps behind him.

No, it wasn't. He knew it wasn't.

There was a soft breeze, a certain warmth swinging alongside it. The stones beneath him were warm, too, still lingering in the former caress of the sun. Yuji wasn't looking at him, and that somehow made it worse. If he had been, if there had been pity in his face or concern in his eyes, then Megumi could have shut it down. Cut the conversation short. But the casual posture, the light tilt of his head back toward the sky — it made it harder to tell him to shut up.

It would have been easier if he wasn't here. If Yuji wasn't trying to poke holes in walls that Megumi had already worn himself out trying to keep up.

So he said, flatly, "Why you here?"

Yuji didn't take the bait, and that annoyed Megumi, too. But there wasn't a lot that didn't manage to irk Megumi nowadays.

"Because you don't talk to her," he said simply, "Maybe you'll talk to me."

Megumi didn't move, but the grass in front of him did; swinging with the soft picking up of the wind. Yuji's voice wasn't accusing or disappointed; it was gentle in the way that only Yuji could sound like. Goodhearted, open, optimistic. He talked like he knew it was difficult and didn't want to make it harder, and that was exactly what made it difficult to shove him away.

"You care. That's what's messing you up, isn't it?"

Megumi didn't dare breathe.

"She pissed you off. Got too close. Now you don't know what to do with it."

He exhaled softly. Yuji was wrong — or at least, somewhat. It wasn't that he cared about you. It was the way you looked him in the eye and questioned everything he believed in. His desire to save lives — all lives, if possible; that he wasn't actually doing it. That killing the curse wasn't always the same as winning, that the mission, the regulations weren't absolute. Couldn't be.

You believed in getting it done and accepting what had to be lost along the way, and it was the way you had been calm about it. Cold, even. Efficient, not even necessarily cruel, though he thought you were — but just clear.

And that had shaken him.

A part of him was wondering if you were right. He was pissed about that.

Because standing in the rubble of the half-collapsed shopping mall with the girl crying behind him, he had hesitated. Not even because it was hard. But because it wasn't.

"Mind your own business, Itadori."

Yuji stayed on the steps, solid, still, refusing to be dismissed. There was a pause, and then:

"Nah."

He knew Itadori Yuji. Knew the tone and knew exactly what it meant — that this wasn't going to be one of those conversations that got buried under a shrug and a change of subject. Yuji wasn't leaving, not until he had said whatever he wanted to come say. There was a quiet patience in his eyes, the kind that made Megumi feel seen, a little exposed, challenged.

He rubbed at the corner of his brow with two fingers, eyes closing with exhaustion that ran deep. "I said drop it."

"Yeah," Yuji nodded. "I heard you."

"You don't get it." Megumi imagined Yuji like a fly that he could swat away, bury all his thoughts under the same swatter, squish them out of existence. His tongue felt heavy. Had he never said this out loud? It felt like he had been saying nothing else for weeks now. With a tight jaw, he muttered, "You would've saved them. So would i. That's not the issue."

"Then what is?"

Megumi hesitated. He didn't want to offer his thoughts, everything in him didn't want to admit it like that, but this was Yuji. The same person who who had jumped into danger without a second thought just to protect someone he barely knew, so he cradled the thing that sat in his chest like weight and pushed it out, "She made it sound like doing that made me weak. Like— like it was selfish."

He thought that if he could save someone, even one person, that should be enough. But she made it sound like wanting that meant he was doing it for himself, like he wasn't thinking about the bigger picture. Like he didn't care.

Yuji was silent for a while, and Megumi stiffened, and then—

With a shrug that didn't match the weight of his words: "So what if it was selfish?"

Megumi's shoulders stayed tense but he blinked, his eyes wandering over to Yuji but all he met was a steady look back, calm, grounded in a way that Yuji rarely looked like.

"We make choices and live with them. Sometimes that's selfish. I don't think it means it's wrong," Yuji hesitated, then shrugged again, though this time it was more of a way to get rid of thoughts that intruded on his spoken words, "Maybe it's not even about who's right. Maybe it's just about who's willing to live with what they chose."

Megumi's chest ached. Yuji spoke with a certainty that made him think about Sukuna's finger that Yuji ate that roped him into a world that brought nothing but misery, and why he had such a hard time doing the same when he grew up within it. He didn't respond, not because he disagreed, even though he wanted to push back, to argue, to find a reason for why he would be right, but because the words wouldn't come.

Maybe it was his pride. Maybe it was shame crawling up his throat, laying bitter on his tongue. It wasn't a question of his decision, it was a question of who he was.

Yuji stood up and brushed off his pants like he hadn't just pulled something raw into the light, like the conversation was done. And maybe it was. Megumi made no start to stop Yuji, anyway.

"If you don't wanna talk to her, fine. But don't lie to yourself about why."

3rd of May; 18:52. — you.

The warehouse reeked.

Like mold, blood, and something sour that clung to the back of the throat — the kind of stink that told you a curse didn't die clean. And it didn't: there was a substance resembling blood splattered all over the floor, like it couldn't escape fast enough from where it had been squashed into mush.

Megumi stepped over it, his boots making a wet sound on the floor, his steps heavy and with purpose in the vast silence that suddenly laid itself on top of you like a thick blanket. The air was heavy with aftershocks of cursed energy; the taste tangy and metallic on your tongue.

You could hear the drip of blood from the curve of your sword, the echo hanging in the air, drip, drip, drip.

It gnawed on your nerves, a slow and deliberate sound that you couldn't escape, so you flicked the blade off with a swift motion. Your eyes swept over the shadows lingering from when megumi had called them.

Footsteps matching his in the quiet, the rhythm of yours echo out of sync, a subtle discord that had become almost too familiar. Before, the silence had been filled with sharp words, teasing, half-fulfilled orders, information, occasional jabs. Now?

Now it was just motion. Breathe. Get it done. Get out. No checks. No confirmation. No reason to linger.

Megumi didn't wait for you to catch up. He moved forward without a glance, the slight echo of his voice cutting through the stillness, not loud enough to be a real order, not quiet enough to ignore, "Let's go."

You followed because, well, it was over. The job was done, and there was nothing left to say.

5th of May; 12:01. — fushiguro megumi.

Fushiguro Megumi didn't know why he was lingering around the broken shopping mart in Yurakucho.

With his hands loose by his side, his eyes travelled over the police tapes that were slowly being rolled together. The curse hadn't come back, because if it had, there wouldn't have been the shifting from police workers to construction workers over the weeks.

His heart was beating steady, watching the bustle, the shouts over the sound of equipment, the everyday hustle of people who didn't know better, who didn't have to know better. He continued standing there, watching until the workers gathered together for lunch time.

Megumi ducked under the signs that warned other citizens to stay out, and entered through the broken doors, now cleaned off the shards. His feet took him to the third floor automatically, the entire mall looking weirdly peaceful without the shelves reaching over to keep him in their grasp, without the air weighing him down like he was going to crumble underneath the pressure. The lights were turned off, the electrical wires cut, but there was enough light coming through from the ripped down wall to the south side that he needn't worry about seeing, and he observed the dust dancing in the air.

There was no cursed energy lingering around anymore, but he found the faded circle of red on the floor easily.

He didn't have to worry about the cursed womb anymore, didn't have to worry about anybody else getting hurt.

His teacher had caught him on the extended balcony of the main building in Tokyo Jujutsu High a couple days back, jutting out to observe the main courtyard and if he turned, a side view of the sport field expanding right in front of him. His other schoolmates were training out, and he hadn't joined them; instead, his eyes flitted over the starfish spread of Inumaki's — a Yuji standing next to him poking him with a stick, the huge body of Panda's throwing around a screeching Nobara, the band of limbs blurring in a spar between Maki and you.

His lips twisted, and he looked away.

"Megumi skipping school? Scandalous!"

He barely flinched when he heard Gojo's cheerful tenor ring through the air behind him, too used to his teacher popping in at whatever times he deemed fit. He couldn't tell whether Gojo had come up using the stairs like a normal person, though knowing his teacher, that would have been too boring.

Megumi didn't think he needed to answer. He knew he was supposed to be down there training alongside the rest of his classmates, but he couldn't step foot onto the field, knowing you were there. If ignoring you had been difficult before, it was almost impossible now, even though he didn't speak to you, your own comments having dwindled, only terse necessities when you were put together on missions.

It was less the quantity of commentary that weighed on him heavily; it was just the way his hair stood on its ends, his skin prickling at your mere presence. There was a charge to the air between you both, the accusation and assumption sitting in the atoms he breathed in, heavy, tasting like static.

He shook his head lightly, the memory of a certain monitor beeping in his ears fading. He wasn't wasting time, he wasn't — he was going to train twice as hard, was going to make up for it. His missing the training with the rest of the students would have no bearing on his performance. He was going to make sure of it.

He had no other choice.

"Just so you know, I don't quite mind. I do approve of a little rebellious streak," Gojo's saunter towards the railing where Megumi stood was insufferable. It was not just the way he walked, like gravity bent over backwards for him, the bounce in his steps, like he was mocking the world and daring it to do something about it, but also the underlying message through the easy sway of his shoulders: that he was untouchable. "But skipping school is a slippery slope. First, it's one day. Then it's two. Next you know, the others avoid handling you at staff meetings, and I'm the one who has to go through all your reports. Not fun."

A dry remark, no questions intended. "Do you even read the reports."

"Nah. I don't. It's too much of a hassle," his teacher said with a grin, his canines sharp and glinting in the sun. His elbows propped up on the railing, his back to the sports field, he looked up to the sky. Or, well, his face was looking towards the sky, his eyes might has well have been roaming Megumi's face. Not that he would know where Gojo was looking with that blindfold on.

There was a kind of quiet between them that felt like it was supposed to be purposeful. He didn't like it, his hands gripping the railing a bit tighter, like he could redirect his tension through his fingertips to the wood. There was a breeze softly caressing Megumi's face, and for a second, he wondered if he deserved to have the world treat him so gently, when he—

"I exorcised the curse."

On instinct, Megumi whirled around towards Gojo and the distinctive curve of his jaw as he continued to study the sky's blue, the spare clouds here and there. Like clockwork, the stone in Megumi's stomach sank deeper, and his knuckles whitened on the wood, his nails digging between the rills of the old timber.

"I know there's coulda-woulda-shouldas going through your head. You don't have to tell me, I know I've got bingo already," Gojo said offhandedly, and finally turned his head to Megumi, his smile softening, less of a tease, more of an inspection.

Megumi looked away, the wood digging in between the nail and his skin, right in the crevice where it was hard to get out. "You shouldn't have had to clean up after me."

"Aww, come on, that's what I'm here for. Let me have my moment," a snap of his fingers, "I even looked cool doing it — real flashy. Big crown. Someone might have clapped, ya never know."

His teacher was so ridiculous, Megumi couldn't stop the huff escaping him. Of course, he was out to be praised, so full of himself the way he always was. To an extent, Megumi even appreciated the ease with which he talked. Not that he would ever admit it. "You're not helping."

Gojo bent down, the tip of his sharp nose getting awfully close to Megumi's. "Also, for the record, the whole spinning around you just did? Very dramatic, I give it an 8.5 out of 10."

Megumi jerked his head back, sending a glare towards his teacher, "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not unless I'm unconscious. Or dead," both hands up in the hair, Gojo stood upright again, to his full height; assured, confident, a fact, "Hold your horses, Megumi — I'm not planning on either of those today. Or the near future."

Megumi's eyes found their way from his teacher to the field again. Inumaki had finally gotten up, though he was still a far cry away from actually gearing up to fight. Maki had moved on to rope Panda into blocking a flurry of her attacks, every movement precise and trained, no wasted moment. Yuji and Nobara were off to the side, engaged in the typical bickering he knew his classmates to partake in. A threatening raise of her hand at Yuji, an assuaged shoulder dropping directed at Nobara.

You were nowhere to be seen, and Megumi hated that he took note of it, that his fingers let up for a second, that the coil in his stomach uncurled. And when gojo spoke again, he hated the way relief wormed itself through his heart, as if he deserved it.

He hated, too, how much he welcomed the relief.

"It's alright for the stuff to weigh on you. You think you're the only one holding the line sometimes," Gojo's voice was serious, in a way that Megumi seldom heard, "You're not. You've got people behind you. Beside you. Me included, aren't you lucky."

Because it was true. Because Megumi could rely on Gojo Satoru. Because he could rest assured that his teacher had always looked out for him, and would always do so, despite being so annoying about it. Or maybe perhaps, even more so because of it.

"…thanks."

Gojo's grin returned with ease, shoulders pulled up as he kicked off the railing. "By the way, the next time you skip class, at least pretend to be doing something cool. Like I dunno — stealing a cursed artefact, annoying Nanami until it looks like the button on his collar is gonna burst, infiltrating a rival Jujutsu School…the list is endless!"

"Those are all terrible ideas."

A gasp, and Gojo turned around, his hand clutching his chest, "Excuse me for having taste."

Megumi had rolled his eyes, but inwardly, he had felt a weird mix between mollification and a nervous fraying around his edges. Making his way down to the training grounds as well to take over Panda's spot, he had even managed to ignore that he was only going down because you weren't there anymore.

A coward—

No.

He just didn't want to get into fights anymore, he told himself, he was sick of it.

Standing in the wreckage left behind of the failed mission now, he couldn't muster up the relief that he felt when Gojo first told him that the curse was gone. He didn't have to worry about it anymore, didn't have to agonise over it at night, could finally focus on his next missions, of not repeating the mistake.

The curse was dealt with. No one else would get hurt, no news alert or updates that he would have to await with bated breath. No more imagining what could have happened — because none if it had happened. And now, it never would.

So why, instead of ease, did he feel a familiar tightness in his chest?

His fingers swept over the mark of his shikigami's warding attack, muscles loose, not clenched, not angry.

The second Megumi learned that Gojo had stepped in, the weight had vanished from his shoulders like it had never been his in the first place. The moment it wasn't his problem anymore, it had stopped being real. The guilt, the panic, the second-guessing — all of it evaporated. Gojo had fixed it. He had always fixed it.

But what if his teacher died? What if there was nobody around to pick up the pieces he left on the ground?

He pressed his lips together.

Megumi didn't use to think about it, but then you threw it at his head, the question of whether he knew that his sense of justice disappeared so easily and—

The comfort sitting in his bones, in the cracks of his joints, turned sour, like milk that was expiring. Gojo could shoulder the burden like it was weightless — and for him, maybe it was. But Megumi wasn't like that. Was he going to rely on his teacher forever?

If he started choosing who lived, if he stained his hands so others could stay clean, would maybe one day the relief feel genuine?

1st of May; 14:28. — you.

You lingered near the restricted area, your fingers hovering over the glass display case. You didn't dare touch anything, but your eyes were sweeping over the more dangerous collection of cursed objects. The area hummed with restrained malevolence; the ancient talismans pulsed dimly, guarded by layered barriers woven so tightly that even the air seemed hesitant to stir.

You didn't intend to steal anything. T

his was merely reconnaissance, to confirm whether the rumour over at Kyoto's were true: that Tokyo Jujutsu High had been quietly amassing cursed relics far beyond what they reported to the higher-ups. That under Gojo Satoru's protection, they'd turned the school into something closer to a private arsenal than a neutral institution.

But this wasn't about fairness or balance, that you knew. It always came down to fear, to wanting to gain the upper hand against somebody they didn't trust. Neither gojo nor his students, and especially not the influx of power the first-years all brought along.

Standing there, surrounded by cursed tools older than some dynasties in Japan, you felt weird.

This wasn't just a vault, it was a warning, too. A reminder that if Tokyo wanted to, they really could overpower Kyoto before it ever drew its own blade. And if it was true, what would the elders plan to do with this information if you delivered it?

In the end, you shouldn't care. You were a tool to use, a means to someone else's end, you were just there to collect information, and leave before anything could happen. Ever since you found that talisman on your bed, you kept repeating it to yourself, yet still —

Strangely, your first thought was of Itadori Yuji.

Not because he was friendly, even though he was. Not because he always offered to spar, even though he did, or because he was so earnest, but because of what he carried inside him.

You had seen it in flashes; in the way his smile faltered when he thought no one was watching, in the tension in his shoulders when he had to deploy Sukuna to take over his body, like he was bracing himself for something he couldn't stop.

He bore the King of Curses like a time bomb behind his ribs, and the worst thing about it was that he wasn't just a vessel. He was a boy trying to stay himself. So if what you learned here about Tokyo's cursed arsenal got back to Kyoto's elders, would they have more leverage to use against Yuji?

You were their spy, yet—

"So, funny thing," came a voice from behind you, "back during my days, the restricted section wasn't on the student tour."

You froze.

Gojo Satoru stood just a few steps back, hands in his pockets, posture loose, like he had just strolled in by accident. His blindfold was slightly pushed up, one pale blue eye gleaming under the low light. He wasn't smiling, but his tone was light, breezy, almost bored.

Like catching you here was a minor curiosity.

You turned slowly, "Gojo-sensei."

"Wow. Polite!" he nodded appreciatively, the corner of his mouth twitching, "Didn't expect that, considering the whole Kyoto sending you here and not teaching you how to trip a proximity ward. How is Utahime, by the way? She still giving the staff at the Karaoke's grey hair?"

Your answer was hesitant, slow, careful, "This place is off-limits? I could swear it wasn't. That's my fault. I can be on my way out, no time wasted."

There was a brilliant smile on Gojo's face at you playing stupid now; like a mask, easy and lazy, but there was a dangerous glint in the way his canine caught the light. "Cute. You lie like somebody who's never had to lie to me before."

"I wasn't—"

"—lying? Spying? Trying to sell me some sweet, innocent act?" he finished for you, his grin sharpening, his attention on you razor sharp, "Nah. Of course not. I can give you some pointers if you want my professional constructive criticism."

So lying wasn't an option anymore.

Not that you thought it ever really was, but in the same way that the higher-ups had no issue throwing out obvious, outrageous excuses like that, you thought maybe you could do the same to save yourself. But of course, it was a stupid decision. You had neither the power nor the authority nor the leverage to pit against somebody like Gojo Satoru to even try to pull shit out of your ass.

If anything, you didn't know if Kyoto even had any control. Not when it was the honoured clan heir on the other side.

What were your options then?

Despite the imposing presence of Gojo's, like an incessant reminder of the energy thrumming underneath his cool demeanour luring you to see him as an enemy, you couldn't attack. Not if you wanted to keep all of your bones intact. It would only end one way and that was with you in a hospital and having lost all semblance of some sort of trust between not just you both, but also with the other first-years.

Not that any trust had ever been really genuine, but at least it hadn't disturbed the status quo between you during all the weeks before.

You also didn't want to fight. Not like that. Not against Gojo Satoru. Ever.

You could try to stick to lying and pretend like you were innocent — it might even work, depending on how much good-will Gojo owned in that moment, how playful he was to really allow you to walk that line. He wouldn't believe you, but maybe you could appease him a little. On the other hand, it could also go insanely wrong in that he doesn't take kindly to being toyed with.

As stupid as it sounded, it was a viable option, but it was too much of a wild card to really trust that it would work either way.

Another option, which, out of everything, was not high on your list, was to offer him something in return if he let you get away with it. If you could convince him that you were more useful to keep around, you might be able to play it safe. He might be insulted, or he might take the offer, but either way, you would lose his respect and any possible prospect of gaining trust. Which, again, did not help your case in any way.

That lead to two different problems, though, which could be viewed on two different scales of importance, too. For one, and far less important, your behaviour was not just representative of yourself, but of Kyoto too, so any repercussions were directed back to the elders as well. You yourself didn't particularly care whether Gojo Satoru had respect for you, though having him as an enemy was not quite on your to-do list, either; but being the reason for the stand-off between the two schools to sharpen? Difficult.

Another reason, far more important to you, was to sell yourself like that went against your own principles; you were not in the habit of disregarding your own feelings in favour of saving yourself.

You were following your job, you knew that. You could treat it like a mission, because it essentially behaved like one, except a part of you couldn't because it wasn't against enemies, curses and curse users that intend to hurt innocent people. It was against other sorcerers, in a game where you were supposed to smile in Yuji's face and then feed his future to people who'd rather he die quietly than live inconveniently.

How much of a pawn did you want to be? You didn't care when you came here to Tokyo, but you also hadn't known any of the students here, hadn't seen how hard they worked to make a different future for Jujutsu Society.

You talked all about Megumi and his inability to be true to himself, but how about you?

The words left your mouth as calmly as you could manage, as steady as you could bring yourself to sound with Gojo Satoru watching over you like a hawk, "I didn't come here to steal anything."

Was that your smartest move? Maybe. Maybe not. It was hard to guess with him, but it was at the very least the truth and sometimes, when nothing else worked, truth was all you had left. It was your best bet at catching his attention; somebody who occupied the stance that Gojo Satoru did would appreciate honesty, you thought.

"You must be really curious then to ignore all the seals."

So he wasn't going to let you off easy. Almost, you were hoping he would be kind to you.

"They don't trust you. Or Tokyo," you didn't have to mention who they was; Gojo knew. By the shift in the air, the lessening of oppressive attention, you also knew he was listening now. "Not with the first-years. Not with Itadori. And especially not with you standing between them and the chain of command."

He didn't interrupt, so you continued.

"I guess you could call me spy, but they never do. Well, not officially, anyway. It's called oversight, information gathering, or whatever other thing they can come up with," you swallowed the amount of saliva having gathered in your mouth from your rambling, "They think this school is building its own army."

"An army, eh?" Gojo made a low sound in his throat, an unceremonious snort escaping him, "I can't say we haven't a good roster this time round: a hammer, a puppeteer, a ticking walking bomb? Nah, I gotta tweak that one a little…just the bomb? Hmm…"

You interrupted him before he could spiral into another tangent, "Point is, they're scared of you."

He turned towards you and despite the brightness of his eye roaming over your form, his words were honest, "Good. They should be."

You stayed still, because— "What are you going to do?"

Gojo blinked, lazily, as if none of it truly concerned him. Like catching a spy in Tokyo Jujutsu High's restricted section was no more urgent than choosing what flavour Mochi to buy. But nothing about the casual motions of a tight-lipped smile curling onto his face or his fingers tapping his chin was idle to fool you.

"Me?" he echoed, "Oh no, I'm just sitting in the front-row seat of 'what are you going to do?"

You swallowed, just once. "I could tell them about all this here."

"Naturally," he said, one shoulder heaving up in a small shrug. The way his head tilted reminded you of a bird, "You could."

Was there a trap in his words? You weren't sure. That was the problem with Gojo Satoru — he didn't need to be flashy to be dangerous. Sometimes it even hid in plain sight, draped in his infuriating nonchalance and wrapped in his lazy smiles.

Was the off-handed way he regarded you a threat?

Maybe.

He didn't look like he was posturing. He didn't have to. He barely moved since the moment he caught you, and yet you hadn't relaxed once. His eye watched you, but not in a way a predator would its prey, because that was still seeing you on the same plane of existence as him and right now, you weren't.

He watched you like a god watched a candle.

You studied him back. "You're not going to stop me?"

"I already did."

Things were not written in stone. Theoretically, you knew that.

You could send your report back to Kyoto, and it would carry your name. You could choose to continue your mission the way it was intended, could accept that you essentially were a discardable part of a plan that was larger than you. The plan that encompassed the death of Itadori Yuji, that had its eyes set on Fushiguro Megumi and the power imbalance of his cursed technique officially belonging to no clan, but still could be seen as an extension of the Gojo family.

You could do a lot of things, but the way he was waiting for you to understand made you feel like your decision had been made hours ago already. That it had been cemented in moments that you hadn't thought twice about: the first time you snorted at Yuji's really-not-funny joke but he lit up like he got handed a prize when he realised who it came from.

The first time Nobara didn't bother hiding her annoyance during a dragged-out explanation during training but still shifted enough to give you a clear view.

The first time you saw Megumi hesitate before a mission, so minuscule that you had almost dismissed it, his jaw tight and eyes distant, that spurred on your curiosity about what he was hiding.

That was the trap, you thought, not Gojo's words but, put on the spot in front of a decision, how treacherous your heart and mind were.

7th of May; 22:13. — kugisaki nobara.

"Yo."

"Gojo-sensei!"

"Yuji, my favourite student who is absolutely not my favourite just because you're the only one who has decency enough to miss me so when I'm gone!"

Nobara tried her best at Maki's eye roll again, "Teacher's pet."

"Wait…am I not supposed to say hi?"

"Nevermind that, Yuji-kun! Won't I get a heartfelt greeting from my other two favourite gremlins?"

"Hi." — "What's the mission."

"Yuji, close the windows. There's a real cold draft. Weird."

"But there's none open…"

Ignoring yuji, her teacher continued cheerfully, throwing a file onto the table, "I come bearing gifts!"

Nobara's head thumped against her arm. Goodbye, skin care routine. Goodbye, a good night's sleep. Goodbye, peace.

8th of May; 23:42. — you.

Megumi's leg was touching yours.

The problem with being four people in a short limousine was that there were two single seats that both Nobara and Yuji were quick to claim. In fact, as you all were walking down to the awaiting car on the main street, both of your classmates started accelerating until they were speed walking at a very conspicuous pace. Megumi huffed to himself, a deep annoyed sigh, a few steps behind you but you didn't think much of it until Iwata opened the door for you both and an innocent Yuji was looking back from the front row seats.

The boy's pink-haired head immediately whirled forward when he caught your eye, but it wasn't quick enough for you to have missed the slightly guilty expression painted all over his features. Your eyebrows wandered even higher up when your periphery registered movement between the seats, Nobara's well-manicured fingers slightly pinching Yuji's thigh.

Her lips mouthed something towards him, quick, messy enough that you couldn't catch it but apparently that was enough for Yuji because his brows furrowed and he nodded, resigned, accepting his part in whatever scheme she was coming up with.

"Move," Megumi grunted from behind you when you took to long to enter, and pushed himself past you into the car.

"Don't strain yourself with all that politeness, Fushiguro," you bit out.

It was a cruel joke, looking inside the vehicle and finding that the only seat you could possibly take was right next to Megumi's right. Well, it would have been Megumi's left if you had entered the car first, but at least it would have been at your choosing which side you'd rather occupy.

Not your mission, you reminded yourself with a press of your lips, before sliding into your seat and allowed Iwata to shut your door close so he could drive you all to the mission site.

That had been eighteen minutes ago, and Megumi's leg was touching yours for the past thirteen of those. Megumi who had stubbornly stared out the window, who kept his body to himself, tense, with his arms crossed, until his head lolled forward slightly and his body relaxed slowly.

It was funny how open to an attack he was in that position, the back of his neck exposed as his chin softly bumped against his chest. If the Kyoto elders had tasked you to get rid of the Zen'in brat with the Ten Shadows Technique, you could have done so easily in that moment: taken a hold of the dagger you kept with you and aimed for his carotid, then dragged it up to his internal jugular. He would've been dead before he could have even had the chance to wake up again.

They didn't ask that of you, though, so you sat in this car with Yuji's and Nobara's whispers in front of you, and Megumi's leg that touched yours.

9th of May; 01:18. — you.

"This place smells like whatever's festering in those idiots' laundry pile."

Nobara wasn't exaggerating.

The stench of stagnant water reeked of bacteria finding a welcoming home; flowers that had been standing in their dirty water for weeks, a sickly sweet under note. It reminded you of buried corpses beneath wet earth, rotten.

The entrance to the underpass stretched out before you, half-drowned in shadow as murky floodwater trickled out steadily. Despite the sloshing of water reaching your ears faintly, there were no other sounds to indicate there was something nesting inside there: no breeze of wind, no metal creaking, no movement through the water.

There had been residual cursed energy picked up from the last site that the curse was lingering around, though it was difficult for to scouts who were monitoring the area to pick up the exact location. The curse was constantly moving, apparently extremely territorial and, most importantly, smart enough to avoid detection until now.

"What are you doing?"

You turned slightly to observe Yuji bending down, untying his boots, "I didn't know the water was going to be that deep!! I'm wearing my cool socks, so — " he rolled his socks into a little ball, stuffed it into his pocket before slipping into his shoes, sock-less, " — problem solved."

"Ugh, yikes."

"We should split up as we discussed," Megumi spoke up, his voice scratchy from when he woke up from his slumber earlier.

When the car came to a halt and the overhead light turned on, his body had stilled as his eyelashes fluttered lightly, opening, coming to his senses with a blink. He was quiet, when awaking. But Megumi, when left to his devices, was always very quiet, even more so in the recent weeks. His jaw slightly moved when he released the tension held within his teeth and his chest moved with a deep breath, shoulders staying relaxed momentarily before they stiffened when he felt your gaze on his face.

He had looked at you, something raw in his eyes, and you looked back. For a second there was nothing between you both other than just space that existed, then his knee had pulled away and you had turned and gotten out of the car.

"Sweep it from both ends. One team at the north entrance, and one from the spillway," Megumi continued. "At least this way we can cut off one route if it decides to lead us through a chase."

As you were approaching the mission site earlier, Yuji had asked about the distribution of teammates, and a quiet Iwata had spoken up. His voice was soft, hesitant like he was scared to unleash a storm with what he was about to announce. Apparently, Gojo had made it clear to the assistant manager to convey his explicit desire to have you and Megumi paired up.

You hadn't bothered to either act or be surprised about that development, taking the 'news' with as neutral a face as you could manage. Obviously, you would have preferred to share the name of teammates with Yuji instead, but after the encounter with Gojo, you weren't surprised that you were to be kept away from the pink-haired student that had the Kyoto elders in an uproar. It didn't matter that nothing in your secret mission had mentioned any bodily harm to Yuji, nevermind the fact that you didn't want to hurt him, but if it were you in anyone else's shoes, you would have kept yourself far from him, too.

The lack of trust didn't hurt you, for it made sense and you weren't sure you trusted Gojo Satoru and his little games entirely, either. It was a give and take, so nothing you could do about it.

What captured your attention instead was the fact that Megumi's face hadn't moved at the announcement, either. Where there would have been a palpable exasperation at sharing his presence with you, a frustrated grimace, a twist of lips, he just quietly accepted it now. It had you narrowing your eyes, a thoughtful curl of your mouth that you couldn't hold back.

His lack of ill-will was off-putting; the oppressive quiet he had layered over himself over the past weeks slowly, bit by bit, one that suffocated the usual reticence he carried with him. it wasn't like you knew too much about his private life, so you couldn't pin point what exactly had happened that had Megumi hide behind the biggest mask of indifference you had ever seen, and—

Not your mission.

There was fire licking at your fingertips, urging your tongue to loosen up to coax it out of him, because you knew there was something contained behind the seams, trying to burst. You knew because you felt the same way. Because there was something brewing in your chest that wanted out, because Kyoto made it clear not to intervene with anything and not to care. Because Megumi was not your business.

You're not going to stop me?

I already did.

You exhaled harshly.

The sound echoed off the walls of the underpass, seemingly stretching endlessly in front of you. Your shoes were wet and you were glad that the water hadn't seeped through them to dampen your socks — yet. If you had to walk any longer in the rising water level, they would become so sooner or later. The water rippled around your shins faintly, lit dully by the weak glow of your flashlights. Moss climbed up the walls in green veins and every few paces the rusted husk of a bicycle or the tip of a traffic cone broke through the surface.

Megumi was wading through the water as well, next to you, his eyes observing the tunnel walls like they might peel open and serve the curse on a silver platter, a stern line on his mouth. The silence stretched thin — taut with the weird change between you both. He hadn't spoken a word since you entered, and it didn't bother you, you told yourself.

Except there were comments that burned on your tongue, so you did the sensible thing and swallowed them down with the same-old mantra you had adopted ever since you found the talisman on your bed.

Ignoring the fact that ever since Gojo had found you sniffing around, you hadn't actively went to search for any new information, either.

9th of May; 02:03. — itadori yuji.

"If this thing doesn't show soon, I'm gonna curse it for wasting my time when I could be getting beauty sleep," Nobara's boots splashed as she moved on ahead, her hammer kept low.

Rip her mouth to shreds. She talks more than you whine around, brat.

Itadori Yuji flinched just a little, shoulders tensing instinctively at the voice that coiled through his mind like rot given form. Sukuna's tone was laced with dark amusement, sharp and sleazy, sliding into the quiet of Yuji's mind like a knife. His voice carried the weight of ages — dry, scornful, each syllable curled with contempt.

He tried not to show it. He was getting better at hiding when Sukuna slithered in, but it still left that familiar feeling in his chest, like he'd swallowed nails. But Yuji also knew that Sukuna loved to get the best of him, so his best bet had always been to not give the King of Curses the satisfaction of a response.

He trudged through the water beside Nobara, arms slightly raised like the water might leap up and bite, "It's not so bad. You think curses can swim?"

"Shut up before you jinx us," she muttered.

Yuji glanced at nobara, trying to gauge her mood. She was always so confident, so brash, but tonight there was something different about her. A tension in her shoulders, a tightness in her jaw. It wasn't just her missing her beauty sleep, it wasn't just the mission. She was annoyed, sure — that was kind of her default — but… more than that.

He couldn't really blame her because Yuji felt weird most of the time, too.

He knew that not everyone shared the same line that he drew in the sand.

He hated it. Hated the feeling of watching his friend hurting over something he understood very well, of the sting of pain that stayed lodged deep beneath his ribs, creeping into dreams and daylight alike. Yuji had lived it, Megumi had lived it, Nobara had, they were still living it; the same wound that wouldn't stop bleeding because it never got any time to heal.

Yuji knew that Megumi would throw himself into danger if it meant somebody could be saved — it was why he appreciated and trusted Megumi after all this time so deeply.

But you?

If he had to say, he wasn't quite sure where to put you on his scale. He didn't think that you both were strictly in the category of friends, but he also didn't think that you weren't. If worse came to worst, he would protect you as he would with any other of his teammates, the same way he would with any given human, but he wasn't sure whether he enjoyed your presence, not when he saw how biting your words could be.

Yuji generally was a forgiving person, straight forward, optimistic even, but then sometimes you fixed him with this look of yours as if you knew more about him than he'd like you to and—

He shook his head.

That wasn't the point. The point was that he had seen enough of you to understand that you weren't heartless, not in the strictest sense, that you did what the mission called for, that he saw you doing what other sorcerers were doing, and Yuji understood that.

It scared him, not because he thought it was cruel, which he had trouble figuring out if it even was, but because he knew that he had been shown over and over how the Jujutsu world worked. How easy it was for the mission to swallow everything else; that maybe, one day, doing the right thing by the rules would mean stepping over someone begging for help.

He wondered if, eventually, he'd have to become like that, too.

Yuji rubbed his chest; a self-soothing technique he only really started to use ever since his grandfather died, ever since he had swallowed Sukuna's finger and there was a presence within his body fighting his cells for power.

He didn't want to get used to death.

Such sentiment, truly. You weep over things already gone, how tedious.

Yuji's jaw tightened, but Sukuna kept going; his voice silken, venomous.

All this morality talk. You still speak of saving everyone, how quaint. How boring. This is not a tale of heroes, boy, it's a reckoning. In time, you'll grow accustomed to it. They all do. And when your bleeding heart betrays you, I shall be there.

He swallowed down the clawing urge to scream. To sleep. To disappear. Then, with a squeeze of his eyes, short, forceful, he re-focused on Nobara grumbling through the water, the faint sloshing echoing through the tunnel, the feeling of cold surrounding his legs and asked, "You think Fushiguro and her are doing okay?"

"They better have more going for them than we do, ugh, my poor shoes. I'm so going to have Gojo buy me a replica. Maybe even two, he knows I hate mouldy tunnels."

Fool.

9th of May; 02:21. — fushiguro megumi.

Megumi refused to be surprised anymore.

It had been Gojo's idea. Of course it had. Who else would think it brilliant to shove two people who could barely tolerate each other into a death trap as a form of 'team building'? He could almost imagine his teacher's laugh — the disgustingly cheerful, insufferable sound that was somehow still able to be genuine in its amusement.

Megumi didn't feel like laughing. He hadn't wanted the assignment to turn out this way. Not with you. Not when he had tried, again and again, to avoid being in your presence more than necessary. But this was necessary, so he clamped down the buzzing feeling crawling on his skin to focus.

When Gojo had given them all the file with the information gathered so far, Megumi had fingered the paper, eyes scanning over the information — sensor readings, half-legible scout notes, maps — only to turn the page and stop. There they were: blurry, cruel pictures staring back at him of the confirmed causalities. Faces frozen mid-expression.

Something had twisted in his chest at the faces, gripped his heart in an iron fist. It wasn't guilt, not exactly. Not yet. But something closer to pressure, sharp and unwelcome in the way it prodded his ribs from within.

"The curse's not consistent. Weren't sorcerers or anything special — locals, mostly," Gojo had said offhandedly, almost flippant. His voice didn't betray anything of what he thought of Megumi's question, "A maintenance worker. Two kids cutting through the underpass to skip school."

Simple facts, lives on paper, reduced to what they weren't.

He had felt the words lodge in his spine. This time, he wasn't going to freeze, wasn't going to falter, to hold back just because something inside him still bucked against the uglier parts of being a sorcerer. This time he couldn't be selective.

He was not going to run away.

Because if he hesitated—

No.

He didn't need to think about what-ifs, because there were going to be none. Because there was going to be no second-guessing, no moral hesitation, no wondering if he had made the right call, no thinking of you—

He bit his tongue.

Megumi's eyes flicked sideways toward you, just slightly, almost involuntarily. His eyebrows furrowed deeply. He hated how your presence was a quiet pulse at the edge of his focus like an itch that he couldn't ignore. He disliked that he didn't know why he found you so unfamiliar, why the air between you both kept feeling like spilled gasoline, invisible and waiting for a spark

You didn't speak, didn't look at him, and yet somehow it felt like you were doing both, like you were aware of everything he thought and felt, like he was being watched, measured, known in a way that he didn't want to understand—

He shifted his gaze forward again.

Not now.

The water was deeper now than when they first entered the north side of the tunnel, cold, heavy, like it wanted to slow him down. Instead of ripples, the water moved steadily with each movement, and he had to hold up the lantern a bit higher so it wouldn't be swallowed up, the dull glow barely pushing the shadows back.

Up ahead —

He squinted.

This was an underpass; there was only one way to go, it should have been a straight line. Yet right in front of him, there were dozens of access tunnels branching in and out, narrow, curling like roots in the dark. The architecture shouldn't be possible, yet…

He paused, and when the lantern was held out to you, you reached for it without a word, hand brushing against his own.

It was only a single moment, the brush of skin only that: a brush, yet it burned.

Tensing, he snapped his hand back, fingers poised and intertwined in each other, ready to summon his Divine Dogs at a moment's notice. The cursed energy coiled tight between his hands and the flash of heat through his chest.

9th of May; 02:38. — kugisaki nobara.

Miserable and damp, Nobara's boots splashed through the water that had no business climbing up her legs, dunking her flesh in the slimy substance she actually wasn't entirely sure was even water to begin with.

"Smells absolutely rancid," she muttered to Yuji, her nose curling, "Almost like—"

"My socks? Jokes on you, I'm not even wearing them," he grinned, bright and dumb as always, but even Nobara could see the sharpness underneath the smile, the vigilant squinting of his eyes against the darkness, "Think it's hiding?"

Obviously, she thought. Not long, and she would completely master Maki-senpai's eye roll.

"Yeah," Nobara scanned the ripples a few metres away, the suspicious feeling in the air intensifying. She was pretty decent at recognising the enemy's game plan, she'd say. She had to if she wanted to survive amongst all the backstabbing people in her old town. If she wanted to navigate through the lying, the lashing out, the manipulation she saw Saori enduring, "The water's deep, so it could be anywhere but..."

When the water stilled again, her muscles tightened, and she raised her hammer slightly. Nobara didn't like that the water was quiet, because quiet meant somebody was thinking, and thinking meant there was a trap ahead.

There were two things Kugisaki Nobara hated: inappropriate use of leopard prints and backhanded manoeuvres.

"…my feeling's telling me that…it's..right…"

A point with her hammer at the minuscule waves, "…there."

"Did you—"

Before Yuji could finish, there was a dark grumble interrupting him, deep and disgusting. A breath later and the curse burst out from beneath the water, twisting like a living shadow, fast, massive and so goddamn ugly. It was big, its head almost reaching the roof of the underpass, a tail smashing against the walls as tendrils, oily and slimy lashed out wildly.

Nobara's waist started to feel cold, and when she dared to catch a look down, there was water surrounding her. It hadn't been so high earlier, she noted, alarmed, "Yuji—"

"Shit—!" Yuji barely dodged the first strike of a tendril, thick as a tree's trunk, the water splashing violently as it crashed beside him. Make that three pairs, Nobara thought, when the oil splattered on her. This wasn't going to get washed out, no matter what, and honestly, she wasn't even sure if she wanted to try and clean it.

Her hammer was fully up in a blink, energy pulsing through her arms like fire, "I'm going to teach this ugly fuck a lesson."

She didn't have to look towards Yuji to find a determined grin on his face, "Count me in."

Yuji darted forward, quick and clean despite the water sloshing at his waist. His fists were already poised and up, eyes locked on the twisted silhouette ahead. Nobara hung back; not out of fear or reluctance, because contrary to popular belief (Megumi and Yuji), she would get dirty to get the job done, but because she'd rather watch the movements of the curse and aid the exorcism through ranged combat. Also, because there was no way in hell that she could be as fast in this water as Yuji.

A tendril cracked through the air, slicing down in a high arc. Her teammate twisted away just in time, water exploding around him as his fist connected with the creature's head. It screeched, high and guttural, the stench of rot rolling over them like a wave. Then it vanished, slipping beneath the surface with a splash.

“Crap,” Yuji muttered, eyes scanning the water. "It’s in the water. We're not gonna catch it like that."

He backed off, mumbling something that might've been a joke. Not that Nobara thought it would've been funny if she had been able to catch it. Her hand was already in motions, pulling nails from her pouch in a fluid sweep. With a flick of her wrist, she launched them: sharp darts of silver, one, two, three, humming with cursed energy.

A muffled shriek followed as the nails found flesh. Oil rose, swirling on the surface, then it burst from below with his ugly sharp teeth, sinews that hung loose and all the rage lunging at her.

"Not today, freak," Nobara snapped.

She held her ground until the last possible second, then side stepped, her hammer swinging upward to catch the curse across the shoulder. It connected with a thunder-like crack, and the curse reeled — right into Yuji's awaiting first. One hit. Two. The third sent it staggering back.

Then came the tail. A blur of muscle, whipping with brutal force.

It slammed into Yuji's gut with a wet, bone-jarring thud. He grunted, forced back a step, his boots skidding through the water, but didn't go down.

Seriously, what were his legs made of? Reinforced concrete?

9th of May; 02:40. — you.

"You heard that?"

Megumi nodded, his eyes fixed on the walls ahead. His entire body had gone taut, every muscle alert, like a blade drawn but not yet swung. A screech had cut through the air, faint and distorted by stone and water, but unmistakably the curse. Which meant either Nobara and Yuji had found the curse or the curse had found them.

There was a low hum of cursed energy in the air, but it was weak. Too weak to confirm the exact source just yet, barely enough to really catch it, but still, not faint enough to ignore. It didn't mean it wasn't dangerous.

The dampness began to creep into your bones, deeper now, soaking through your clothes and sliding icy fingers across your skin. Every slow gust from the tunnel behind felt like a breath on your neck, caressing your spine with a kiss and you suppressed a shiver.

You had chosen the far most right tunnel, because it was the easiest to retrace should anything go wrong. That had been the plan: don't get lost, don't get flanked, stay alert, focus, exorcise the curse.

But as you and Megumi pushed forward, the narrow passage began to widen, the ceiling opening up, revealing more waterlogged space. Holding up the lantern, the light shone faintly, shadows receding slowly.

Then—

A faint, irregular movement.

Just off to the side, slumped against the wall where a mound of debris had collapsed, was a figure. He was half submerged, water up to his shoulders, and trembling violently. His soaked clothes clung to him, ragged, probably weighing him down more. Almost like a ghost, his pale skin shone in the dim light as he shuddered; looking like he was barely tethered to the physical world.

He wasn't dead, though. Not yet.

The old man's face lifted slowly when he heard you, eyes wide, bloodshot, water droplets hanging from his messy beard. His lips parted, cracked and raw. How long had he been down there?

Megumi slowed, and the water shifted with his arm, like he was gripping his weapon, ready to draw, and when you turned slightly, the light of the lantern between you, he glanced at you for a fraction of a second.

There was an unreadable look on his face, like carved from stone, every line harsh, neutral, focused. But you didn't search his face, you searched his eyes underneath the dark hair, underneath the mask he put in place so tightly, and they always betrayed him, flickering with something fierce and momentary. A whirlwind of emotion he swallowed down with a bobbing of his Adam's apple, not clear whether they wanted to soften or harden.

9th of May; 02:52.— itadori yuji.

Another round of nails fired, and Yuji knew that even though the water wasn't clear, he could trust Nobara to do a good job surrounding the curse.

He was already moving when she slammed her hammer down on the final embedded nail, her cursed energy surging in a flash: a chain reaction snapping from point to point. The ground trembled with how fast it spread, and the explosion lit up the creature's side.

A shriek, a buckle from the curse.

A fist, elbow, knee from Yuji.

The rhythm of his strikes was relentless. Each one hammering the curse deeper into disarray, but when he made to surge through the water, raw knuckles ready to deliver another blow—

A splash of water, mud splattering on his face, and some landed on his panting mouth, the taste pungent and dirty. He couldn't keep the grimace from spreading on his face.

The surface calmed instantly, still, eerie in how quiet it became. Too quiet.

"Where the hell—"

"Shit," Yuji wiped his wet face, breathing hard, lungs ragged. His body was coiled like a spring ready to release, tight, "This thing doesn't stay down for long."

But there was only tense silence, the only sound interrupting was the soft splashing of water beneath their feet.

Nobara's eyes scanned the water, "Wait…"

His muscles tensed at her alarmed voice, "What? What is it?"

She didn't answer at first, her eyes shifting back to the water, expression sharpening. Then, with sudden certainty: "It's not coming back up. It's gone, not just hiding, gone."

Before he could respond, there was a low, echoing splash resounding in the distance. It sounded deep and wrong, and a tremor rippled through the water, legs vibrating, concrete humming underneath their wet boots.

Yuji's head snapped toward the noise. "North entrance. Megumi."

He was already running, water flying with each step. The air felt thicker, charged with the sense of urgency. The pounding of his heart kept time with the splashing of his feet.

He was not going to leave you both to your own devices, not if he could help it, not if he could still breathe, not if he still had blood pumping through his body.

Run, brat. Let's see how far those legs get you.

Yuji didn't flinch. He just pushed through the water harder.

9th of May; 02:53. — you.

One of Megumi's shadow beasts barked. Sharp, low, a warning cry that cut through the heavy silence.

Megumi's attention snapped to the darkness ahead. his stance shifted, spine straightening, sword already angled forward. the tension in his frame was immediate, palpable, his expression hard.

The old man behind them coughed out a garbled string of words, stuttering, his voice raspy and dry, like it hadn't been used in ages. But whatever he was trying to say drowned beneath the sudden shift in the air, heavy, suffocating, thick with cursed energy.

The ground trembled underfoot, a chilling surge of cursed energy spreading across the water.

"Get back," Megumi commanded, low and clear.

Then it came.

Emerging from the depths was a hulking mass of shadow and writhing limbs that twisted the laws of motion. The curse moved like a fluid wrapped in wrinkly skin, oozing cursed energy with each movement; its eyes were pits of malice, gleaming in the lantern light with unnatural hunger. The nasty smell rolled over you like poisonous gas, subtle, clogging your nose.

Megumi's dog lunged forward with a snarl, water splashing around its paws, saliva dripping from his bared canines.

You raised your weapon, but the sudden influx of oil made your grip slip — just for a second. It was enough to remind you how bad it could go. You hadn't expected it to be a walk in the park, of course, but you had hoped it would be at least a bit simpler. This though? This was difficult.

Then it roared. It was a low, bone deep sound that shook your chest, vibrated through the water and clung to your legs. And before you could blink —

It was fast. Faster than expected. Faster than you could dodge.

You registered the impact on your ribs from the tendril lashing out, before you skidded back from the force. Pain bloomed on your skin, a deep ache, and you thought you couldn't get any air even when you breathed. Gasping, you spluttered out water from where you fell back, face momentarily dunked in the liquid, "Fushiguro!"

There was another swipe of a tendril, and it dragged over the entire terrain, coming at you with shocking speed. Ducking under the water again just in time, you felt it catch some of your hair. Your lungs complaining, screaming for air when you couldn't get your diaphragm back into its rhythm from the strike before, you broke the surface again, in time to see the tendril catch the old man full in the chest. He wailed once, a broken, high sound, before the curse yanked him across the tunnel like he weighed nothing, like he was a rag doll to be thrown around.

You grunted, voice raw from the salt water as you moved forward, intent on cutting down the curse, but even as you charged, a shadowy tentacle shot from the creature's body, aiming directly for you, snapping through the air —

It never hit.

Megumi's blade was fast, cutting through the curse's arm mid-strike, slicing the shadowed limb clean in two. Black ichor splattered on the water, sizzling where it landed.

The curse shrieked, and in that brief moment of distraction, it let go of the man, retreating back into the shadows of the water once again, moving like liquid, too fast to keep up with.

The old man struggled to stay afloat, finding a log of discarded metal, rusted and probably carrying all the bacteria for the wound on the guy's forehead. Yet, he still clung to it with all his might, body trembling in fear, eyes wide in terror. You were sure he was only awake because adrenaline coursed through his veins like a drug, with primal fear at something he couldn't comprehend.

Megumi’s gaze didn’t waver from where it tried to track the curse; he stared at the water, sword angled low, a predator stillness to him. And for a moment, in the gleam of his eye, there was something unspoken.

Like a warning, like a challenge, like a promise.

9th of May; 02:56. — itadori yuji.

"It was already halfway gone before you punched it, Yuji, how about using your brain sometime to grab it or something."

"How am I supposed to see it coming? It's like swimming with a torpedo. A creepy, soggy torpedo."

"Whatever. When we're done, you're gonna carry me to the car. I'm way too tired."

"Do I even get a say?"

"No."

9th of May; 03:01. — fushiguro megumi.

The water exploded.

A monstrous surge of tendrils shot from the depths, writhing toward them with horrifying speed. There was nothing human in the way it moved — its limbs contorted as they stretched unnaturally. It was too long, too thin, but Megumi didn't flinch. It was not too difficult to kill.

There were jagged shapes protruding from some of the tendrils, and its movements blurred at the edges: frantic, fast, making it hard to follow with the naked eye. But he didn't need to. His shikigami tracked cursed energy like breath in the dark, flaring with each incoming strike. It always alerted him when the cursed energy levels changed, so he could trust his shadows, but you—

Megumi clicked his tongue.

You were already moving towards the curse, cursed tool in hand, dark energy radiating off it where you had imbued the blade. Despite having been flung through the air, your movements were still swift, graceful, but god, you had no patience. He swallowed down the bite rising in his throat, the urge to tell you to wait so that you could coordinate, to strike smarter.

The curse recoiled at your blow, but it wasn't retreating yet, just gathering momentum.

The water churned violently around its body, as though the curse itself was dragging the entire underpass toward it. Its mouth opened wide, teeth flashing as it lunged forward, but Megumi, who anticipated it — seeing as how he seemed to be the only one who tried to hatch out a game plan — was quicker once more.

His eyes narrowed and with a practised signal of his hands, his Great Serpent moved through the water like it was his second home, converging on the curse, coiling around its limbs and biting down hard. The curse snarled and writhed under the pressure, just enough to expose a weakness, enough to give you an opening.

"Now!" he pressed between gritted teeth, his voice carrying the urgency, snapping.

You both moved; your blade arced towards the curse's core, and Megumi stepped in to flank, but the curse twisted, unnaturally pliable. With a sudden, sickening twist, it tore itself free from Great Serpent's jaw, spraying deep purple blood across the concreted walls. The thing's body seemed to fold in on itself, reshaping as if wanting to escape the grasp of Megumi.

"Dammit!"

He didn't stop. Couldn't stop, pushing forward, determined to keep it boxed in, to keep it in check, to not allow it any time to recover, but the curse was relentless. It was like fighting an ocean of flesh, always shifting, always evading.

Your eyes never left the curse either as you tried to slash with your blade again, aiming for what seemed to be its neck, but the curse writhed, dodging; its inhuman agility almost more terrifying than its strength.

"Great Ser—"

Pain.

A sharp, burning stab to his side.

Megumi exhaled harshly, stumbling back a half-step. One of the curse's long, jagged limbs had found its mark, cutting deep. For a moment, his focus wavered. Blood dripped into the water, mixing into the water easily. Refusing to flinch, his hand instinctively clutched the wound, warmth spilling between his fingers. He couldn't drop his sword, he wouldn't— burning, it burned, right in his side. It burned.

"Megumi!"

Your voice broke through his haze, and he shook his head, once, hard, eyes squeezed together to rid himself of the feeling of pain, forcing it back, forcing focus. He snapped back to attention just in time to see the curse pivot and reach for him again.

Your cursed blade cut through the air, movements clean and fluid, synchronised with his own as if you had fought together for years, not just a couple months. Megumi's chest squeezed painfully as it hit him: not the pain, not the fight, but the weight in his chest, the strange sense of familiarity settling inside the cavity despite the tension.

"This thing is relentless," he groaned, voice tight with concentration, one hand coming up to wipe the blood daring to trickle down to his eye.

You nodded, readying yourself, but just as you were about to, the curse twisted violently, its body flailing in a desperate attempt to escape. Its tail lashed out as it caught the old man with brutal force, flinging him into deep the deep, murky water with a loud splash.

Megumi's shikigami was quick to snap back onto the curse, pinning it. It screamed, thrashed, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it was momentarily incapacitated, vulnerable.

They could end it. Now.

But the homeless man did not resurface.

And the curse was vulnerable enough to finish off.

His heart thudded once, hard and painful. Something tugged in his chest, tugged in his head. He had the chance to save the man, but—

No running, no hesitating. He felt it again: the pull. The he weight of his role pressing down on him, his duty to destroy curses, pulled at him with an iron grip. He couldn't flinch, he was a sorcerer, a weapon, that was what he was. And yet—

Before he registered what he was doing, his head had already whipped out to you and he met your eyes.

He didn't mean to look for you. He didn't know why he did, he didn't even want to. But here you were, already looking at him, meeting his gaze head on. There was no judgement in your eyes, not yet, but something else.

He hated that you were already looking at him. Hated that he felt like that was a test, hated the part of himself that didn't know which answer was right, hated that he felt observed, naked.

His jaw clenched, "Rush the curse," just as your voice sounded out: "We have time to go save him!"

9th of May; 03:05. — hasegawa masato.

The world around him was a blur of cold water and shadows. His heart, as weak as it was, hammered in his chest as endless dark loomed over him.

Masato's body was numb, though whether it was from fear or the icy water that soaked him to the bone, he didn't know. Terror clawed at his throat, tugged at his clothes, held his head in a vice grip.

He had been close to death before. Sickness when he couldn't afford medication was a vicious thing, hunger when he hadn't had anything to eat in weeks even worse. Sometimes, when a group of people, drunk, came by, they liked to make him dance for some money. Sometimes he would. If it meant he'd get some food, he sometimes swallowed his pride and went ahead with it.

But this? He had never been close to death like this.

That creature was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Grotesque, weird, unreal. Masato couldn't believe it was real, not when it looked like the stuff from nightmares, not when he thought he was going to piss himself.

When it had swung him around, he was paralysed under the weight of the monster's presence. The air thick with fear, the water having pushed him away from the safety of clinging to the metal piece; the scent of decay heavy on his tongue, his rasping breath barely able to satisfy his brain with enough oxygen.

Overwhelming helplessness consumed him as his limbs struggled against the water. They were like lead, the fear creeping deeper with every second. Oh god, he was going to die here, in this filthy underpass, alone. He was going to die alone with nowhere to run, no breath to take.

Was this how it was going to end? Was Masato going to die without having seen his daughter again? Without being able to tell her how sorry he was? That he wished he could hold her again, the way she was as a baby, a tiny thing that barely reached the entirety palm of his hand.

Masato had hoisted her up against his naked skin, her tiny little face nuzzled against his flesh, seeking his warmth. Then he had cried, mourning the lifeless body of his wife on the bed next to them, her legs spread and bloody, and his tears had caressed his daughter's skin.

Oh, how he wished he could tell her sorry, that he wished he could have given her a better life, that he didn't have to succumb to the deep abyss of all the feelings he didn't know what to do with after the loss of the light of his life.

He might have cried had his chest not been in so much panic that he kept trying to take a breath. It was a sheer miracle that he didn't, that he knew to press his hand against his mouth, trying to keep the precious little air he had left within his lungs.

Then—

Sharp pain at the back of his head. Everything blurred; his sight darkening slowly, warmth.

I'm sorry, Himari-chan.

9th of May; 03:07. — kugisaki nobara.

A faint bark sounded out, echoing through the tunnel.

"Dog's out, oh, what a good boy."

"He's so gonna get all the beef jerky he wants."

9th of May; 03:06. — you.

Your lungs burned, the world around you a blur of shadows and waves. The sounds of the curse seemed so far away, like there was cotton in your ear.

There. Just…a little…bit more.

Cold, slimy, your fingers slipped off the material once, twice, then, you gripped it harder. Tugged. Found it good enough, and then pulled as you struggled to haul the old man toward safety.

9th of May; 03:09. — itadori yuji.

Water sprayed as Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara exploded into the fray, his arrival marked by the sound of his footfalls pounding through a receding flood and the snarl of a curse that sensed another sorcerer enter the fight.

Megumi was already soaked, blood running down one arm in slow, steady rivulets, his expression eerily calm as it was grim — tight-lipped, pale, unshaken, angry. Shadows coiled at his feet, the water lapping up the blood oozing from Megumi like it was thankful for the meal.

The creature towered ahead, slick with oil and reared its grotesque head toward Yuji as he skidded to a stop beside his teammate.

"Took you long enough," Megumi said flatly, not sparing him a glance.

Yuji flashed a breathless grin, panting, "You look like shit."

"Then focus and stop wasting time."

Yuji's heart thumped in his ears, pounding like war drums, gaze trained on the curse and the way it twisted, the way it lunged forward, a mess of teeth and water, the movement causing a wave to crash against the tunnel walls. Without hesitation, Yuji ducked low under the strike, pivoted, his fist cocked back and ready to go.

He landed the first hit; clean and solid, pissed off, because fuck, Megumi was hurt and you were nowhere to be seen. A snap as the force rattled the curse's jaw back, howling in response.

Yuji ducked under the swing of a tentacle, and faintly, he heard a deep inhale, a pressured tension in Megumi's voice: "Max Elephant."

Water erupted as the enormous shikigami materialised, crashing down with enough weight onto the curse to shake the tunnel, its trunk hammering down like a wrecking ball, forcing the curse to rear back and expose its side for half a heartbeat.

Yuji darted around the curse, "Now!"

Nails flying through the air, hitting their mark from where Nobara stood at the head of the tunnel.

Megumi didn't hesitate either. With one swift motion, he snapped his hands together and called forth his Divine Dogs again, and they burst forward with fangs bared, eyes gleaming, latching onto the curse with force, ripping it apart. It shrieked and thrashed, momentarily locked in place as Yuji came from the other side, launching upward with an uppercut laced with cursed energy, coiled around his fist like a storm.

A rattling cry, a shriek then—

Purple, oily blood and cursed energy splashed outward like a shock wave and dissolved into vapour almost immediately. The pressure collapsed inward with a sickening pop, the oppressive air in the tunnel lifting like a vacuum sealed bag that gasped for breath.

And silence fell.

Max Elephant vanished with a spray of mist, and the Divine Dogs flickered out of existence, too, their shadows melting into the water. In the sudden stillness, the tunnel felt eerily quiet; water lapping gently against Yuji's legs like nothing had happened at all.

He staggered back, soaked, gasping. "Dude," he panted. "I'm done. I don't know what the hell that thing was but I'm calling it. No more sewer monsters. Ever."

No answer.

Yuji looked up and something in his blood sung, telling him to freeze. The water couldn't possibly become colder, except it did. There was a darkening to Megumi's face, something carved sharp. The kind of scary quiet that came before something snapped. His face was drained of colour, his gaze fixed somewhere past Yuji, unreadable, but his whole body was tense, a string pulled too tight.

For a heartbeat, yuji could swear he wasn't looking at a friend, which was stupid, because Megumi had always been Megumi, always good, old, reliable Megumi. Except that Megumi looked like he was two seconds away from turning into something else.

Yuji winced and tried to change the topic, "Soo…where's—"

Nevermind. He was not going to ask, not when Megumi looked at him then, and all the quiet, buried fury suddenly directed right on Yuji. He didn't wait for an answer, because behind him — a sharp splutter, a frantic gasp for air. He whirled around before his brain caught up, legs already moving toward the sound.

That expression — looks just how I like it.

9th of May; 03:11. — you.

Yuji was there in an instant.

He dropped to a crouch beside you, hands already curling underneath the old man's armpits to pull him up. His hair was ruffled like he had been going through it, and the look in his eyes was worried. Worried beyond just about the civilian man in your arms, worried like there was more weighing on him.

"Got him?" he asked, his otherwise cheerful voice tight.

"He's breathing. Took a hit to the head, though, so might have a concussion."

He nodded and gently pulled the man the rest of the way out of the water. Now that the curse was gone, the water was slowly receding, revealing more and more of the underpass, and becoming less and less like a maze.

You exhaled, warm air escaping you, blown out into the cold.

The skin of your neck prickled like the edge of a blade was pressed against your flesh — it wasn't the kind of shiver that came from cold water trickling down your wet hair. It was something tighter, and you didn't need to turn around to know who was staring.

Megumi, of course. It was always him when the silence felt like judgement.

The weight of his gaze sat between your shoulder blades like a hand pressed flat against your spine. He wasn't just looking; he was blaming.

So much for keeping low key, for staying professional, getting the job done and walking away. You could feel the air heat up, funnily enough, a kettle that was boiling and ready to whistle.

You refused to look at him, because if you did, you'd explode. Because if you looked at him and he dared to look upset with you, you were going to snap. If there was even a flicker of annoyance, of those stupid eyebrows drawing together and that stupid grimace on his mouth, you were going to kill him.

"Don't you look at me like that."

Megumi's steps were slow, deliberate, his boots sloshing through shin-deep water as he closed the space between you.

"Like what," his voice was low, rough, weird. Too calm.

He came to a stop just beside you, his chest brushing your shoulder, close enough that the warmth of his body clashed with the dampness of your clothes still seeping into your skin. Yet still, you refused to look, even though he was invading your space on purpose, even though you could see his hands balled into fists so tightly that the knuckles had gone bone-white, one still slicked in drying blood.

You spat, "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

The nail of his thumb dug into his pointer, "Me? What about you? You abandoned shit again right when I thought you knew what the hell you were doing."

You knew what you said.

That you wouldn't look at him. That you refused to give him the satisfaction of trying to stare you down. But well, the day was long and you talked a lot, and he pissed you off. You couldn't help it. You really couldn't, because Megumi had the nerve, because he never stopped.

You whirled around so fast that water flared up around your leg, arm raised and finger jabbing straight at his face, "Oh no, we're not going to start this again, Fushiguro," with the same nasty look on your face mirroring his. He didn't flinch. if anything, he stepped even closer, jaw tightening, ground teeth against teeth and his hand, long bloodied, trembling fingers, came to grip your wrist. Not enough to hurt, but enough for your senses to sharpen and hone on the contact of skin.

"This," his eyes were a dark blue carved out of the same murky water around you, "is what you wanted."

You barked out a laugh, mouth twisted in disbelief. "You think anything's changed? I thought your whole thing was not letting people die. But you — what? Tossed that out just like that? I mean, good on you, honestly. Growth or whatever, little Megumi finally growing balls, but you okay with that now?"

Megumi's anger was subtle, but it was laid out for you like a book to read. You looked at his jaw, cut sharply, and the way it tightened, skin drawn taut. His teeth were bared at your insult, a muscle in his cheek twitching as a droplet of water ran down the curve of his cheekbone.

He was angry at you, and even though you wanted him to be because it meant he let loose of that stupid mask he still kept up, it fired you up just as much. Because in the midst of his dark eyes narrowing, a wild storm in them, you thought that anger looked good on him, that you much preferred this to the silence and the ignorance the past weeks.

There was something bitter on your tongue and you let it sit there like ash when you looked at the way his wet hair hung down his forehead, the blood that was still running down the side of his face, circumventing his eye with a flick of his fingers, "I mean, if you're cool abandoning your values, fine. Be my guest. I just thought you'd learned from last time."

That got him.

Megumi's face shuttered, eyes dimming like a switch had been flipped, the storm cooling to heavy rain. His grip on your wrist didn't loosen; if anything, it became a tad tighter.

"Yeah?" he said, low, voice like ice, "Just like how you flipped on me now?"

"Excuse me?" you jerked your arm free, stepped forward so your chest bumped his, the air between you both hot despite the dampness, "I did what needed to be done. We had an actual opening, Fushiguro. You would've jumped on that weeks ago, now you're suddenly swinging from one extreme to the other?"

Megumi scoffed; a bitter, humourless sound that barely passed for amusement. His jaw flexed as he turned away slightly, and you noticed his other hand curling tightly at his side, "Don't try to sell me that bullshit."

You didn't back down, and this time when he focused his attention on you, his voice dipped lower, register dark and tight, the kind of controlled anger that came from being pushed too far too long, "Funny how 'what needed to be done' always ends up being what you decide. I'm starting to think you don't care about what the rules say, either."

"Yeah?" you snapped, "You got a problem with that?"

Fuck.

You could punish yourself for the way that slipped from your mouth. Because it sounded like an admission, because you knew that he wasn't entirely wrong, either. You always thought yourself to be a pride-less person, hell, you typically were, but not with this look in Megumi's eyes, one that's deeply rooted in proving you wrong.

And you might have chosen the wrong thing to say, but you would fight tooth and nail to prove to him that it didn't immediately absolve him, either.

His hand trembled, barely held back. In the back, you heard Yuji mumble something, but Nobara's voice cut through his, and he fell silent. For a second, you wondered what he said, why Nobara pulled him back when it was so very clear that he wanted to intervene.

Though, truth be told, you didn't know if you wanted him to.

"You judge me for going off-course. For ignoring your precious protocol, now you do the same exact thing and suddenly it's fine. Tell me, why is it okay when you cross the line?"

"It's not the same—"

"Like hell it's not."

Did he not see? Did he not see that whilst his snake was holding the curse, you both actually had a tangible moment of saving somebody who was drowning right in front of you? Was he so focused on suddenly pretending he cared about the regulations now that he threw his entire morals away again?

His eyes burned with something wild. Not rage exactly, maybe disbelief, maybe betrayal somewhere, "That's what you said about me, wasn't it? Not to let my emotions cloud my judgement. So what — now it's different? Because you felt like saving someone?"

Your heart was pounding and your throat scratchy as you memorised his face in your mind, the harsh lines, the curve of his nose, his wet hair, the hard press of his lips. Almost, you wished that Kyoto had told you to kill him, maybe then you'd stop feeling like there was a fire within you that you couldn't put out.

"So why didn't you?" you narrowed your eyes, because you couldn't kill him, after all, because even if you did have that order, you didn't know if you would, "You could've summoned your toad, couldn't you? I know you've got that shikigami. You're perfectly capable of calling out two of those shadows, so what the hell stopped you?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, and his voice sounded like each word was an effort to not raise his voice, thick with feelings, and it made you go crazy, "You think I didn't consider that? You think I wasn't aware of every option, every second, every goddamn breath we had left while trying to hold that curse in place?"

"Then why didn't you do it?"

"Because I was holding the line," he hissed and his nose brushed yours, "Because you ran off without a plan, because you ignored what I said, again, and I had two choices: drop the curse and go save that man's life or hold it and save all of us, hoping that your pea-brain was going to handle the other side."

"Don't you put this on me—"

"I will put this on you," his breath was heavy and you felt it caress your mouth and your chest tightened, "Because you walk around like you've got it all figured out, preaching about this and that. So quick to tell me I'm wrong for my decisions, but here you are, doing the same damn thing I did."

You stared at him with your chest heaving, repressed shivers making you tremble, betraying you. Because he wasn't wrong and you hated that. Hated how easily he cut through you when it came from him.

"Stop acting like you're above it," Megumi said, quiet now, bitter. Raw in a way he rarely let out. "You're not. And neither am I."

Your pulse was loud in your ears, loud, fast. You couldn't bring yourself to speak — too much crowding your throat.

He watched you for one long moment, then looked away, the tension in his shoulders rigid as he turned and walked off slowly, his hand pressing down on his side.

9th of May; 03:31. — iwata.

Iwata wondered if he would ever get relieved of his duty to chauffeur the kids around. Not that he necessarily minded the act itself; on the contrary, he quite enjoyed the thought that in some way, he was able to contribute to bettering society, of ridding the world from curses.

It was just that whenever he drove the kids anywhere, they came back looking a little more like soldiers, hardened and soiled, and a little less like teenagers.

That part, Iwata hated the most.

He watched them now from the driver's seat, engine idling quietly as rain pattered on the windshield, mixing with the muddy streaks from the tunnel water still clinging to their clothes. The smell of rotten water, blood and burnt cursed energy hit him the second they climbed into the car.

Iwata pretended to be busy, but his eyes searched them for any signs that they lost a little bit of themselves out there.

The pink-haired student, Itadori Yuji, climbed in first, breathing a little hard, wearing the same tired grin he always did — like if he smiled hard enough, none of the bad things would stick, like they would just ricochet off him. He flopped into the far seat and winced, arms limply sprawled across his knees as if it was too much effort to lift them.

Right behind him was Nobara; she looked like she still had some fire left in her, though it was only a glimmer. She muttered a string of curses under her breath, most of them aimed at the curse they had just fought — or maybe the mud in her boots, it wasn't clear to Iwata.

"Whoever sends us into another one of those tunnels," she sighed as she relaxed against the seat, "will have me hexing their entire bloodline."

"That a threat?" Yuji yawned.

"No. A promise."

Iwata didn't comment. Instead, the door in the back opened and Megumi followed in silence, a hand pressed to his side. The blood had mostly clotted, his jacket crumbled up to apply pressure against it, but Iwata saw the way he walked, the stiffness in his joints, the pain he tried to hide. Iwata couldn't do a lot, not until they got back to the school and to Shoko Ieiri. He slid back, elbows on his thighs, eyes locked on the floor like it might answer for something.

Lastly, there was the exchange student, the one he barely knew. Not that he knew the others that well either, but this one was even more of a puzzle to him. So he couldn't read your face, only saw the way it was set in granite, lines hard. You shivered slightly though you hid it well, instead looking out the window, hands clenched in your lap.

Iwata eased the car into drive, pulling away from the tunnel entrance. He had called an ambulance for the old man the kids were carrying out, already having given the first aid that he could. Silence settled over the kids, save for the soft purr of the engine and the patter of the rain.

He caught glances of them in the rear view mirror — Megumi stubbornly clenching and relaxing his hands, your eyelids slowly closing, Nobara picking at dried blood under her nails, Yuji fiddling with a broken zipper on his jacket.

God, they were just kids.

They shouldn't have been worrying about life and death, not making choices that adults twice their age couldn't shoulder without cracking. Should have instead been having fun out there, enjoying their youth, enjoying making memories all kids their age do.

He exhaled quietly, one hand tightening on the steering wheel. He didn't say anything. He never did. But he reached forward and flipped a switch on the car's dashboard to heat the seats for them.

Yuji leaned back a little more, Nobara let out a tired hum of approval, Megumi let his head fall back against the seat finally, his eyes closing and your shoulders loosened slightly.

It wasn't much. But it was something.

11th of May; 07:29. — kugisaki nobara.

"You think they're going to come out of this alive?"

"God, I hope not."

11th of April; 07:30. — gojo satoru.

"Well!" Gojo Satoru announced cheerfully, "Who needs actual curses when the real horror is whatever this — " he waved a hand in the direction of his two students, " — unresolved..bit…thing…is supposed to be. Hm. That sentence got away from me."

Neither Megumi nor you looked at him, and Gojo didn't need them to. He understood their silence perfectly well, after all. One could call him the whisperer of anguished teenagers, if one will. Not that anybody would, but he thought there was a high chance it could be true.

He sighed loudly, exaggerated. "Y'know, I didn't set this training camp up because I love early mornings or physical labour. I set it up because I actually care."

Still no answer. His lips twisted slightly, and he clapped his hands once, loud enough to echo through the wooden beams of the dojo they were occupying, the two kids sitting in front of him on the ground. Megumi stared down at the floor, his posture rigid. Next to him, you had your arms crossed, staring right past Gojo's shoulder at the wall.

"Alright, group meeting, just us three. Megumi, dear exchange student, and your incredibly good-looking, well-adjusted teacher."

That got your eye twitching, at least. Megumi's jaw flexed like he was grinding down a curse by tooth alone. Not quite efficient, but at the very least, he had them react to something. Sigh. Kids were so difficult these days.

"You two are good sorcerers. Really, of course still lots to learn, but good. Smart even, shockingly so actually, considering the choices you've both been making lately."

Megumi exhaled slowly. "We're getting the job done."

"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you are one outburst away from killing each other."

Then his voice dropped, just enough to remind his students that they were his students after all, "You can hate each other all you want once the job's done. But while you're out there? You work together. You trust each other. Or I pull you both off the field. Permanently."

That definitely got some reactions.

Megumi's head whipped up, a disbelieving, annoyed look on his face, the one Gojo loved to see, and you narrowed your eyes in response, "You can't be serious."

Ah, the poor exchange student by day, spy by night. How interesting it was to watch you scuttle under his attention, knowing the implications his words had on your situation. When he caught you in the restricted section, he had toyed with the idea of sending Kyoto a memento about what he really thought about having a child sicced on him by the higher-ups. A reminder that consisted more of a body part than it did of anything verbal, but he wasn't cruel enough to succumb an innocent person to that kind of torture.

Though, of course, he did think it would have been a good shock for them. And really, what would they have done? What could they accuse him for that he couldn't point right at them?

After all, they had started it.

"Oh, I'm so serious," he sang, the smile still there, but it didn't quite reach his eyes anymore, "This is your mission now: finish this training camp. Together. No sulking. No bickering. Just work. And progress, of course. I know, it's boring. Tough luck."

He stepped forward, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders, his slender fingers pressing in ever so slightly with something akin to encouragement, "So! You've got two choices: succeed…or succeed. Because that's all I'm offering."

Megumi glared at him viciously, like he thought maybe he shouldn't have come under Gojo's patronage. He thought he might have deserved it— nah, who was he kidding.

"Breakfast's in an hour, and if either of you come late, I'm making you sit next to each other and hold hands."

The look of disgust mirrored on both of your faces had him try to suppress a giggle. Oh, he should have done that earlier.

AUTHOR'S NOTE | thank you for reading!!

TAGLIST | @binkibuns @1l-ynn @nscuit @julieannah (tagged you guys because you seemed excited about the first part so i hope i'm not disturbing you with it!!)

[theastrophysicistnextdoor]

The Ineffable Detective Agency presents: Decoding 1941 Hell – The Hidden Morse Messages

The Good Omens team never fails to surprise us: In the Hell scenes set in 1941, there are subtle beeps in the background that many might have missed: morse code messages! 

We took the time to decode these messages from about 5 minutes of the show – some parts are easy to identify, some parts are really hard due to overlying sounds or noises. 

We used the 5.1 audio and selected only the channel with the morse signals. Check out an easy snippet – which line is it? :)

Then, we applied high- and low-pass filters to emphasize the code’s pitch around 1360 Hz. Some of us have pretty sharp ears, some of us worked with the frequency spectra to mark short and long signals as well as pauses in between. 

Here is what we have heard or seen, together with some facts and thoughts on the lines. Let us know what you think!

S2E4 06:19 to 08:23 “Have a miserable eternity”

Here are the pieces we have successfully decoded: 

HAVE A DREADFUL ETERNITY

We are wondering why this is different to the text via loudspeaker as well as Furfur’s “have a miserable eternity”...

TOMMY’S A LEGEND

Do we know a Tommy?

1) There's the Welsh magician/comedian Tommy Cooper (his magical act specialized in magic tricks that appeared to fail), who was the inspiration for the red fez in the magic shop. Cooper died live on television suffering a heart attack. :(

2) There's also the lead character Tommy in Brigadoon, the plot of which feels seriously GO-coded. There is a magic village hidden outside time that only appears in Scotland once every 100 years and is connected to the rest of the world with a bridge, outsiders who find "clues about the village and its people that make no sense", and a plot about unlikely lovers who are separated (because one "can't just leave everything in the real world behind"), and an ending that reunites the lovers against all odds because of the strength of their love ("I told ye, if you love someone deeply enough, anything is possible ... even miracles.")

PAUL’S OUR MIXING HERO

Could that be the Re-Recording Mixer PAUL McFADDEN?

ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION ABAN

The phrase "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here" is a quote from Dante’s Inferno, Prelude to Hell, Canto III, Vestibule of Hell: Dante passes through the gate of Hell, which bears an inscription ending with the phrase "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate". So, the minisode is THE place where we get quotes from the two most famous literary accounts of Hell – with Furfur's quotation of Paradise Lost in the dressing room at the Windmill Theater: "In dubious battle on the Plains of Heaven". 

S2E4 09:16 to 10:09 “Processing the Nazis”

ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION

S2E4 11:07 - 13:12: “The offer to return as Zombies”

These two minutes are very tricky: while in the first half it is ok-ish to identify the signals in the spectrum, the second half is overlaid by so much noise… – yes, we are calling the dialogues and sounds in hell noise now :D – that we chose a different approach. 

It looked as if the sequence starts from the beginning, so we compared both parts, and now we are quite sure that it is the same pattern. 

DO NOT LICK THE WALLS HEAVEN LOOKS DOWN ON YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE PATHETIC ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION DO NOT LICK THE WALLS HEAVEN LOOKS DOWN ON YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE PATHETIC ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE CHEER UP IT’S ONLY ETERNAL DAMNATION DO NOT LICK THE WALLS HEAVEN LO …

So those are the sections we are pretty certain we have correct. However, there is one section we are still unsure on - maybe you can help?

Back to S2E4 06:19 to 08:23

We have been fighting hard with the first six seconds, before “HAVE A DREADFUL ETERNITY” and we think it is:

SHE’S IN MA PHONE

Who are we talking about now?

Do you have any other ideas of what this could be? If it is “She’s in ma phone”, what does that mean? Or is the S just noise and it starts with an H? Or even with a B – BE’S IN MA PHONE?

So, what are your thoughts on all of these messages? Why go to the effort of putting morse code here? Is it a fun easter egg, or something more? And why say “dreadful eternity” in morse when the quote used in the show is “miserable eternity”? We have so many questions!

Spoiler: There is more code hidden throughout the series.  Let us know what you see or hear!

-... .    -.- .. -. -..    - ---    . .- -.-. ….    --- - …. . .-. 

An amazing joint effort with @noneorother, @kimberleyjean, @thebluestgreen, and @embracing-the-ineffable at the @ineffable-detective-agency (with the incredible @maufungi, @somehow-a-human, @lookingatacupoftea, @komorezuki, @havemyheartaziraphale, and @dunkthebiscuit)

See more of our posts, plus a collection of Clues and metas from all over the fandom, here.

[prodagustd]

the road not taken 07 | myg

part seven: old wounds

Summary: You really, really tried to ignore Yoongi. But once again, you failed.

<part six part eight>

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?), slow burn

—warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, fluff.

—words: 9.7k

—a/note: hi friends!! can't even begin to describe the amount of mental breakdowns i had writing this but here is it!! i doubted myself too many times before posting this one (still am), idk why it was so hard to finish but i'm glad it's here, i hope you enjoy and as always, you're welcomed to discuss this part in the asks!!

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

Present

It was such a mistake to even insinuate that the years that had passed had made you wiser, or that the hurt and heartbreak had made you stronger, more decisive, or less stubborn. If anything, you continued to make the same mistakes, you were ten times more sensitive and you had developed a level of stubbornness that was almost impossible to shake. You had spent years consumed by bitterness, only to learn nothing from it, and still, you wanted to trust yourself and stop doubting every decision you made, but it was hard considering you were the same person who led yourself here. 

A few days ago, when Minnie said she just wanted to show you a few ideas to help The Alley, what she really meant was that she had already mapped out a full schedule for you long before you even knew what was going on. You assumed she might want your help with organizing things—selling tickets on movie nights to show your face for a few seconds and draw in more people, painting a few walls, or changing some light bulbs—but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

As she turned the pages of her diary, you tried to make sense of every word she was saying, remaining silent as you patiently waited for her to finish so you could finally get a chance to speak. 

“You want me to direct the end-of-year play?” you asked, needing to confirm what she had just said. “In only three months?”

Your redhead friend slowly nodded, looking you straight in the eye as if she just hadn’t gone completely crazy. 

“That’s plenty of time.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “You and I both know that’s not remotely—that’s not even half the time I would need.”

Minnie rolled her eyes and stood up, walking over to the large board behind her. It was a chaotic collage of crumpled pieces of paper, faded photographs, and yellowed old letters, all pinned in a disorganized frenzy that seemed to mirror the whirlwind of her thoughts. 

“Bullshit. You’re like… Broadway trained or something. You’re the only person who can pull it off.” 

You sit back against the chair, sighing. You wanted to help Minnie, not only because she was your best friend but because this was the place you grew up in. Yet, despite your best intentions, a wave of overwhelm crept in, making it hard to ignore. Deep down, or maybe not so deep down, you knew that the time wouldn’t be a problem, that directing was one of your secret passions and wouldn't be a burden at all, but the real problem was that you still didn’t feel prepared to show your face around.

Here was the catch: you couldn’t say no. You knew Minnie, you could make thousands of excuses and she would find a solution for each one of them, so you had two options: say yes right away, or say no until she finally made you say yes. 

“And it’s an original play, you say? Written by one of the kids?” You asked, already knowing which option would be easier. 

“Yes...” She replied softly. “You know, like the ones you used to write when you were a kid…”

You tried not to roll your eyes. Classic Minnie, guilt-tripping you until you had no choice but to agree. 

You chuckled bitterly, suddenly remembering that six months ago, you had told your therapist that you were asking for an opportunity like this—a chance to redeem yourself, something close to a miracle. Yet now, with it right in front of you, you were hesitant to take it. You had to suppress the urge to call her without notice to ask her opinion about everything. Agnes, who always seemed to be at the end of her patience with your self-sabotaging tendencies, would be sitting in her office back in the city, she would pick up your call and tell you that this could be the perfect chance to reconnect—not only with your hometown and your friends but with your old self as well. She would say this was exactly why you had decided to come back home, and you would’ve hated hearing it. You would’ve hated admitting she might be right.

You straightened up, trying to look serious. “Let me read it first,” you said. “Then we can talk about it.” 

“Mmmm… I have a better proposition.” She argued, “You read it and start tomorrow.” 

“You’re kidding,” You replied, incredulous.

She clapped her hands, sealing the deal with a finality that made it clear she wasn’t joking. “Of course I’m not. We can’t afford to waste time,” she said matter-of-factly. “We need to call the kids, arrange the theater—which, by the way, is under maintenance, but that won’t be an issue. The lights will be fixed by morning, and you can start in the afternoon. And oh, you’ll need to…”

“Minnie!” You yelled, making her stop abruptly “Stop talking and give me a second, Christ…” 

Your friend nodded, a bit embarrassed of her sudden excitement. She sat back in her chair, quietly observing you as you tried to make up a plan in your head. 

“Okay, I’ll read the play tonight, and tomorrow morning I would need to talk with the person who wrote it. Then, we’ll see if we start in the afternoon.” You stated. She nodded in contentment, but you knew she was holding back.  “C’mon, don’t look at me like that…”

“Like what?” She huffed. 

“Like a lost puppy.” You rolled your eyes “I said I will help, right?” 

“You said that, yes…” She trailed off “But I don’t want you to just help, you know? If it’s not too much to ask, I would like you to put your heart to it.” 

You chuckled, knowing that she meant every word. “I know that.” 

“Well, I hope you do.” She sighed “These kids… they were so disappointed when they found out we couldn’t pay the last teacher anymore. It’s not just about the play, it’s about everything, this place is like a second home. Hell, for most of them it’s like the first one… I just want to make it count.” 

Minnie looked at you like she could read every thought in your mind. 

“I know.” You said, feeling like a fourteen year old all over again “I understand.” 

“I know you do.” She nodded, smiling with her eyes. “Of course you do.”

You couldn’t fully believe in fate. Or in irony, or the universe having some big plan, and yet when you finished reading the script for the play you thought it was written just to fuck with you. 

The play was about some girl, June, growing up in The Alley as she tried to find herself. That was the story, that was the big dramatic theme of the play you somehow agreed to direct. How groundbreaking, how deeply, earth-shattering not cliché. And still, something about it got under your skin. Not exactly in a bad way, it felt… familiar. The kind of familiarity that made you shift in your seat, like when someone says something uncomfortably true about you, but you couldn’t argue because they were right. 

The whole who am I, where do I belong thing—hasn’t that been done a million times before? Haven’t you seen it, loved it, run away from it? Maybe that’s why it bothered you. Because it was too easy to see yourself in it.

Not that you’d admit that.

That Saturday morning you were meeting Harriet, the writer of the play that gave you nightmares last night, to discuss the script, offer a few pointers, and try to organize the first rehearsal. You exhaled sharply, it was just a play, nothing more. You tried not to overthink it, but Minnie thought otherwise. 

“So?” Minnie asked as she organized her bag. You looked up to her from your coffee, sitting at the end of her table. “Did you like the play?”

You shrugged, with eyes barely open.  “It’s good.” 

Minnie narrowed her eyes, sitting next to you. “Good?” She snorted, “C’mon, you liked it.”

“Sure, I liked it,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee. “The dialogue’s good, the pacing is solid. It’s relatable, I guess.”

“Mhm…” Minnie drummed her fingers lightly against the edge of the table. She was quiet for a beat, clearly waiting for you to say more. When you didn’t, she tilted her head, smirking like she knew exactly where this was going. “You don’t see it, then?”

You raised an eyebrow. “See what?”

“Yourself?”

God. Of course.

Here we go again. You should’ve known better than to think you’d get through a full conversation without her dragging you into some self-reflection trap.

You let out a soft scoff, lowering your cup. “What do you mean?”

“You do see it.” Minnie grinned, all too satisfied. “It’s like a therapy session in script format.”

You rolled your eyes.  “An angsty teenager who’s angry at the world, fighting her way into adulthood? Isn’t that the story of every single kid in that place?” You said, recalling the script—though you refused to admit it sounded a little too familiar.

“No, not like this,” she insisted. “It’s different. It reminded me of you.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “You always say that.”

“Because every time I say it, it’s true,” she replied, unbothered. “You know I know you like the back of my hand, right? Inside and out. You can’t hide anything from me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Well, I know you too—and right now, I know you’re being very, very annoying.”

Minnie rolled her eyes so dramatically it made you laugh.

“You really don’t see it?” she asked again, gentler this time.

You looked away, pretending to be way too interested in the last sip of your coffee. “I see a lot of things,” you said, vaguely.

She let out a quiet breath through her nose, like she wanted to keep poking but decided against it.

“Fine.” She sighed, finally letting it go—for now—as she stood up and grabbed her empty mug. “You’re meeting Harriet today, right?”

You nodded.

“Don’t be mean to her.”

“I’m never mean.”

“You terrify people.”

“Only the weak,” you replied, standing as well. “And if she’s anything like me, she’ll be fine.”

The hallway to the main theater was dim, almost dark. Anyone walking in for the first time might assume it was just another maintenance issue—one of the many The Alley was always plagued with—but you knew better. It had always been like this. The lights flickered sometimes, the floor creaked in all the right places, and the smell of paint never really left the walls. 

Cork boards lined the walls, cluttered with wrinkled flyers and announcements for local events. Above them, big framed photos of past theater productions hung in no particular order—some crooked, most dusty. No one ever fixed them, but they had their charm.

The place was still quiet and empty, almost peaceful. Only your footsteps echoed softly as you walked, your script folded under one arm. Minnie was beside you, phone in one hand, her second coffee of the day in the other, talking nonstop about everything she had to deal with before noon.

“…and we’re out of paper towels again, and someone stole the good extension cord, so now I’m down to that weird one from the lost and found that sparks if you look at it wrong. Also, we’re probably getting fined if we don’t fix the exit sign by Friday, and—”

You let her talk. It helped you focus. Or, at least, pretend you were focusing.

Minnie knew you like no other person, but still couldn’t remember one core fact of your existence: you were not, by any stretch of the imagination, a morning person. 

And today, it turned out, that wasn’t the only thing she forgot.

You were just approaching the theater doors, head slightly bowed, mentally rehearsing the day ahead, when you heard it.

A low laugh, soft and achingly familiar. 

You turned your head slowly, as if giving yourself time to be wrong. But of course you weren’t.

Because somehow, Minnie forgot to tell you that the person handling repairs today was none other than Yoongi.

Your eyes moved on instinct. You didn’t mean to look—you just did. And there he was.

The man in question was perched on a ladder, with his sleeves rolled up and a screwdriver in hand fixing a reflector, while a tall boy held it steady, laughing as he jokingly threatened to shake it. A flicker of irritation sparked in your chest. Of course he was the one handling the repairs, of course Minnie casually forgot to mention that to you.

You turned around to shoot your friend a threatening look, but she just pushed you forward, forcing you to keep walking.

You made your way towards the center of the room, trying not to pay attention to the scene, but as the sounds of your steps filled the room. You didn’t have to look to know both of them had stopped laughing. You didn’t have to guess to feel their eyes following you across the stage like the past itself had stepped into the room and sat down beside them.

“Good morning guys.” Minnie said, dropping her bags on one of the seats. “My friend right here is going to help us with the play this morning. I think you know her, Jungkook?”

You turned around just in time to see the boy abandon the ladder and bolt towards you at full speed, while Yoongi, left stranded at the top, clung to it, visibly irritated. 

He murmured something under his breath, too quiet to catch, but your attention had already shifted to Jungkook, who was practically vibrating with excitement as he extended a tattooed hand toward you.

“Oh—yeah, of course! Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He blurted, voice a little too eager.

You couldn’t help but smile as you shook his hand.

“Jungkook is a big fan, by the way,” Minnie added casually, completely unfazed by the way his face turned an alarming shade of red.

“Well, thanks. Pleased to meet you, too,” you said, amused. “Are you fixing the stage lights today, Jungkook?”

Jungkook froze for a second, his eyes widening slightly—stunned that you knew his name, as if he hadn’t just heard Minnie say it two seconds ago.

“Well—not me,” he managed to stammer. “I mean—yes! Me. And… Yoongi. He’s, uh, kind of the boss around here.”

Your smile didn’t drop, but you raised your eyebrows in surprise. You glance towards the ladder again, watching Yoongi descend like he had all the time in the world. You looked at him, and for the shortest of seconds, he looked at you too. 

“Is he?” You asked, turning to your friend for some kind of explanation. 

Minnie shook her head, don’t start, she wanted to say, but it was too late. You’ve already started.

“Just the boss of him, maybe.” appearing beside Jungkook and giving him a pat on the back maybe a little too hard.

Something burned inside your chest, but you were not supposed to be mad anymore. You were not supposed to be angry, you were supposed to be a functioning adult, a mature person who was able to let things go and act accordingly, but without fail, every time you were in front of him you felt like a kid throwing a tantrum all over again. 

“I must’ve been gone for too long.” You said, nonchalantly. “I didn’t know you were the one calling the shots now.” 

It was encrypted in your code, you weren’t used to biting your tongue, it was stronger than you. You told yourself you didn’t want anything to do with Yoongi, but you still desperately needed to know what was he doing here, what was that tied him to this place when he didn’t even know its name a few years ago. 

The room suddenly fell silent and you knew it was your fault but you couldn’t find the will to regret it. 

He locked eyes with you, there was a hard weight on his gaze, but it gave nothing away, like a locked door with no key, totally indecipherable. 

“I’m not.” He simply said. If what you wanted was an explanation, you weren’t going to get it. “I’m just helping around.” His words hung in the air for a moment, met with a brief silence. 

Minnie cleared her throat, interrupting the hostile staring competition you and Yoongi were having. “Yoongi and Jungkook are helping with the stage lights, but they are missing a few guys today.” She carefully mentioned, her eyes going from Yoongi to you and back. “So they are going to take more time than usual.”

“I can work in the other room, if you’d like.” You offered, looking at Jungkook. 

“No!” Jungkook was quick to say “That won’t be necessary, I mean—we won’t be a problem at all.”

“Really?” You said “I mean, I could. What would the boss say?” 

Yoongi turned to you then, and you could tell he knew exactly what you were doing. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smirk, not quite a frown, just the ghost of something caught between amusement and exasperation. 

He exhaled quietly, like he was reminding himself not to be annoyed, because it was you. “You know it’s okay.” He said, his voice smooth, but you caught the tiniest flicker in his eyes, that slight tension in his shoulders. 

After all these years, that connection between you still remained, woven into the spaces between words, into the way you could read each other with nothing but a glance. You could still have silent conversation in crowded rooms just by looking at each other, it was not a surprise, but it pissed you off anyway.

“Let’s get to work, then,” You muttered, sharper than intended. You didn’t look at him, but you knew he’d heard everything you didn’t say.

Last week you wouldn’t have expected to end up right here, in the middle of the stage of The Alley as you were waiting for some sixteen year old to pitch you her story, and yet, you were there. The goal for today was almost too simple to fulfill, the only obstacle was that it required all the patience you knew you never had, but you were willing to try. 

The sound of the door swinging open let you know that the day started. Suddenly, Minnie and a girl who you thought to be Harriet stepped into the room. You recognized who she was immediately, wrapped in a big baby blue puffer jacket, a long purple skirt brushing against her ankles and a red hat over her dark curls,—she was impossible to mistake.

Despite the bright color and the glowing description of her that Minnie gave you earlier, Harriet kept her eyes down as she listened to your friend speak beside her, only glancing up briefly when Yoongi and Jungkook greeted her. She mumbled a quick hello, then scanned the room—until her gaze landed on you.

Her shoulders tensed the moment her eyes met yours, but she didn’t hesitate. Adjusting the strap of her bag, she followed your friend as she walked towards the stage with steady steps.

“Well, hello girls.” You got down from your seat to greet her, offering a smile. “You must be Harriet.”

Harriet nodded. “Hi,” she said quickly, like it slipped out before she had time to overthink it.

“Harriet, this is your very cool, very last-minute new director slash teacher. Sweetie, this is your brilliant teen-playwright.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Brilliant, huh?”

Harriet gave Minnie a look. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Minnie rolled her eyes, as though she was used to this kind of teen behavior.

“I’m only telling the truth,” she huffed. “We all read the script.”

You turned your attention back to Harriet, smiling as you gestured towards the desk. “I read it too. Last night, actually. I hope you don’t mind that I’m a bit unprepared. I got the job yesterday.”

Harriet shook her head quickly. “Oh no, of course not. I mean—I wasn’t expecting anyone to take over. I thought we’d just… I don’t know, keep going until the roof collapsed.”

You let out a short laugh. “That still might happen.”

“I wouldn’t even be mad,” she said, tucking a curl behind her ear. “It’d be on theme.”

“C’mon, no roof is going to collapse today.” Minnie waved off. “We have the boys on our side.”

You took a quick look towards the back of the room, where Jungkook was halfway up the ladder, the screwdriver in one hand and a sandwich clamped between his teeth like a man with very specific priorities. Yoongi stood below, holding the toolbox open, glancing between the manual in his hand and the wires poking out of the wall. He looked focused, but the slight frown on his face gave away how confused he was.

“Well, that’s exactly why I’m afraid.” You reached for the script, handing it back to her. If the roof was going to collapse, or the electricity was going to cut out, it wasn’t going to be because of you. You were seventy percent sure of that. “I scribbled a bunch of notes in the margins like a true professional. We can talk through them during rehearsal.”

“Oh, I love margin notes.” She said, her eyes sparkling as she saw your handwriting on the pages. “Especially the brutally honest kind.” 

“Oh, you’re gonna love me, then.”

Minnie perched on the edge of the stage, watching the two of you with a smug expression that screamed told you so without having to say a word. You still refused to see how you and the girl next to you were anything alike. At first glance, Harriet’s personality came through loud and clear—her clothes were colorful, her tone enthusiastic, and her writing nothing like yours had been back in the day. You used to dress in black from head to toe and only talked to people when absolutely necessary. The only thing you seemed to have in common was your love for this place.

“Minnie told me you’re like… a purebred Alley or something like that.” You joked, giving her a small grin. “It shows, I think.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes catching the dim light of the barely functioning reflectors.

You nodded “You wrote about this place like someone who grew up here.” You said “It’s been a while since I’ve been around, but I can recognize it. It’s not something you make up.”

A small smile tugged at Harriet’s lips. “I didn’t have to make it up.” 

“I could tell,” you said, glancing around. “I’m from… a completely different generation, but when I come back, I can tell that things are still the same.” Suddenly, a loud clang echoed through the room as a heavy tool hit the floor, making you flinch. You looked up to see Yoongi mouthing a dramatic “Sorry.”

Harriet laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “Well—maybe most things, at least,” you added, raising an eyebrow. “What I mean is that… It’s important to say that, right? The years passed but the place has the same heart.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to say.” She nodded, like you just read her mind. “I know it’s all kind of falling apart,” she said, her eyes sweeping over the dim lights and creaky walls, “but it still feels like the only place that ever made sense.”

That made your heart clench. You had your chance to run away forever and you took it without thinking twice, but for people like Harriet, there only existed places like The Alley, and the idea that it could disappear was gut wrenching. 

“I know.” You murmured, glancing at the seats in front of you, replaying memories you tried to forget so many times. “It’s like this place gets into your blood or something.” 

There was a quiet beat, both of you sitting in that shared understanding.

Then Harriet added, voice a little softer, “That’s why I wrote it. The play, I mean. It was just… my way of trying to keep it alive. Even if it’s just a story.”

You glanced over at her, your fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the script. “You did more than that. You captured the heart of it. That’s not easy.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she held your gaze. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

Harriet let out a soft, slightly nervous laugh. “Well, Minnie talks about you like you are linked to this place, but you know… like, you’re spiritually bonded or something. Everybody kind of knows that.” 

You blinked. Not expecting that. Not at all. 

Maybe you were. There was a time where you felt it more than ever, back when you spent your afternoons in this building instead of studying for exams you never cared about, back when the air smelled like incense and acrylic paint and some band played the same Beatles song over and over again in the other room, interrupting all your theater classes. The feeling clinging in your bones, your hand holding onto it like it was about to slip away.

But you left, more than once. First, you trade it for the chance of becoming someone else. You failed at that. Came back here, got your heart shattered and left again. And yet somehow, every time you drifted, The Alley stayed the same. Waiting.

You weren’t sure if that made you loyal or pathetic. Maybe both. 

You didn’t come back for this place, you weren’t even thinking of stepping foot here. You came back because you had nowhere else to go, because you needed something familiar to put you up on your feet and snap out of everything. But maybe this place knew better than you did. Maybe it was always supposed to pull you home.  

You sighed, feeling your chest tightened. “Like I said, it gets into your blood.” You sat back, holding the script in your hands. It was too early to think about all that. You tried to shake off all those thoughts, remembering why you were there in the first place. “But let’s not get dramatic, at least not more than necessary. I got tricked into directing your play.”

Harriet grinned. “Still counts.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head fondly as you flipped open the script again. There wasn’t time to sit in feelings. Not when you had a job to do.

“Alright,” you said, your tone shifting into something drier. “Let’s talk about the notes.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, nodding. “Shoot.”

There was a brief silence, just long enough for Harriet to hold her breath and for you to find the right page. The air shifted—calm, but expectant. “Your protagonist is stubborn as hell,” you said, not bothering to sugarcoat it. “Which I respect, totally. But the pacing in the second act drags.”

Harriet blinked. “I—I was trying to show her spiraling.”

“There are other ways to show her spiraling.” You tapped the script, flipping to your notes. “Don’t write her like she’s in a coma. You had her throwing punches in Act One, then suddenly she’s trying to hold back.”

Harriet frowned, thoughtful now. “Huh. Yeah. Okay. That makes sense.”

You caught Minnie smirking from the corner of your eye, clearly enjoying herself.

“For example,” you continued, pointing at a line, “this monologue? I liked it. She’s trying to save The Alley, she’s emotional and messy—she should stay that way the whole play, even if she’s overthinking. But in the next four pages, you wrote her like she’s afraid to raise her voice.”

“She’s not afraid,” Harriet said quickly. “She just—she masks it. Like she doesn’t want people to know how much she cares.”

You tilted your head. “Alright now, does she care or she does not? Let’s make up our minds.”

Minnie snorted.

Harriet looked around like she was hoping someone else might answer for her. Her pupils flicked nervously. “I guess… she does.”

“Exactly. So should she try to mask it?”

She bit her lip, then shook her head. “I guess she shouldn’t.”

“Okay, let’s keep her that way.” You nodded, flipping through the pages again. “Write the ugly. The parts that don’t fit into a speech. You’re sixteen, not a board of directors. Don’t try to be polite in art. You’ll bore people to death.”

Harriet nodded, eyes shining a little brighter now. “That’s really good advice.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you said, clicking your pen shut. “Most days I’m a bitch, that’s what I’ve heard of.”

You heard a squeaky sound coming from seats, catching both of your attentions. You tilted your head to look at your best friend, trying not to laugh too loud. You adjusted your reading glasses to look at her better.  “Don’t you have work to do, Minnie?” 

She smiled, not ashamed at all. “Yeah, I do, but this is more exciting.” She confessed “You two are opposite ends of the same storm. This should be fun.” 

Your gaze drifted back to Harriet, and just for a second, you saw it—something in her that echoed back to you. Maybe you weren’t so different after all.

There was no need to point out that everyone in your life seemed to know exactly how to avoid setting you off. Like when you were a kid and Simon handed you the TV remote just before you started screaming, or when Ian knew the exact moment to agree with you in the middle of a discussion—right before your frown appeared. It was like an unspoken rule: when you were mad, hell broke loose. And Yoongi knew it better than anyone. 

Which was probably why he’d barely said a word since the morning started. 

The room wasn’t particularly big, but his presence, sticking to the far side like there was some invisible line between you, made it feel that way. You were focused on other things now, but the memories this room held were almost palpable and impossible to miss, at least to you. There, in the center of the room, stood the same two chairs you’d sat in when Yoongi invited you to the Christmas movie night. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same. It was a twisted thought—one of those you’d buried long ago and forbidden from resurfacing—but this time, you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t help but wonder if, when he looked at the seats or stepped onto the stage, when he walked through the hallway or passed the room next door, he caught even the faintest echo of the memory of his fingertips against your skin.

You knew it was silly, and there was no point in even thinking about it, but something sparked in your chest when you did. 

You shook your head, annoyed with yourself. Thinking like that was dangerous. It didn’t matter. It was in the past. But still—how could he be here and not think of you?

You let out a heavy sigh, knowing you couldn’t do anything about it. Either way, he was here, and that was enough to keep your irritation on a slow burn.

Lucky for you, you had enough things to do to keep yourself entertained, it wasn’t long before your actual appointment arrived.

One by one, then in pairs, then all at once, exactly fourteen teenagers trickled into the room, dragging backpacks and half-eaten snacks, tossing jackets onto the backs of chairs like they owned the place. Within minutes, the room was a mess of voices and overlapping conversations.

You stayed seated at the desk Jungkook had kindly set up onstage so you could work more comfortably, going over notes in the script with Harriet and letting the noise build around you. You didn’t know exactly what Minnie had told them to get them to come back to rehearsals, but the fact that no one seemed to notice you yet led you to believe she hadn’t mentioned your name at all. 

“Wait, is that—”

You didn’t look up right away, but you felt the shift in the room, the quiet whispers. Then, someone dropped their water bottle, the loud metallic sound echoing through the room.

Someone else whispered “No way,” in the most dramatic whisper known to man.

Harriet sighed beside you, muttering under her breath as she tried to contain her excitement “Here we go.”

You glance up from the script. “Are we all ready?” You asked, making a few of them share glances between each other, stunned. Setting the script down, you stood up from your seat. “Hi, by the way. I’m Y/N. Minnie’s friend.”

There was a short pause before the room exploded in whispers again.

“Wait, seriously?”

“That’s her?”

“Dude. She’s literally famous.”

“No way.”

You felt the weight of their stares all at once—curious, excited, wide-eyed. It wasn’t the worst kind of attention, but it still made your skin crawl a little.

You cleared your throat. “For those who don’t know me, I’m an actress. You might’ve seen me in one or two movies. Or—more recently—on the internet, for entirely different reasons. It’s been... a fun week.”

That got a few chuckles. Someone covered their mouth, like they weren’t sure if they were allowed to laugh.

“I grew up around here. Born and raised. Went to school a few blocks away, smoked my first cigarette in the park across the street—decided pretty fast that wasn’t for me.” You gave a small shrug. “I also used to take theater classes in this exact room. A long time ago... or maybe not that long ago. Honestly, it kind of feels like time never passed at all.”

Your eyes swept the space, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “That’s how I met Minnie, actually. She’s been my best friend ever since.”

You leaned against the desk. “So when she asked if I could do her a favor and step in to help direct this thing, I said yes. Mostly because she’s annoyingly persuasive. But also… because I owe this place a lot.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “So no, I’m not here to give some big inspirational speech or anything. I don’t want this to be more dramatic than it’s already gonna be. I heard it’s been kind of rough around here lately, and I wanted to help.”

You gave a small shrug. “I’ve always loved this place—and I’m guessing you do too. I know what it’s like to start with nothing. No time, no budget, too many opinions. I’ve been in this room. And hey, if we’re lucky, we might actually make something cool.”

You paused, the silence stretching just enough to make you aware of all the pair of eyes looking at you, expectantly, like they were waiting for you to say something to make  all of this sense. God this was awkward. You hated introductions. 

Just as you were about to move on, a boy sitting cross-legged near the corner raised his hand hesitantly.

“Uh—sorry. I was just wondering… is this, like, for a documentary or something?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard “A documentary?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. You’re famous, and now you’re here, so I thought maybe there were cameras or—like, a redemption arc thing?”

A few kids laughed nervously. You stared at him for a beat.

“Okay, first of all, if this is a redemption arc, someone forgot to write a better opening scene.” That got a few chuckles. “Second of all, there are no cameras. And there will not be cameras either, so if any of you leak behind-the-scenes footage of me yelling at the lighting cues, I will sue you.” 

The room broke into laughter. The boy held up his hands in surrender. 

Then, a girl piped up from the back. “So… you’re really staying?”

You looked around at their faces and let out a breath that felt more like a decision than an answer.

You nodded. “Yes. So stop asking before I change my mind.”

A beat passed.

Then you clapped your hands once. “Alright. Let’s do something terrible before it gets good.” You turned to Harriet and handed her the script. “You’re on book duty. Anyone needs a line, go to her.”

Harriet gave you a look like she was trying very hard not to smile.

Soon enough, the whole room was in chaos. Kids dragging chairs across the floor, bumping into each other, laughing too loud, slipping into exaggerated accents for no reason. 

The cast had been picked, most of them by Harriet who ran the auditions just before everything turned into a mess a few weeks ago. They more or less knew the script, at least the parts they were in. It wasn’t a full read-through kind of day anyway. You were mostly blocking a few key scenes, trying to see who could remember their lines under pressure and who needed their cues whispered from behind a prop table.

Someone tried entering from the wrong side of the stage, again. Two kids were arguing about the new Wicked movie. A pair of best friends were giggling so hard in the background that you had to separate them like a school teacher.

You were trying to give notes in between all of it—shouting directions, answering five questions at once, adjusting someone's posture, trying not to lose your mind when the stage lights began flickering, or when the sound of the mic started to cut out. 

You sighed, knowing that you were the one who agreed to work in the same room as Yoongi. And yet, here you were, one lighting fixture away from snapping.

Yoongi was still on that damn ladder, this time closer to the stage, adjusting wires like he had all the time in the world, tossing instructions down to Jungkook, who was elbow-deep in the breaker box near the exit. They weren’t trying to interrupt rehearsal—but they were interrupting rehearsal.

You and Harriet were talking to Theo and Poly, who’d been cast as Ethan—June’s best friend and love interest—and June herself. Theo hadn’t stopped asking questions about his character since rehearsal started, and Poly just stood there, frowning at each one of them.

“So,” Theo said, squinting at his script like it held ancient secrets, “is Ethan supposed to represent the building? Or is the building a metaphor for Ethan?”

Poly pursed her lips. “I don’t think that’s…”

You blinked. “Uh…”

Harriet jumped in before you could finish. “I think the building represents June, actually,” she said thoughtfully. “And everything inside it kind of symbolizes parts of her. Including Ethan.”

You nodded slowly, doing your best not to sound confused. “Yeah. That’s… exactly what I was going to say.”

“But what if Ethan is the building? Like, metaphorically. But also kind of spiritually.”

You paused, wondering how he came up with that thought at all. “Theo...”

He perked up like you were about to confirm his theory.

“You’re not a building,” you said, deadpan. “You’re just a boy who likes a girl who is a building. Emotionally.”

Harriet nodded, hoping everything was clearer now, but the frown on Theo’s face said otherwise. “How is she… a building?” He asked. 

You opened your mouth to answer, but then, the harsh whine of a drill tore through the room, sharp enough to make a few kids flinch.

Your head snapped towards the back, where Yoongi was crouched by the lighting rig, focused on screwing something into a wooden panel. Oblivious. Or pretending to be.

You forced a smile, teeth clenched. “Love that for us,” you muttered.

Yoongi didn’t look up.

You reminded yourself that you agreed to work in the same room as him, but you still couldn’t find it in yourself not to complain. 

He finally glanced over, one brow raised. “Just fixing the lights.”

“Sure,” you muttered, trying to regain control of the room. “Maybe next time, though, you could fix the sound system while you’re at it. You know, keep things interesting.”

The kids snickered nervously, clearly unsure whether to laugh or stay out of it.

Yoongi gave a small, unreadable smile, “That’s next.” 

You blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Great. Just give me a heads-up before you demolish the stage—we would love to watch the show.” You heard a couple kids laughing under their breaths, but Yoongi just smirked and came back to drilling. “Okay, where were we? Right, Theo, June is bonded with the building, they have many similarities...”

You managed to move on, with the help of Harriet, who tried to explain how June and The Alley had similar stories to everyone in the cast so she wouldn’t answer the same questions over and over again.

For a moment, it worked. The rehearsal went slow but chaotic, but it was nothing that you weren’t expecting. The line delivery was still bad, cues were missed and someone kept knocking over a prop chair no matter how many times you moved it out of the way. The sound glitched every now and then, cutting off halfway through a cue, making someone lose their timing, most probably Theo. The lights kept flickering, but you told yourself it was alright. 

There was something about it that made your heart warm. The kids were messy, overly passionate, but they were trying, and that counted for something. Harriet hovered by your side, notebook in hand, whispering little adjustments to you between scenes. You corrected blocking, gave line notes and reassured Poly when she forgot her monologue. It was the kind of chaos that made your head hurt, but also reminded you why you were there.

And for a little while, you forgot about a certain demonic presence in the room. Almost.

Then, another interruption, but this time you couldn’t ignore it like you were planning to do. This time, it wasn’t the sound system or that annoying drilling sound, it was his voice. 

“That panel shouldn’t be used,” he said from the back, voice deep and arms crossed as he nodded towards one of the wood panels the kids had dragged to the stage. 

You turned around to see him, giving the most lethal look you could give to anyone. He didn’t flinch. “Why is that?” You asked, impatiently. 

“It’s flagged and marked for disposal.” He explained, as he continued to work “If we use it and someone gets hurt, the insurance won’t cover it. That kind of negligence puts the theater at legal risk.”

You nodded, jaw tight, trying to remind yourself that he wasn’t doing this to be annoying—even if that was exactly how it felt. “Right. Thanks for the thrilling legal insight.”

“I am the lawyer here,” He said, like you could’ve possibly forgotten.

A few of the kids glanced between you, sensing the tension and trying very hard not to smile. Including Jungkook. 

You gave him a smile. “Yes, and our part time set designer, noise machine, and safety police. We didn’t forget.”

He snorted. “Multitasking. You should try it sometime.”

Harriet let out a gasp and then covered her mouth, pretending to cough. 

You clapped your hands. “Alright, listen up. We’re not using the panels, you heard our lawyer here. If you have any legal questions, I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer. Now come back to your positions before our legal team shut us down.” 

You turned back to the stage, feeling your pulse in your ears. God, this was stupid. You couldn’t react this way every time he opened his mouth, you couldn’t let him get under your skin, not when he was not even trying. 

You turned back to the stage, jaw tight. Let it go. He was right. Technically. And that was the worst part, he always had a way of being technically right. You should be used to it by now.

You didn’t have time for this. Not now.

Everyone kept going. You checked the time on your phone and realized there were only forty-five minutes left of class. After that, you could finally do what you actually came here to do: nothing, and you were genuinely excited about it.

You had your whole day planned: eat with your mom and Phil, take the longest nap imaginable, then wake up and lie in bed with Minnie’s cat until you got hungry enough to drag yourself up and find something to eat.

You thought nothing—not even Yoongi— could ruin it, even if he seemed to be trying really hard to do it.

But, as if he was on cue, his voice echoed through the stage like he was part of the cast himself. 

“Okay, the scene was good, but still rough around the edges. We have time to fix it, don’t worry.” You said, turning to the cast “Poly, I liked the pauses, you have great timing. Just remember that she is not trying to hold back, she’s all-in from the start, speak louder next time.”

Poly hummed, eyes on her script as she quietly mouthed her lines again.

The room went quiet, ready to dive in into the scene again, when the heavy doors creaked open drawing everyone’s attention—everyone except you, whose attention was fixed on the man standing below the stage, who happened to open his mouth again.

“You know, technically, she couldn’t just file a petition like that without legal standing.” He said nonchalantly, making you snap your head towards him.

You paused, confused. “Wait, what?”

Being completely clueless that he wasn’t being welcomed by you, he tried to explain himself “She needs to be a leaseholder, or at least have legal representation,” He said. “If not, that whole scene about the petition is pretty off.”

You weren’t sure what he was doing now. Wasn’t there an unspoken agreement between you two? Some silent rule you both were supposed to obey whenever you happened to breathe the same air. Something along the lines of no talking, no staring, no getting too close.

At least, that was the rule you’ve been following for the past four years. You thought he understood that. You thought he felt it too.

You stared at him. “Is that… really the note you felt we needed right now?”

He shrugged, like this was just helpful feedback. “If the goal is to be convincing—”

“Right. Thank you. Because legal accuracy is something essential in community theater.”

Yoongi tilted his head, still annoyingly calm. “You’re the one who said it needed to feel real.”

You didn’t even try to smile. “Yeah. Emotionally. Not in a way that’s going to put people to sleep.”

He opened his mouth again, but you cut him off. “Unless you want to audition for Guy Who Shouts Legal Objections From the Back of the Room, maybe let me direct?”

He paused, his brows lifting ever so slightly. You weren’t sure if he was about to keep pushing or finally let it go.

“Sure. You’re in charge,” he said, backing off.

You already had a sharp retort loaded on your tongue before he even opened his mouth, but as your gaze drifted towards the seats, you caught sight of Minnie, who had just slipped into the theater.

She was staring straight at you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in that quiet, deadly way of hers. Okay, you got it, that was it. You decided to save it for now. 

It was always safest to assume that every man who had ever lived knew the first universal rule of a girl’s handbook: best friends told each other everything.

You were surprised when you came across men who didn’t know about it—like when you had a fight with Ian, and he would get annoyed when you ran to tell Minnie everything about it. Minnie would laugh and say that it was his fault for thinking that you would keep a secret from the person who has been your only confidant for most of your life.

Thinking about it now, Minnie was a nightmare to have as your girlfriend’s best friend. She wanted to know everything, every single detail, every word exactly as it was spoken, as if she had been in the room when you fought with your boyfriend. And you were probably a nightmare to have as a girlfriend, too, because you told her everything.

It was the first rule in a girl’s handbook: best friends told each other everything. As class came to an end and the room filled with overlapping voices, kids repeating lines as they hopped off the stage and chairs being dragged noisily back into place, you glanced at Yoongi, his hair a mess and hands still smudged with dust, and wondered if he’d ever heard of that rule. If not, Minnie made sure he did by the end of the morning.

She stayed to watch the end of the class, saying goodbye to every single kid as they left. When the door closed behind the last of them, the room suddenly fell silent, the only sounds were the distant voices of Yoongi and Jungkook, and Minnie’s steady step as she made her way towards you. 

You were zipping up your backpack when she spoke.

“You,” she said, making you look up. “And you.”

She pointed at you, then at the man standing in the back of the room.

“Mind joining me in my office?” she said, voice calm, but carrying enough weight to make it clear it wasn’t really a question. For a second, you and Yoongi exchanged glances, like two kids getting caught sharing notes in the middle of class.

God, it was your first day and you already screwed it up. You couldn’t even blame it on someone else. 

Yoongi exhaled slowly, and you could already feel the tension in your shoulders returning. You threw a quick, weary glance at him before following Minnie’s lead.

You walked towards the office, Yoongi trailing behind you. The building was quieter now, the murmur of the rehearsal fading into the distance. Once inside, Minnie closed the door behind you.

You searched your best friend’s eyes for a moment, looking for some kind of reassurance—but she didn’t look at you. She didn’t seem angry, not exactly, but she wasn’t happy either. Honestly, she had every right not to be. You could admit that much, at least.

“Okay, can you, uh… explain what that was?” she asked, settling into the chair in front of you. Neither of you knew what the right move was, but apparently, standing there looking dumb was it. Minnie shook her head, already regretting the question. “Actually, no. Don’t even bother. I already know.”

You gulped, suddenly nervous. You definitely weren’t expecting to get scolded by your best friend today.

“Okay, I don’t know how to say this the right way.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m well aware the two of you aren’t exactly on speaking terms. But I did think you could be in the same room without trying to rip each other’s throats out.” She looked up at you then, gaze soft but pointed. “You promised me you had no problem with him being around here.”

You felt your face heat up immediately. Your eyes widened just a little. “Minnie, I—”

“And you.” She interrupted, pointing at the man standing beside you with crossed arms. “I certainly wasn’t expecting you to behave like another teenager, Yoongi.”

Yoongi shifted his weight. You didn’t look at him, but you could hear the quiet sigh before he tried to speak.

“Minnie…” He started, voice low.

“Sorry. I’m not in the mood to hear any of this.” She raised a hand, cutting him off before he could go further. “I don’t care who started it, or what the hell it was even about. Whatever happened between the two of you in the past is none of my business. In fact—” She gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Kill each other off if you must. But do it in the parking lot, or the park across the street. Not here. Not in front of the kids.”

Silence followed.

You stood still, realizing it was the first time someone had brought up what happened between you and Yoongi in a very long time. And it made your skin crawl. 

Yoongi stayed quiet too. You could feel his presence beside you, the way he slightly shifted, the sound of his fingers tapping once against his arm. It wasn’t much, but it told you he was biting something back. 

Minnie let out a long sigh and dropped into her chair again. For a moment, the only sound was the faint creak of the seat and the tension still thick in the room.

Then her voice softened.

“Listen, I don’t want to be a dick,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. “If I could put you in separate rooms so you never had to see each other again, I would. Gladly.”

She looked between you, then leaned forward a little.

“But Yoongi’s working on the theater for the next month. So are you. Unless we want this place to burn to the ground before December, you’re gonna have to see each other. Even on weekdays. Even when it sucks.”

She exhaled “I’ve got a lot of shit going on right now, so can we please—please, pretty please, just try to get along? For the sake of this place and my mental health?”

You shifted your weight, arms crossed loosely in front of you as you stared at the floor. Minnie's words weren’t wrong. In fact, they hit a little too close to the truth.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice quiet but steady. “Okay.”

It was the best you could do without sounding defensive. Or worse, emotional.

You didn’t dare look at Yoongi. Just the idea of meeting his eyes in that moment made your stomach turn, but you heard him humming in response, quietly agreeing, too. 

“Good,” Minnie said, still firm but less sharp now. “Because I can’t babysit you two. I’ve already got a dozen kids to look after. Don’t make me regret trusting you with this.”

You both nodded, like students after detention. You glanced at Yoongi—brief, instinctive—and to your surprise, he didn’t look back either.

Minnie waved a hand toward the door with a final sigh.

“Alright. Go.”

You mumbled a quiet goodbye and turned around, being the first to leave. Your steps were quick, almost impatient, as if putting distance between you and that office might somehow erase the last five minutes from existence.

You gripped the strap of your bag tighter, nails digging into the fabric. Once you were past the main doors, you shut your eyes for a moment and exhaled sharply. 

God, you felt like such a fool. 

You were supposed to be past this. Supposed to be past him. Why couldn’t you just ignore him? Why was he so impossible to avoid? 

You shook your head and started walking again, hoping it might clear your thoughts. But the images from two minutes ago clung stubbornly inside of your mind, replaying in loop.

Then, you felt it. A hand brushing your shoulder.

You flinched and turned around, pulse jumping.

Yoongi stood there. Of course he did.

You hadn’t even noticed he’d followed you out. 

With dirty clothes, dirty hands and hair all messy, he searched for your eyes, soft but filled with concern, biting his lower lip before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“Please…” he said, his voice low and hesitant. “Let’s talk.”

It wasn’t the words so much as the way he said them—quiet, and so soft it made your heart clench. 

You glanced around, suddenly aware of where you were. It was the same place you were that December night four years ago when you were waiting in line to watch the movie, cold and nervous and stupidly in love.  

You crossed your arms, swallowing the memory like a pill. “I’m not sure I want to talk right now.” Or ever.

Yoongi didn’t flinch. He flexed his jaw a little, and nodded because he knew you were right.  “Yeah,” he said, eyes dropping to the pavement for a second. “I figured.”

The wind tugged at both your clothes, making him shiver, he wasn’t wearing a coat, just that smudged white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There, in the early afternoon sunlight, you had the chance to look at him, to really look at him after four long years. You hadn’t realized how much he’d changed, how much longer his hair was now, how he only wore one pair of earrings, how his lips looked slightly pinker. He looked older, of course he did. The years had passed, and he couldn’t help but change. He didn’t look like a boy anymore, but like a man—and for some reason, that hurt

He dragged a hand through his hair, sighing. “It’s just… I want to fix this. Not now, if that’s not what you want. But eventually. Just… let me try.”

You stared at him, unsure if you wanted to laugh or scream. “How?”

He let out a breathy, half-laugh, frustrated. “Honestly? I have no fucking idea. But I’ll think of something.”

You gave him a bitter little scoff.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping forward just slightly, but not too close. “I will.” 

“I’ll need something better than that, Yoongi.”

“I know,” he said, voice low. “I do.”

He hesitated, glancing away for a moment. Then he scratched the back of his neck, a little unsure, a little boyish in the most disarming way. “My mom… she asked me to invite you to dinner one of these days. What if we start there?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Using your mom is cheating.”

That actually got a real smile out of him. Soft and crooked, it made your stomach turn. “I know that too.”

God, you hated how easy it was to remember what that smile did to you.

And yet, somehow, you also knew you were about to say yes.

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag, eyes fixed on a crack in the pavement like it held the answer you couldn’t find inside yourself. Just say no. Walk away. But the words never came.

You sighed, voice low and reluctant. “God, Yoongi… if you piss me off, I swear—”

“I’ll try not to,” he said quickly, biting back a smile. 

You gave him a look over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes. “That doesn’t sound very promising.”

But still—you were already walking.

taglist: @kingofbodyrolls, @overtherainbow35, @namin13 , @p34rluv, @moonchild1, @yoongisoftface , @namgihours @idkjustlovingbts , @yoongisducky , @bangtansmauyeondan , @tarahardcore @wobblewobble822 @secfir @ot72025 @baechugff @heroinanne @mortal-body-timelesssoul @hiii-priestess @wii-wii @jungkookies1002 @busanbby-jjk @acquiescence804 @yoongibaybee @hsbongwater @ot7stansthings @curiouslioncutie @jalexad @lynnibear @benyhime

[venusbyline]

Soapy ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 07, oct.

— pairing: Emily Prentiss x co-worker!reader

— type: smut, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: bath sex

— summary: You need to spend some time in the hotel bathtub to distract yourself from your broken heart. Your enemy and co-worker decides to join you.

— word count: 3.2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 7th day, female!reader, co-worker/rival!Prentiss, bath sex, fingering, breast worship, non-consensual voyeurism, first time having sex with a woman, choking, nipple play, light degradation, praise kink, curse words, sassy!Prentiss, grumpy x sunshine, age gap (older woman/younger woman), sub!reader, dom! Prentiss, canon divergence, minor JJ x Reid, minor JJ x Prentiss, minor reader x Reid, lesbian!Prentiss, bisexual(?)!reader. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

Being paired up with Prentiss was something you always hated during every case. Sometimes you could have sworn Hotch drew the pairs falsely just to see the chaos happening on the team. The rivalry you and Prentiss created when you joined the BAU was the entire team's favorite entertainment.

Emily thought you were incompetent for the job, always too empathetic with everything and everyone, almost being like a sponge and attracting all the people's suffering onto yourself. She thought you were too unprofessional, always clinging to Reid as if you wanted to prove that you were made for each other. The similar personality, the common hobbies, the young age, the overtalking... She could barely spend two minutes by your side without rolling her eyes when you brought up a nerdy topic in the middle of the cases.

And you didn't have a very friendly judgment about Emily either. Grumpy, bossy, her sarcasm beyond measure, the way she attracted the attention of everyone wherever she went. The way even JJ seemed to chase her like a puppy. They complemented each other in a different way, and it wasn't a surprise to you when Morgan made fun of Reid that night, joking about the fact that JJ and Emily had been casually fucking for over a year.

What you took as a damn unnecessary confession, Reid felt like he'd been hit by a truck, swallowing hard as he stuttered and excused himself. The whole attitude was confusing and worrying by itself, but any mere suspicion that had been going on your head over the past months started to make sense when Morgan laughed after Spencer left, muttering something about the young man not knowing how to deal with his pathetic crush for JJ.

At that moment, you broke inside. Holding your ground until you got to your hotel room was one of the hardest things you've ever done. Your legs felt limp and your mind was spinning, a ridiculous urge to drown in your own tears as you lay in bed, sobbing softly into your pillow.

It took almost ten minutes for Emily to finally appear, frowning at the view. "You kidding me? Is there only one bed in this fucking room?" She asked, ignoring your crying and you also ignored her question, burying your face in the pillow with even more pressure than before, letting out a weak scream, mixed with anger, pain and frustration. "Damn, girl... Who broke your heart like that? You're look like a crybaby and you're almost eating our pillows. I can call the room service if you're so hungry. I bet a burger with fries and strawberry's milkshake will be tastier than that."

You just looked up and glared at her. You couldn't decide which was the worst part of all of this: Emily already knowing why you were crying or the fact that she was minimizing the situation. Before you could turn your head away and ignore her again, Emily continued.

"Seriously, are you really broken-hearted just because Reid doesn't like you the same way you like him?" She asked and you felt a pang in your heart.

"Shut up, Prentiss." You muttered with a trembling voice. Surprising you, Emily didn't laugh or even mock. She sighed loudly, mumbling something to herself before sitting on the edge of the bed you would share.

"Look, Spencer's... Complicated." Emily started and it was your turn to roll eyes, finally turning your body so you could face her better. The older agent looked at the neckline of your shirt for a few seconds before composing herself. "I'm serious. There's no point in crying over him right now. It's going to take a while for him to realize what an idiot he's being."

You huffed, crossing your arms while still lying down, looking at her with a mix of indignation and anger. "For liking JJ even though you know she'd rather fuck you?"

Emily's face paled, but she soon recovered, not wanting to show how surprised she was to see you being so direct about the usual fucking between her and the other teammate. "Y-Yes... That too." Emily stuttered in an almost cute way. "But that's not all."

You watched her with eyes still full of tears, however, now there was also confusion and curiosity there. Your brain was in a frenzy, trying to figure out what else she could be talking about.

Emily cleared her throat after a long moment of silence. "You should take a bath right now." She suggested, looking away. "Wipe those teary cheeks and get distracted by Spencer's crush on another girl."

You held back the urge to tell her to fuck off, despite knowing that behind that cold tone of voice, she was right. You urgently needed time to yourself. Maybe using the bathtub in the hotel room wouldn't be so bad after all.

You had been inside the bathtub for more than thirty minutes. The foams were decorating the water and you tried to calm down, but nothing could help much. Every time the image of Spencer invaded your brain, your fertile imagination led you to imagine him having sex with JJ.

You didn't know if she liked men too. All you knew was that JJ had an affair with Emily and Spencer had a crush on JJ. That didn't mean he was sleeping with her. Which was even worse. He could be liking a woman who didn't even like men.

Everything made you feel pathetic.

You tried rubbing your back with the sponge, but all that came out was a weak moan of pain. Your body was so tense that you could barely move your arms back. That would be the worst bath of your life, you were sure of it.

A groan escaped your lips and you leaned back against the tub, hands gripping the edges as you took a deep breath and tried hard to keep your thoughts away from JJ or Reid.

"You're overthinking." A voice was present a few minutes after you closed your eyes.

You were startled by the abrupt sound and also by realizing who owned the hoarse and at the same time sweet voice. "What the hell, Prentiss?" You exclaimed, cowering a little more under the water to avoid her seeing your naked body. "How did you get here?"

The sight of your curves didn't go unnoticed by Emily, a smirk appearing on her lips as she approached with calm steps, shrugging her shoulders. "You're the one who left the door open. I thought it was even an invitation for me to join you." She teased and you rolled your eyes, avoiding eye contact at that moment.

"I would never invite you to take a bath with me." You revealed with a colder voice than Emily was expecting, and her smirk turned into a frown again.

She poked the inside of her cheek with the tip of her tongue before scoffing. "For someone who can barely scrub their back with a sponge, you're being very picky about who can and who can't go into this bathroom with you."

You looked back at her, sighing with frustration and gripping the edges of the bathtub tighter. "Good to know you're creepy enough to watch me this whole time."

Emily laughed, shrugging and moving a little closer, until her tall body was facing your body submerged inside the water. "Oh, yeah. It's a little creepy, I admit. But watching you sponge your little pussy and shudder from such a fucking simple touch was quite a turn on." Her confession made your face redder than a strawberry. You stuttered several times before looking away, pulling yourself upright in the tub as you searched for the fluffy towel you had left somewhere. "Hey, hey, hey! I'm just kidding. Relax, girl." Emily grumbled, rolling her eyes. Her slender hands moved to your shoulders, helping you bend down into the bathtub. You swore you saw her gaze lingering too long on your soapy breasts.

You thought of some things to say, any offense or any question about the real reason she thought invading your bath might be a good idea. You had always hated each other and now she was here, looking at your wet body as if you were a work of art.

"You know, you're not that bad." Emily began, sitting on the stool directly behind the tub. You scoffed and held back from asking if she said the same passive-aggressive praise to JJ too. "I know what you're thinking."

"Do you read minds now, Agent Prentiss?" You tilted your head so you could look at her better. The sight alone made Emily bite her lip to hold back a moan. She could get an incredible glimpse of your breasts.

After clearing her throat to clear her thoughts, Emily argued. "I know you're comparing yourself to JJ."

Your face turned pale at the exactitude of what she was saying and your jaw clenched. You let out a nasal scoff, but your eyes filled with tears and you went back to playing with the bath bubbles.

The silence that emerged in the bathroom was uncomfortable for both of you, and to your surprise, Emily was the first to break it. "I can sponge your back if you want."

Your eyes widened, surprised by the suggestion. Getting to see a less evil side of Prentiss was one of the things you least expected in your entire life. You were so used to the older agent's surly manner and never thought that one day she would invite herself to help you take a bath. As awkward as the situation might be, you thought it best not to tease her, eager to see how she would deal with everything.

As soon as you handed the damp sponge to Emily, she swallowed hard, asking you to sit up straighter so she could do the task properly. The minutes passed like hours, so much so for you, who was sighing at the good feeling of having a decent massage. But also for Emily, who was already starting to regret having suggested it. Every time you sighed, she felt her heart rate increase.

"You shouldn't be sad if Reid doesn't like you." A sigh escaped your lips as soon as you heard Emily's words, feeling your neck tense again. "I'm serious."

You closed your eyes to hold back any vulnerable outbursts you might accidentally let out. So you chose to turn the matter against her. "Aren't you mad at Reid?" The question left her confused, stopping rubbing your back so she could stare at you. "He likes your girlfriend."

The words made Emily chuckle and she returned to focusing on the task, despite continuing to look at you. "JJ is not my girlfriend."

She smirked after your curious face. "What? Why the surprise? Not all the women I fuck are my girlfriends." She ran the sponge down your neck and you gasped, going back to watching the water to distract yourself from the unexpected sting in your pussy. Emily was so focused on your breasts that she didn't even seem to notice how you were sighing heavily at her touches. "JJ's an amazing woman, but I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

"Of course." You scoffed, taking a deep breath as Emily leaned in closer, lowering the foamy sponge to your collarbone, quickly stroking the opening between your breasts. "If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you were trying to have sex with me."

Emily's eyes widened and she stared at you in shock for a moment, but put on a stoic expression before saying. "Maybe." She sponged the spot a second time, enjoying watching how you squirmed at the sensation. "Would you say yes?"

You reflected on the possible pros and cons of all that. You two hated each other like cats and dogs, you could barely be near each other without losing your temper. There was a good chance the sex would be horrible and Emily would go around making fun of you with the rest of the team.

But on the other hand, you were very hurt and frustrated by the discovery of Spencer's feelings about JJ. Any casual sex would be a huge help, even if it was with the most insufferable person in the BAU.

Instead of answering verbally, you tilted your head back further, making Emily's hand slide better over your chest, your skin filling with the pink foam.

"Good girl..." Emily hissed, biting her lip, squeezing the sponge and pressing it into you more firmly. You sighed when Emily passed the object over the tip of your left breast, the gentle touch making your legs twitch in the tub.

Emily did the same with the right breast, dropping the sponge back into the water before looking at you, noting how beautiful you looked with your flushed cheeks and wet soapy breasts. "I lied. You're really quite a vision."

You smiled softly, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you hated me."

A snort escaped Emily's red lips and she ripped off her matching shirt, making you even more embarrassed to see her lack of bra, her heavy breasts so close to your face as she bent down so she could run her fingers over you neck. "I fucking hate you, sweetheart. Don't worry." She purred in your ear, while her hand applied light pressure to your throat. "That's not gonna change just because I'm about to make you cum."

You gasped at the gentle grip, but your focus shifted to her lips, so red and luscious. Emily seemed to notice your desperation, as she soon allowed you to taste them, breaking the distance between you by kissing your lips hungrily.

Then your legs tremble during the kiss. You couldn't tell if it was due to Emily's gentle bites on your lower lip, if it was due to her careful choking on your neck or if it was due to her other slender fingers that were playing with your nipples, twirling the little buds.

"E-Emily..." You moaned her name into the kiss and she chuckled softly.

"Are we on first name terms already? I thought you hated me." She teased, using your own previous words against yourself. "Just relax, sweetheart..."

She finally let go of your neck and you gasped, your lungs grateful for the air. You didn't have time to answer properly, falling silent when she began to grip your soapy breasts, enjoying the mounds and biting her lips. "Fuck... Reid has no idea what he's missing."

You frowned, not wanting to hear anything about Soencer. You wanted to pretend you weren't mad at him. You just wanted to cum and leave to deal with your feelings the next day. Then you moved your hand to Emily's breast, taking advantage of the fact that it was so close to your face. Her breasts were so heavy and beautiful that you moaned just caressing them. You had never slept with a woman before, but you were starting to understand why JJ couldn't look away from Emily's neckline whenever they were in public.

"You like them?" Emily asked with a sigh and you nodded silently, your thumbs playing with her pink nipples. "You wanna put them on your mouth?"

The question was so fucking obvious. Your mouth was watering just thinking about those delicious mounds on your lips. "God, yes... Please."

Emily scoffed at the way you begged, but did as you asked. She leaned over until her breasts were right above your face. Your underwater body arched upwards and you began licking her pointed nipple, hearing her soft moans. She gasped as you sucked on one breast and switched to the other, looking desperate like a hungry baby. "Such a good mouth..." Emily growled, looking at your body arched in the bathtub, the sight of your pussy finally appearing made her moan even more, bouncing her breast on your mouth to encourage you even more. She ran one of her hands down your belly, watching your body tremble and shiver until she touched the soft hairs on your pussy.

You squirmed slightly, removing the nipple from your lips so you could moan loudly at the unexpected sensation. The water from the bathtub made your pussy even more slippery as she rubbed your clit. “That feels so good…” You pursed your lips, trying to hold on to the tub as Emily increased the speed of the rubbing.

"I know, sweetheart... You're creaming my fingers." Emily whispered mockingly, using her free hand to press you back onto her breasts, moaning at the feeling of your warm mouth. "Have you done this before?" While you nibbled on the soft flesh of her mounds, you muttered a denial. "Fucking in the bathtub or fucking with a woman?"

Your cheeks turned red again and you opened your legs wider, allowing Emily's fingers to move down from your clit to your opening, one finger entering inside you. "Both." You muttered and she nodded, biting back a scoff that wanted to escape. She fingerfucked you a little harder, adding one more and rubbing her thumb over your pleasure spot. "You're so tight..."

You didn't know how to thank her for the praise, so you focused on sucking her nipple, closing your eyes so you could whimper muffledly every time she increased the speed of the movements, water starting to splash out of the bathtub and making a mess in the hotel's bathroom.

When Emily started fucking you faster, you felt your mind going into a state of ecstasy mixed with agony. You never felt anything like this before with another person, the boys you sporadically had sex with didn't seem to be able to fuck rough and good the same time, it was always very dull or very aggressive to the point of being painful for you. There was no middle ground. But Prentiss seemed to find the perfect formula. As you felt her add a third finger, you tried to wriggle away from her touch, the stretch now being equivalent to a thick cock.

"Just relax, sweetheart..." Emily tried to calm you down, keeping you steady with her other hand. You moved away from her chest, making a saliva noise when one of her breasts escaped from your red swollen lips. The worried look on your face softened her. "Trust me, okay?"

You wanted to defend yourself, to say that you weren't scared by the intense stretching inside your pussy, but rather by the pleasure unlike anything you had ever felt. It was all too confusing and new. "It's so good..." You practically sobbed and she furrowed for a few seconds, realizing why you were trying to distance yourself from her fingers.

"Oh, sweetheart... No cock fucked that pretty little pussy of yours so good like that?" She teased and despite knowing she would make fun of you for the rest of your life, you shook your head. "Poor little girl..." Emily scoffed, kissing your forehead and keeping to fuck you, your walls clenching around her three fingers as your clit throbbed from the friction her thumb was causing. “Enjoy it, sweetheart. You'll realize that it's not worth crying for a man if you can distract yourself by cumming in my hand."

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Cars bricked by bankrupt EV company will stay bricked

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

There are few phrases in the modern lexicon more accursed than "software-based car," and yet, this is how the failed EV maker Fisker billed its products, which retailed for $40-70k in the few short years before the company collapsed, shut down its servers, and degraded all those "software-based cars":

https://insideevs.com/news/723669/fisker-inc-bankruptcy-chapter-11-official/

Fisker billed itself as a "capital light" manufacturer, meaning that it didn't particularly make anything – rather, it "designed" cars that other companies built, allowing Fisker to focus on "experience," which is where the "software-based car" comes in. Virtually every subsystem in a Fisker car needs (or rather, needed) to periodically connect with its servers, either for regular operations or diagnostics and repair, creating frequent problems with brakes, airbags, shifting, battery management, locking and unlocking the doors:

https://www.businessinsider.com/fisker-owners-worry-about-vehicles-working-bankruptcy-2024-4

Since Fisker's bankruptcy, people with even minor problems with their Fisker EVs have found themselves owning expensive, inert lumps of conflict minerals and auto-loan debt; as one Fisker owner described it, "It's literally a lawn ornament right now":

https://www.businessinsider.com/fisker-owners-describe-chaos-to-keep-cars-running-after-bankruptcy-2024-7

This is, in many ways, typical Internet-of-Shit nonsense, but it's compounded by Fisker's capital light, all-outsource model, which led to extremely unreliable vehicles that have been plagued by recalls. The bankrupt company has proposed that vehicle owners should have to pay cash for these recalls, in order to reserve the company's capital for its creditors – a plan that is clearly illegal:

https://www.veritaglobal.net/fisker/document/2411390241007000000000005

This isn't even the first time Fisker has done this! Ten years ago, founder Henrik Fisker started another EV company called Fisker Automotive, which went bankrupt in 2014, leaving the company's "Karma" (no, really) long-range EVs (which were unreliable and prone to bursting into flames) in limbo:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fisker_Karma

Which raises the question: why did investors reward Fisker's initial incompetence by piling in for a second attempt? I think the answer lies in the very factor that has made Fisker's failure so hard on its customers: the "software-based car." Investors love the sound of a "software-based car" because they understand that a gadget that is connected to the cloud is ripe for rent-extraction, because with software comes a bundle of "IP rights" that let the company control its customers, critics and competitors:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

A "software-based car" gets to mobilize the state to enforce its "IP," which allows it to force its customers to use authorized mechanics (who can, in turn, be price-gouged for licensing and diagnostic tools). "IP" can be used to shut down manufacturers of third party parts. "IP" allows manufacturers to revoke features that came with your car and charge you a monthly subscription fee for them. All sorts of features can be sold as downloadable content, and clawed back when title to the car changes hands, so that the new owners have to buy them again. "Software based cars" are easier to repo, making them perfect for the subprime auto-lending industry. And of course, "software-based cars" can gather much more surveillance data on drivers, which can be sold to sleazy, unregulated data-brokers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

Unsurprisingly, there's a large number of Fisker cars that never sold, which the bankruptcy estate is seeking a buyer for. For a minute there, it looked like they'd found one: American Lease, which was looking to acquire the deadstock Fiskers for use as leased fleet cars. But now that deal seems dead, because no one can figure out how to restart Fisker's servers, and these vehicles are bricks without server access:

https://techcrunch.com/2024/10/08/fisker-bankruptcy-hits-major-speed-bump-as-fleet-sale-is-now-in-question/

It's hard to say why the company's servers are so intransigent, but there's a clue in the chaotic way that the company wound down its affairs. The company's final days sound like a scene from the last days of the German Democratic Republic, with apparats from the failing state charging about in chaos, without any plans for keeping things running:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2023/03/07/east-germany-stasi-surveillance-documents/

As it imploded, Fisker cycled through a string of Chief Financial officers, losing track of millions of dollars at a time:

https://techcrunch.com/2024/05/31/fisker-collapse-investigation-ev-ocean-suv-henrik-geeta/

When Fisker's landlord regained possession of its HQ, they found "complete disarray," including improperly stored drums of toxic waste:

https://techcrunch.com/2024/10/05/fiskers-hq-abandoned-in-complete-disarray-with-apparent-hazardous-waste-clay-models-left-behind/

And while Fisker's implosion is particularly messy, the fact that it landed in bankruptcy is entirely unexceptional. Most businesses fail (eventually) and most startups fail (quickly). Despite this, businesses – even those in heavily regulated sectors like automotive regulation – are allowed to design products and undertake operations that are not designed to outlast the (likely short-lived) company.

After the 2008 crisis and the collapse of financial institutions like Lehman Brothers, finance regulators acquired a renewed interest in succession planning. Lehman consisted of over 6,000 separate corporate entities, each one representing a bid to evade regulation and/or taxation. Unwinding that complex hairball took years, during which the entities that entrusted Lehman with their funds – pensions, charitable institutions, etc – were unable to access their money.

To avoid repeats of this catastrophe, regulators began to insist that banks produce "living wills" – plans for unwinding their affairs in the event of catastrophe. They had to undertake "stress tests" that simulated a wind-down as planned, both to make sure the plan worked and to estimate how long it would take to execute. Then banks were required to set aside sufficient capital to keep the lights on while the plan ran on.

This regulation has been indifferently enforced. Banks spent the intervening years insisting that they are capable of prudently self-regulating without all this interference, something they continue to insist upon even after the Silicon Valley Bank collapse:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/15/mon-dieu-les-guillotines/#ceci-nes-pas-une-bailout

The fact that the rules haven't been enforced tells us nothing about whether the rules would work if they were enforced. A string of high-profile bankruptcies of companies who had no succession plans and whose collapse stands to materially harm large numbers of people tells us that something has to be done about this.

Take 23andme, the creepy genomics company that enticed millions of people into sending them their genetic material (even if you aren't a 23andme customer, they probably have most of your genome, thanks to relatives who sent in cheek-swabs). 23andme is now bankrupt, and its bankruptcy estate is shopping for a buyer who'd like to commercially exploit all that juicy genetic data, even if that is to the detriment of the people it came from. What's more, the bankruptcy estate is refusing to destroy samples from people who want to opt out of this future sale:

https://bourniquelaw.com/2024/10/09/data-23-and-me/

On a smaller scale, there's Juicebox, a company that makes EV chargers, who are exiting the North American market and shutting down their servers, killing the advanced functionality that customers paid extra for when they chose a Juicebox product:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/10/2/24260316/juicebox-ev-chargers-enel-x-way-closing-discontinued-app

I actually owned a Juicebox, which ultimately caught fire and melted down, either due to a manufacturing defect or to the criminal ineptitude of Treeium, the worst solar installers in Southern California (or both):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/27/here-comes-the-sun-king/#sign-here

Projects like Juice Rescue are trying to reverse-engineer the Juicebox server infrastructure and build an alternative:

https://juice-rescue.org/

This would be much simpler if Juicebox's manufacturer, Enel X Way, had been required to file a living will that explained how its customers would go on enjoying their property when and if the company discontinued support, exited the market, or went bankrupt.

That might be a big lift for every little tech startup (though it would be superior than trying to get justice after the company fails). But in regulated sectors like automotive manufacture or genomic analysis, a regulation that says, "Either design your products and services to fail safely, or escrow enough cash to keep the lights on for the duration of an orderly wind-down in the event that you shut down" would be perfectly reasonable. Companies could make "software based cars" but the more "software based" the car was, the more funds they'd have to escrow to transition their servers when they shut down (and the lest capital they'd have to build the car).

Such a rule should be in addition to more muscular rules simply banning the most abusive practices, like the Oregon state Right to Repair bill, which bans the "parts pairing" that makes repairing a Fisker car so onerous:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/3/27/24097042/right-to-repair-law-oregon-sb1596-parts-pairing-tina-kotek-signed

Or the Illinois state biometric privacy law, which strictly limits the use of the kind of genomic data that 23andme collected:

https://www.ilga.gov/legislation/ilcs/ilcs3.asp?ActID=3004

Failing to take action on these abusive practices is dangerous – and not just to the people who get burned by them. Every time a genomics research project turns into a privacy nightmare, that salts the earth for future medical research, making it much harder to conduct population-scale research, which can be carried out in privacy-preserving ways, and which pays huge scientific dividends that we all benefit from:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/01/the-palantir-will-see-you-now/#public-private-partnership

Just as Fisker's outrageous ripoff will make life harder for good cleantech companies:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/26/unplanned-obsolescence/#better-micetraps

If people are convinced that new, climate-friendly tech is a cesspool of grift and extraction, it will punish those firms that are making routine, breathtaking, exciting (and extremely vital) breakthroughs:

https://www.euronews.com/green/2024/10/08/norways-national-football-stadium-has-the-worlds-largest-vertical-solar-roof-how-does-it-w

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/10/software-based-car/#based

[luvseisagi]

—s. across the wrong universe.

chapter 07. rooftop talk

(🕷️) smau + narrated ch.

content. cussing. kinda angsty?? idk things get serious

after a long time trailing him through the city —and losing him twice after he left the skyscraper— isagi finally finds the local spiderman sitting on the rooftop of an apartment building. it’s dark, well into the night, but he has no trouble spotting his figure on the edge, legs dangling into the void.

he hesitates for a few seconds before stepping closer. the boy’s probably only a year or two younger than him, but sitting like that —shoulders hunched, head down—, he just looks like a kid. he almost feels bad for having called him spiderfail.

“hey,” isagi says, landing beside him with a long jump. “careful taking your mask off on rooftops at night. last time I did that, someone made a tiktok out of it and it went viral.”

the local spiderman lifts his head, a gasp of surprise crossing his face fleetingly. then, in one swift movement, he gets up, puts his mask on, and pins isagi to the ground.

he looked like a kid just seconds ago, but now he could very much be lethal.

“you finally show your fucking face” he almost spits, his forearm digging into isagi’s clavicles too close to his neck for him to be comfortable “who the fuck are you? what do you want, and what are you doing in my city?”

“hey, hey—chill.” yoichi tries to move his arms, but they’re trapped under his own body. he sighs “i’m not here to hurt you or steal your city. i’m here to help.”

“help with what?” the boy says bitterly “and how the hell do you even exist? there’s no way two radioactive spiders bit two people in the same fucking place.”

isagi swallows hard, but doesn’t respond. he just nods toward the arms still pinning him down, asking the other guy for freedom. a few seconds pass before the local superhero decides he’s not a threat and finally lets him go.

his voice is calmer now, but still bitter, when he repeats, cautiously, “who are you?”

yoichi raises an eyebrow —which, through the mask, probably looks like one eye opening way wider than the other— and answers simply:

“well, i’m spiderman. the amazing spiderman.”

the other boy stares at him for a second.

“no. i’m the amazing spiderman.” he replies, deadpan.

“okay,” isagi sighs. “look, it’s a long story, but i’ve been spiderman in my new york for four years. so i know what i’m talking about when i say: you need help.”

a mask identical to his own replicates his cartoonishly raised eyebrow.

“oh, do i?” the other guy replies, mocking his tone. “well, i do not want your help.”

“and that’s the first problem, right there. you can’t go around pushing cops, being rude to people, or refusing to help grandmas cross the street just because it feels dumb —even if they only want to grab your bicep while you walk them. you’re a superhero, people count on you.”

“i do save kittens in trees,” he mutters.

“that’s not the point.” isagi sighs, again. it sounds tired, though. he wants to be mad at him —angry like he was a few hours ago— but he can’t, really. he remembers too well what it was like to be new and alone, and it was hard.

“being a superhero means sacrifice. you won’t always be able to save everyone. but you have to at least try.”

the boy scoffs and puts a hand to his head—probably a habit, something he does to push his hair back normally. but with the mask on, it just looks like a movement of pure exasperation.

he doesn’t answer immediately. it takes a few seconds, like he’s trying to untangle something that's been sitting in his chest for a long time. something he’s never actually said out loud.

“i didn’t choose this. why should i have to do it if i don’t want to?”

isagi feels something shift in his chest, squeezing his ribs. of course he doesn't want to —he didn’t, either. none of them did.

“none of us chose it,” he answers softly. “but that’s what happens when you’re chosen. call it fate, or the universe, or dumb luck. it doesn’t matter —once it picks you, it sticks.”

the other spiderman takes a few steps toward him. under the dim light coming from the apartment windows across the street, yoichi catches a faint turquoise glow in his suit. 

his voice is quieter this time, sounds muffled through the mask.

“you don’t get it, it’s not about being chosen or not, i don’t give a shit about that. luck? whatever. the universe? sure." he says, voice rising slightly. “but why do i have to save the world? what has the world ever done for me?”

isagi wants to answer, and it doesn't take long for him to realize that he has no words to say. that's something he's never asked himself before —what has the world done for him? 

forced him to break up with his girlfriend. made him quit his job. turned him into a viral meme without his consent. took away his parents. left him with one friend. and put that one friend in danger every day, just because isagi had been dumb enough to let him know the truth.

he closes his eyes, then takes a deep breath. 

that’s not what it is about, and he knows it. the point is not what the world does for you —being a hero means bringing a touch of color to a world that’s gone gray, making people laugh when things feel hopeless. being a sliver of safety for those who can’t protect themselves.

and it’s not a fun job, but it’s what they have to do and what the rookie superhero needs to understand. however, by the time he finds the right words to express all his thoughts, he realizes the boy is already gone.

and maybe that’s the problem —maybe he’s the one running from his own life. maybe he’s the one who can’t be saved, who doesn't want to be saved. maybe the universe made a mistake in choosing him.

yoichi moves fast to the edge of the rooftop. the other spiderman can’t be far —and yeah, there he is. he sees a bluish green blur drop into the fire escape staircase across the street and slip through a window in less than a second.

isagi takes a deep breath, again.

he’s not exactly thrilled about the idea of creeping on someone’s home, even if that someone is technically himself in another universe. but if it helps fix the anomaly —if it helps the city— it has to be done.

he crosses to the far end of the rooftop and crouches near the ledge, keeping a clear line of sight to the building. then, using his ability to defy gravity, he starts climbing down the wall until he reaches the third floor, and stays there.

it doesn’t take long to find the right window. he spots the boy inside, suit off now. he can't even deny that he resembles him in some way.

if he hadn't confirmed already that isagi yoichi doesn't exist in this timeline, he would've thought that guy was him if he listened to my chemical romance and went everyday to the skatepark.

“the universe must’ve had a laugh with this one.” he mutters, smiling bitterly.

the boy has black hair, same length as yoichi’s, only parted to the side. his eyes are the exact turquoise shade of his suit, and they’re framed by long, dark lashes. he’s tall—probably taller than him—and very pale in comparison. baggy black clothes hang off him, but they don’t hide the body shaped by the physical demands that being spiderman require.

for a second, isagi really considers taking a picture of him to search his face online, but he can’t even reach to the pocket in his suit when someone else walks into the room and gets into the frame of the window.

yoichi freezes.

if he weren’t naturally stuck to the wall, he probably would’ve fallen.

what the hell is his ex doing there?

chapter 06. ✦ masterlist. ✦ chapter 08.

tags ౨ৎ @levihanmyotp @inojuuy @blu3-l0v3r @rohfulike @inosukehana @cruziival72 @kuromixheartzzz @koko-77 @kurona-theshark @yoichiin @elliehenry24 @kuronarnze @sugarcor3 @ranzess @lovingmayday @vinzcoke @soph1sticatedly @l0v3ly-st4rs @milkteeboba @ilovewonyo @mivqko @beepbopzlorp @thatmf-jay @angelhqlo1111 @jnkosstuff @ssngkk @c4ttheart @risagichi @neeeooon @emicatz @chokifandom @n0tbelle @veyyluvezcats @saekisserfr @scoosh4you @ihsoti .ᐟ

﹫luvseisagi, june 2025.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 33. more than friends

chapter tags/warnings: this is the last chapter to sex therapy!

word count: 3.9k

notes: please read my final comments in the end notes. thank you forever. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Megumi Fushiguro shouldn't feel awkward, but he did.

With tonight marking the most significant event on the Zenin clan’s monthly calendar, distant relatives and the family conglomerate’s executives convened at a majestic top-floor venue in central Tokyo, the occasion naturally bringing together the country’s most powerful individuals.

As per usual, every detail in the ballroom had been curated meticulously to exude glitz and glamor. Indeed, Megumi felt like a prince amid a golden age, surrounded by the euphonious melodies from the string quartet, the cluster of high-class individuals in tailored suits and dresses, and the fragrances of honeyed orange blossoms and sweet sage.

Megumi had attended these events plenty. Ever since he could tie his own tie, to be exact (which—among the Zenins—was something taught early).

His many experiences should have dulled his senses to this evening’s splendid decorations and live classical tunes. Yet, in the months his father had been estranged from the same household that once again heralded him king, the memories had quickly faded from Megumi's mind, and the teenager essentially found the opulence foreign.

His aunts Mai and Maki had urged him to mingle, but Megumi stood toward the side of the room, shy and aloof as he stared into the human sea ahead.

As much as he tried to seem invisible, Megumi didn’t feel invisible as he caught the many eyes sneaking a look at him discreetly, the eighteen-year-old impossible to overlook given his regal-like appearance.

Of course, people took an interest in him.

Now that a) he was an official adult and b) his father returned as the next family leader, Megumi was the second-in-line to the Zenin throne. Exciting? Maybe. Grateful? Surely.

Except, a fidgety Megumi was just a normal teen who would rather be playing video games tonight.

“A blast to the past, eh?”

He glanced over at the unanticipated voice.

To his surprise, Tsumiki slid into the vacant slot next to him and prodded her younger brother's back, knowing how he tried to appear cool and collected when he actually seemed uptight and restricted.

“Relax a little,” she chided with another nudge. Placing her champagne flute onto a nearby table, she smoothed over her lavender ensemble before adjusting the collar on his royal blue mohair suit. “Old habits die hard, hm? Standing in the corner and hoping no one sees you. Don’t you want everyone to know how smart and capable you are?”

“...No, not really.”

“What? Why?” Tsumiki patted his blazer’s fabric in a finishing move before reaching for her glass again, swirling her drink. “Don’t tell me. Is a certain Harvard-bound first-year shy?”

The said soon-to-be college freshman snorted faintly. “Am not.”

“Sure.”

As she examined her step-brother from the side, she tiptoed, relaxed her feet, and then tiptoed again. "Only been six months since I've last seen you, but you've certainly gotten taller again, Megumi," she remarked, this time swinging her hand around to compare their heights.

“Because you’re shrinking early.”

“Hey!”

As the two continued their squabble, Megumi realized just how keenly he had missed his step-sister. Despite lacking shared blood by definition, the two had constantly found security in each other, a sibling bond that became especially important amid the recent whirlwind.

Tsumiki had only been home for a week, fresh from her university semester abroad in the United Kingdom. Yet, in this short period: 1) Naoya had been ousted from the Zenin household by no one other than Naobito Zenin himself; 2) Amid the power vacuum, the family elders had turned to Toji to reinstate him as CEO, a decision fueled by both their desperation and regret for having doubted him in the past; and 3) With his father back at the helm, Megumi found himself positioned as the next presumed successor.

Of course, who could also possibly forget Tsumiki’s mom?

Megumi had heard how his step-sister had furiously confronted her mother after seeing the latter’s affair published by media outlets. Since then, he hadn’t received any updates, which prompted him to ask: "Where's that woman now?"

‘That woman.’

Even without an explicit mention, Tsumiki knew who he referred to. She stopped swirling her glass and let the flute dangle lazily in her hand.

"I don't know where she’s been, and I don't care,” Tsumiki admitted, her tone impassive. "I would not be surprised if she moved away from Tokyo once she realized too many people knew her face.”

Megumi figured as much, too.

Anyone who wasn’t living under a rock these days could recognize Mari Fushiguro, making her an easy target for verbal harassment on the streets. Netizens online already destroyed her, deeming the woman a slut, a whore, and a homewrecker ‘too easy’ for any Zenin with enough money.

Merciless would be the best word to describe the general public. That much step-siblings knew, especially since both had been on the receiving end firsthand when the Zenin clan cut them off months ago. How fickle those very people could be, too. The same relatives who shamed them now praised them all for the sake of politics, for the sake of money, and little else.

“I heard Naoya left the country, though,” Megumi added, given that the conversation had reached the topic.

“Good for him.”

Tsumiki, on the other hand, did not wish to spend a moment longer thinking about them. She instead exhaled deeply and whirled around, peering into the main hall to observe the multitude of guests enjoying sparkling wine and hor d'oeuvres while chatting about their respective ventures.

As her silence continued, Megumi watched along.

From afar, both noticed their father, encircled by older household members and company directors eager to discuss business matters. Toji’s return naturally brought him overwhelming attention, and—as an experienced leader—he came off as distinguished and dignified as the CEO of Japan's largest conglomerate should.

He greeted approaching guests with his signature charismatic grin, exchanging firm and courteous handshakes that subtly reminded them that these events were more about strengthening business ties than lineage connections.

Megumi and Tsumiki had seen their father like this many times before.

Yet, this evening, the two sensed how his demeanor seemed a touch…different.

"Dad's never looked this happy before," Tsumiki noted aloud first.

Her comment stumped him.

Megumi had to pause, his brow furrowing slightly as he thought. Dad being happy? Then, he realized and vaguely beckoned in their father’s direction.

"Because of her."

Now was the girl’s turn to appear confused. “‘Her?’”

Intrigued, she followed her step-brother’s line of vision and didn’t need much effort to figure out who he referred to. Standing at the other far end of the hall was a woman who, despite her understated maroon dress and simple accessories, radiated with regality like a princess.

The realization dawned upon Tsumiki.

“Isn't…Isn’t that Mister Daisuke L/N’s daughter?” She knew your father from his many years as the Zenin Corporation’s Chief Operating Officer. As for you, Tsumiki continued to stare hard with curiosity. “That's the same lady who had been married to Naoya, right?”

Megumi placed his hands into his front pockets, his nails pressing into his palms as he answered. “Yes.”

“Oh, wow.”

With Tsumiki seeing you for the first time in person, her eyes then began to spark with admiration. She now understood why Naoya Zenin wanted to marry you. Given your polished poise and fluid gestures, you were obviously a woman with a refined background and effortless sophistication, the trophy that her unsavory cousin needed to soothe his small ego and shield him from public scrutiny. Why suffer as an unproven bachelor when he could tout around you?

Detecting his sister's interest, Megumi reached for a glass of apple cider from a serving table and drew in one slow sip. “What do you think if she becomes our new mom?”

“What?!” Tsumiki whipped her head around, taken back by stupefaction again. “Where did that come from?”

To play off his curiosity as something casual, Megumi drummed his fingers along his cup. “Just…a thought.”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly not believing him for a moment before finally letting him free from her scrutiny. “Frankly, I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “This is only the first time I’ve seen her. I need to speak with her first.”

The teenager paused thoughtfully. "Well," and he hummed, "I approve.”

If Tsumki’s shock had not been apparent enough, this time, her jaw fell to the tiled floor.

"That's new!” The girl knew she missed out on some developments during her semester abroad, but she could barely process this whole conversation as revelations kept coming one after another, disorienting her with a flood of unanswered questions that dashed through her mind. She had trouble assessing whether Megumi was serious. If this was a prank, Tsumiki would make sure to send him to Mars. “Normally, you're extremely, extremely judge-y with the women that hang around Dad." Not that she could blame him. "What changed?"

And an amused Megumi shrugged.

"If you talk to her, you'll know.”

Toji Fushiguro was the biggest distraction.

As the man of the hour, he commanded the room such that—despite your best efforts—you couldn’t stop stealing glances in his direction.

Neither could everyone else.

The situation seemed ironic, really, as many of the same people now commending Toji Fushiguro were the ones who had turned their backs on him in the past. The ideal family figure, some lauded, as others approved of his sharp business acumen, but their gushing admiration reminded you of how quickly loyalties could shift in the face of power. With this, guests all around buzzed like bees as they spotted their renewed leader.

To you, Toji was difficult to ignore because his three-piece suit hugged his broad frame wonderfully. The freshly pressed fabric stretched over his sinewy muscles underneath, his satin lapels underlining his flair. His jet black hair had been neatly gelled back while the ink trailing down his arms peeked from beneath his sleeves. Fatigue slightly wore on his features due to his longer hours at work. Yet, in the end, CEO Fushiguro looked striking, handsome, and undeniably robust.

A whistle interrupted your reverie.

“Someone’s staring,” Choso’s voice rang out as he appeared, his words laced with mirth despite his leveled tone.

Averting your gaze immediately, you then watched him adjust the sleeve to his velvet suit. “I am simply admiring him like everyone else,” you countered, trying to play it cool. “Toji’s…just very popular.”

Choso hummed in pretend contemplation. “Admiration is one thing, but you looked like you were in a trance, bimbo.”

Just when your mouth turned dry from the inability to retaliate, Sukuna and Suguru popped up in high spirits, the former offering you a raspberry tart while the latter heartily patted your back.

“What’s with the frown?” Suguru draped a protective arm around your shoulders and noted your little pout before glancing up at the instigator. “Is Choso bullying you again?”

“I am not a bully.”

“Exactly what a bully would say,” Sukuna added this time.

Being stuck in another jest among the three men wasn’t something you had planned for, but dismissing their liveliness was impossible. As they traded pointed jabs, you couldn’t help but smile, their energy a far cry from the iciness that had defined your days as Naoya Zenin’s wife. Since this was your first Zenin family event without your ex-husband’s presence, the evening allowed you to realize how much your previous marriage had weighed upon your spirit.

Most notably, the woman you were earlier this year had clung to Naoya’s empty promises. She swallowed his insults, obeyed his commands, and convinced herself that, despite his belittling actions, he would one day truly love her. That woman had run back to him, apologizing for sins that were never hers to bear, believing that loving him harder could fix what was never hers to fix.

But, due wholly to the support from those around you, that was no longer who you were now.

“Well, what do you think?”

Geto’s question cut through your wandering thoughts, and you blinked rapidly at the unexpected question. “What?”

The pink-haired man purred at your cute and confused expression, unable to help himself from stroking your cheeks, the cold metal from his silver rings icing your hot skin. “Aw, someone spaced out. There’s no fun when you’re not mentally with us too, sweetheart.”

To no avail, you tried to shrink away. “I was just...thinking about how much things have changed. How much I’ve changed, and,” you became shy, “how…lucky I am to have all of you.”

Immediately, the group cooed at your charming comments, complimenting you for being such a ‘good girl’ and a ‘precious doll,’ and how they would do anything to hear sweet nothings from you again.

Even Choso cracked a grin. “We’re amazing, yes.” Quiet on the outside, cocky on the inside. “Who wouldn’t feel lucky?”

Geto elbowed him, a non-verbal sign to shut up. “He’s not wrong, though. You’ve come a long way. We’re proud of you.”

Just when you wanted to thank them again, a synchronized shout chimed along.

“We found you!”

The voices belonged to Mai and Maki. As was typical, the two were keen to converse with you and their animated hands reflected their enthusiasm upon their approach.

As Sukuna, Geto, and Choso stepped aside for them, the twins instantly took the opportunity to link their arms with yours. They dressed in matching cocktail dresses, making them nearly indistinguishable if not for the differences in their updos.

“Girls,” you beamed, happy to spot them. “You both look amazing as always.”

The younger sister shook her head in modest.

“You are even more gorgeous,” she emphasized with overflowing vivace. “You’re glowing these days.”

Mai had to nod in wholehearted agreement. “Looking completely different from how you looked a month ago.”

Forget the opalescent crystals adorning your collar or the subtle makeup highlighting your features. What truly stood out to them was the elegance, assurance, and composure you carried now compared to your timid self from just weeks ago.

Sukuna ran his fingers along the tattoos by his jaw and let out a huff of fake exasperation, wanting them to leave so the therapists could spend more time taunting you. “Guess you’ve both grown old enough so we can’t just order you to go to the kids’ table anymore, huh?”

A proud Mai smirked. “Got a problem?” Her outright challenge led her to receive sulking faces as an immediate response. “We couldn’t let you three hog Y/N all night.”

“Exactly. She’s ours too, you know,” Maki concurred before turning to you. “By the way, can we still call you our favorite in-law?”

At the question, laughter erupted in a homely and unrestrained rhythm to which you soaked in the heartwarming scene. Even if the world could be selfish and cruel, there were beautiful moments like these when people who weren’t bound by blood treated each other like family. They joked around, they laughed together, they fought and argued, but they shared deep loyalty and respect for one another in the end.

Here was where, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you…belonged.

With these thoughts, your sight instinctively drifted across the room and landed on Toji again. He was mid-conversation but seemed to have sensed your stare this time as he turned. When his sharp verdant eyes found yours, your pulse quickened like a mouse caught in the open. What didn't help was how he didn’t look away.

In fact, Toji took your wandering gaze as his signal to hurriedly wrap up his current discussions before he walked in your direction with brisk steps.

Several regional managers chased after him, but the observant Sukuna, Geto, and Choso noted the situation quickly and rushed forward.

“We’re happy to answer any lingering questions,” they interjected, forming a human barricade that closed in on the pursuers. “We work closely with Mr. Fushiguro and can provide further insights on his behalf.”

With the spotlight shifted away from him, Toji closed the distance between you, stopping just a few steps away. The redolences of bergamot and sage greeted your nose with their familiar velvety, spiced notes as he placed a rough hand against your back, his sudden firm touch nearly lifting you off your feet.

“Hey." Even with Mai and Maki obviously there, his green eyes only zeroed in on you. "I could use some fresh air after speaking nonstop for the past two hours. Want to step out onto the balcony with me for a little bit?”

Oh, goodness. Flustered, you didn’t expect your innocent stares to lead into this. “I—” you began, but your hesitation bubbled perceptibly. As a result, Maki pinched your elbow, prompting you to brave past your bashfulness and mutter, “Sure.”

Toji smiled. “Perfect.”

With that, he swept you away from the waving twins, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back to lead you toward the nearby corridor. He didn’t care about the guests who leered in your directions; he rightfully needed a break, and when he brought you outdoors onto the grand terrace, the man’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

He didn’t bring attention to himself, though.

“Everything alright?” he asked instead. The wrought-iron railing ahead framed the twinkling skyline below. “I can imagine your previous experiences at Zenin events like these aren’t the best, so if you feel uncomfortable, you don’t have to…”

His unprompted concern was touching and, when his voice trailed off, you replied by softly shaking your head. “I am doing perfectly fine, don't worry about me. Besides, I have exactly the company that I need here.”

The sincerity in your answer satisfied him, evident in how the tension along his jaw eased. “I’m glad, then. I should check in with you more, shouldn’t I? Sorry that I’ve been busy. Sukuna, Geto, Choso, and I have been neck-deep in redeveloping the company.” Distant lights haloed him like some god as he spoke, and he ran a few thick fingers over inked lines on his neck. “Of course, how can I also not thank our new fantastic secretary?”

There was no need to wonder where Toji’s gratitude stemmed from.

With the therapists thrust back into their roles as corporate leaders, you stepped in to handle their clinic’s appointment schedules and client inquiries. By giving you a renewed purpose in your day-to-day, they were also determined to keep their practices despite their narrowed availabilities, a decision stemming from their dedication to help others during their idle hours. They intended to shift the clinic's focus to more general relationship assistance, which would allow them to broaden their scope and improve the public's favor.

Meanwhile, had it not been for your help, the same four men would not have been able to fully focus on implementing immediate action plans to steer the Zenin Corporation from a public relations and financial disaster. As a result, the company swiftly regained its positive reputation and maintained its position as the nation’s top conglomerate, hardly meeting a dent in total market share despite the shakeup in leadership.

That being said, you didn’t hide your playful pettiness. “I deserve way more than verbal gratitude, you know.”

Testy, and Toji took the chance to humor himself as well. “The answer to that is me.” He winked. “I am already a hundred times a better friend than you expected.”

Some things truly never change. “Arrogant as ever.”

“Only because you know that's true,” and he lolled his head toward his shoulder in pride. “I did let you run your pretty juices in my therapy office, over on my bathroom counter, and inside my executive suite." Hearing him recount all these moments of pure debauchery made you elbow his rock-hard pecs in retaliation, but he continued. "Do you have any idea how much self-restraint a man has to have to let that happen?”

“Probably an immaculate one. Each time, Naoya would ignore me the second after he came.”

“Yeah, well, fuck that guy.” Like Toji cared about having a filter. He found no reason to try to hide his hatred for your former husband. “Officials sent me a note on how that man flew out of the country yesterday afternoon. You don’t ever have to think about him again. You’re with me now, and I warned that fucking bastard to never bother us.” The handsome scar on his lips flexed while he spoke. “Anyway, since you do deserve to be spoiled, you should order all the caviar that you want tonight.”

"Oh?" Impressed by the offer, you jokingly jabbed at his upper arm. "Guess this is what happens once you start making the big bucks again as the Zenin Corporation’s Incumbent CEO and Future Chairman, hm? You weren't this generous before."

Toji frowned. "What do you mean? I've always been a generous man. I gave you my free trial, remember?"

��Yes, only a free trial,” you emphasized, letting his words sink in. “What happens once that ‘free trial’ ends?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that. There’s no expiration date because I like you enough, princess.”

While the pet name was more than enough to make you giddy, his last remarks were what really had you desperate to hide your frazzled face (which, by the way, Toji noticed anyway). "Don't say that."

"Say what?"

"That you...like me. I get flustered easily."

“Don't act like this is the first time. You know I'm straightforward and honest.” A low chuckle slipped past him since he still found your reaction adorable. “I’m too old for drama and playing with people’s feelings. Hey, the cards have always been in your hands. I told you earlier. I’m up to whatever you want to do. For as long as you want, baby.”

“For as long as I want, huh?” The midsummer breezes did not help with the warmth creeping up your neck. “I’ve already clarified before that I wish for us to be friends for a long, long time. Or, as you have suggested before,” and the following thought made more heat suffuse across your cheeks, “…more than friends.”

“Maybe I would happily say yes to that.”

“Just a maybe?”

He huffed in mock annoyance before tugging at your wrist, and you tumbled into his body’s hard planes that you had learned to find comfort in. “Does this feel like ‘just a maybe?’”

Your ensuing silence answered him, and the serene starry night as you snuggled your head into his steady chest was more perfect than words could describe, a soothing escape from the world. He squeezed you tighter, nuzzling his face into your ear while your heart pounded against your ribcage.

So warm, so big, so safe.

“You missed me,” he eventually stated with confidence, and his voice turned husky. Because, oh, he knew. He read you like a book, always.

“I did.”

Only the distant hum from the streets below disrupted the stillness. You sensed his contentment when your neck craned to gaze into his mellow emerald hues, and he similarly pulled away to examine your blissful mien in turn. The two of you became lost, lost in absorbing the peace and serenity such that neither of you detected the third presence that came along.

"Um, hi."

Both heads snapped to the side, gawking at Megumi as he walked in from the doorway.

The eighteen-year-old scratched the back of his head, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink as though he felt embarrassed to interrupt a scene he shouldn't have been watching.

Yet, there's a faint smile on his lips.

"Tsumiki wants to meet you."

𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗘𝗡𝗗

last chapter || (at end)

end notes: (see below)

Thank you to everyone who read, liked, shared, and commented on Sex Therapy!

This work, over the past many chapters, has accompanied me through many moments and milestones in life, and I sincerely cannot thank you all enough for going through this journey with me, Y/N, Toji, and the therapists. This was my first big project; there were many areas in which I excelled and others in which I could've improved. I also never wanted this story to merely be Character x Reader, so I touched upon themes like healing and self-discovery, societal and business dynamics among the elite, and (the illusion of) power versus authenticity.

I didn't expect this work to blow up on TikTok or Wattpad during the work's heydays nor did I anticipate encountering so many fanarts, fan speculations, and fan videos. (Yes, I see everything!) I am going cherish this work and reader's community forever.

As my life picks up, I hope to write sporadically for fun and will likely publish shorter and more lighthearted pieces. On Tumblr, I also want to share some writing tips I've gathered over time. Please feel free to find me on Wattpad and AO3, too! Whether or not we meet again, I wish you all happiness, health, and success. Lots of hugs and love always. XOXO, Jamms.

(P.S. As per my tradition, feel free to comment the date and time you finished reading!)

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @sakuraryomen01 @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzuruu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[midniqhtt]

james potter

masterlist • the marauders • 07/23/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

james potter two

𑣲 you don’t really like me, you just think you do I @perpetuallydaydreaming

𑣲 time warp I @astonishment

when the time-turner breaks, you find yourself at the start of 6th year once again. the only difference? it’s 1976. stuck in a time you shouldn’t even be alive in, you do your best to blend in, anxiously awaiting to see if dumbledore can help you get home. that all goes out the window when you catch the eye of a certain bespectacled boy. and the more time you spend with him, the harder it gets to walk away. but you have to…right?

𑣲 why didn’t we work out I @/astonishment

James Potter had two girlfriends in seventh year at Hogwarts. Y/N Y/L/N, who he dated for five months; and Lily Evan’s, who he dated afterwards. When he’s dared to call on of his exes, guess who’s number he dials…

𑣲 if i kiss you, i’m sorry I @/astonishment

a miscommunication at a party leads to james asking y/n to be his girlfriend and the two quickly find themselves going from strangers to lovers. the problem is, it’s all fake…until it isn’t.

𑣲 on the house @/astonishment

James has a crush on Y/N, a regular at the coffee shop he works at. When he suspects her boyfriend might be cheating on her, he feels the need to get involved.

𑣲 you’re losing me I @/astonishment

you and james potter have a friendship like no other, with the most unbreakable bond…or so everyone thought. when you get hanahaki, you start pulling away from james and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t see, to do anything right. with your friendship being put to the ultimate test, will you find your way back to each other? or will james lose you for good?

𑣲 behind them all I @in-between-thighs

it’s no secret that Hogwarts likes gossip and that it spreads quickly through the hallways but this time when James potter’s new secret girlfriend is the subject of said rumors everyone is scandalized, specially you.

𑣲 shy!reader I @moonstruckme

𑣲 blackcat!reader I @/moonstruckme

𑣲 love letter I @ddejavvu

Your daughter has been the mailman’s little helper for weeks, unbeknownst to you. You decide to take up the chance to get to know him better, after all, it would be a shame if your daughter knew the handsome man who wrote you love letters better than you did.

𑣲 bsf!james no boundaries I @/ddejavvu

𑣲 bsf!james I @/ddejavvu

𑣲 obsessed oblivious bsf!james I @/ddejavvu

𑣲 eyes on you I @lustsickforyou

james potter— if anything, was a flirt until the very end. so when he sees a very pretty girl in the library he couldn’t help himself but to go speak with her.

𑣲 what was i made for? I @once-upon-an-imagine

𑣲 no denial I @slythxn

Is it too late for Lily to finally tell James how she feels? Why deny the feelings one is obviously feeling?

𑣲 playing pretend I @dilf-lover99

When Reader's best friend James requests her assistance capturing the attention of Lily Evans, the two decide to make some changes to their relationship. Sort of.

𑣲 is it chill that you’re in my head? I @boneblushed

your best friend James isn’t sure why he’s so angry about the fact that you’re going on a date with someone else.

𑣲 readers first time I @moonlightspencie

𑣲 i can see you I @pretty-little-mind33

James panics when he sees what his boggart is.

𑣲 gorgeous I @/pretty-little-mind33

You and James stumble upon an ancient book of spells rumored to enhance pleasure.

𑣲 thank you, mclaggen I @ellecdc

𑣲 pregnant!reader I @/ellecdc

𑣲 i’ve got plans sorry part 2 I @livinginshambles

James is whipped. He adores his girlfriend so much, to the point that it starts to bother his friends. His reaction to a confrontation about it with his friends is to completely pull away from you, always finding new excuses to avoid you, leaving you to try and approach him. When you overhear him trying to be cool under peer pressure and say that you're too clingy, you also start pulling away, using the same excuses.

𑣲 i’d thought you’d be different part 2 part 3 I @/livinginshambles

A cinderella story (maybe a little romeo and juliet while we're at it) but Hogwarts - Enemies-ish to lovers. You find an enchanted parchment through wich you anonymously talk to a stranger (James). When you meet him at the Yule ball, he is not who you expected, but you give him a chance. When you realise that was clearly a mistake, you flee cinderella style.

𑣲 how much are we worth? I @/livinginshambles

Sirius bets that James can't get a girl to go out with him. James pursues you and falls for you. You are hurt when you find out that you were just a bet, even more when you realise how little they bet on you.

𑣲 obsessed I @lucyrose191

It’s no secret that James Potter is absolutely obsessed with his girlfriend and he couldn’t be more in love.

𑣲 i guess i thought it would be harder for you to let me go I @morwap

𑣲 saudade I @embrassemoi

James Potter realized he spent years chasing after the wrong girl. But is it too late to finally tell you how he feels?

𑣲 flipped I @wicchyy

you’ve been obsessed with James since you met him, but he doesn’t feel nearly the same. then, he’s flipped.

𑣲 caramel pie I @ballroamblitz

james smells caramel pie on the amortentia potion

𑣲 warm I @astralee

james deems you marriage worthy because you play with his hair (and he likes you)

𑣲 triwizard tournament I @patrophthia

𑣲 big, strong james potter I @rainydayathogwarts

James Potter is just a big softie with a praise kink and a girlfriend who feeds it, especially during sex.

𑣲 moth to a flame I @santaasi

what could be more forbidden than loving your brother's best friend?

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (07)

chapter seven: built to break

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; the gorlies are fighting...?, not much for warnings in this chapter ig word count: 4.3k note: i finally got off my ass and wt is finally back lol. i had a last minute change of plans and thought "oh! you know what would be pretty neat? if we prolong the angst so everyone can be sad for longer!" <3 and this is how i announce that the next chapter is not wt8 but wt7.5 and it's written from his pov <3 merry christmas

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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I’ll hold my breath as I wait for your answer I’ll leave it up to you Tell me whether it’s yes or no Baby, love me or leave me tonight

Love Me or Leave Me - Day6

The warning signs, they're there. You can see them before they materialize. You know your own tells.

Your metaphorical bags are packed, your shoes are already on. You're about to run again, leave a half empty house before it has the chance to become a home. No one has to tell you that you're a flight risk; you're well aware of it yourself.

Wednesday Min: got plans tonight? You: booked and busy with ze old canvas Min: tomorrow? You: same thing probably. sorry Min: u're working hard lately You: yeah this one is just driving me crazy and i need it to turn out decent Min: it'll be perfect. it's u

Thursday Min: running errands at the store Min: want me to bring u anything? that caramel popcorn u like?

Friday Min: don't work too hard. remember to eat

That was three days ago, the last time you'd heard from him after you left him on read. It wasn't a complete lie; this project is driving you kinda crazy and you do need it to end up a decent piece, but you weren't exactly holed up in your apartment to slave over your painting. And you suppose Minho didn't find it all that suspicious because you tend to do this sometimes - disappear for a couple of days and force yourself to focus whenever you had a project to finish, before you come back to everybody again. You've come back to him before; it stands to reason that you'll do it again.

It's been about two weeks since you'd seen him, though the memories of that evening are still fresh in your mind - the evening of the group dinner, when he'd kissed you goodnight and left for his parents' house the following day. True to his words, he did send you pictures of the cats - ones of Soonie wearing a matching hoodie with him, a few of Doongie and Dori napping at the foot of his bed. There was an accompanying text - The kids miss you - along with a frowning emoji, and it made you wonder if what he really meant was I miss you.

You wanted him to miss you, because you missed him too.

The photos brought a smile to your face despite the predicament you found yourself in. A smile that was short lived, a smile that was soon wiped off when you realized your heart shouldn't be swelling with that much affection for him. It shouldn't, but the truth was that it did and you don't know how to live with it.

Love isn't something you've ever learned to hold.

It's beautiful yet full of thorns, and your hands are too clumsy to ever keep it from slipping from your fingers.

You remember when you first met Minho. Freshman year, at some popular senior's house party.

It feels like forever ago when you were just an awkward freshman at orientation who didn't have a single clue on how to make friends. Jess was your first friend in college, and you'll always be grateful that you got along well enough that she adopted you into the group with the rest of the guys.

You didn't cross paths with Minho until you were already acquainted with everyone else. On the night of the party, you remember being enamored with him for those couple of hours, and it wasn't the side effect of too many solo cups of cheap beer. Who in their right mind wouldn't be infatuated with him? He was beautiful, absolutely alluring, and you would always tell him as much.

Back then, he had brown hair, slighter shorter than now but it was tinted with the most gorgeous shade of red. You didn't know much about Minho, only been told that he was pretty quiet and might be off-putting to new people. It was sort of true; that night, you were intimidated by the aura he exuded. Mysterious, couldn't be bothered, didn't seem to give a shit. He looked like a scary little thing, while you were the new kid who was only trying to observe everyone's dynamics, not wanting to overstep any unspoken boundary.

To this day, you're still not sure what really happened, how you two immediately clicked and he's been one of the most important parts of your life ever since.

Maybe it was just him. Maybe it's always been him.

Minho, the one who makes you smile when all you want to do is curl up and cry. The one who makes you laugh when you look for joy but the search comes up empty. The one who grounds you every time you lose your way. Your anchor, the safe harbor you can always return to. The light at the end of a long, long tunnel.

You don't know where you stand, don't know where it goes from here now that everything is changing. He told you so himself, that nothing changed for him, but how could he possibly know that everything is changing for you? And it infuriates you to no end because you don't even have anyone to talk about this with. You're the only person whose world is being turned upside down after all.

You can't tell your friends because they can't know about you and Minho. You can't tell Minho because what would you even say? That you think you're in love with him? That the implications of what it means are devastating to you?

For the first time, you regret everything. Kissing him that night, sleeping with him, becoming whatever this is with him. Letting down your guard and falling for him somewhere along the way and you didn't even stop to notice it. You regret all of the decisions you've made up until now, because they've only led you to the point of no return, the point of losing him. You made bad decision after bad decision after bad decision, until you couldn't anymore. All along, there's been no one else to blame but you.

Maybe it hasn't happened yet, but it's inevitable. You will lose him. You are going to lose him.

There's no other ending, no other alternative that you can imagine. You're going to leave because you're a coward and it's what you do best. You ruin things before they get a chance to hurt you. You leave because if you don't leave then you'll be left behind, and you'd rather not bear the brunt of it.

Now, when you think of Minho, the thought is always accompanied by a painful reminder - Nothing changed for him.

When you get to the cafe, Hyunjin and Seungmin are already seated in a corner booth, three drinks in front of them, one of which they'd ordered for you before you arrived.

You slide into the seat next to Hyunjin, smiling at him appreciatively for the drink. There's still over half an hour before you have to walk to your shared class, over half an hour before Seungmin parts ways with you two to do whatever or whoever it is that Seungmin does on his off days.

"I still think it's Nara," Hyunjin says, casually sipping his iced coffee.

"Nara from your Lit class last semester?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"I saw them talking at a party once."

"Okay. And?"

"And what? That's it."

"That's... all the evidence you have to back up your claim?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You wave your hands in front of them. "What are you bozos talking about?"

"He’s still trying to figure out who Minho is hooking up with," Seungmin is the one who answers you without missing a beat, then he turns back to Hyunjin. "Anyway, it can't be Nara. She's dating Jaehyun on the basketball team."

The friend next to you flails his arms like a petulant child, like he couldn't have possibly seen this coming, like he was so sure that he had finally solved the mystery. "Great. I'm back to square one again."

You straighten your back and reach for your drink, tentatively gulping down the beverage as if it'll hide the fact that you've gone stiff the second this topic is brought up. You feel bad about it, sure. These are your friends that you're lying to after all. They don't have to look anywhere far; the answer to the secret is right in front of them.

"We're still on about that?" you ask in the calmest, most nonchalant voice you can muster. You usually consider yourself a believable liar (which, to be honest, isn't really a flex at all), but whenever someone mentions this little arrangement between you and Minho that shouldn't be common knowledge for anyone else, you feel like you're been put under a spotlight for the whole world to scrutinize.

"Duh," Hyunjin says. "You know, I'm kinda surprised that you don't know. You two are like, attached at the hip sometimes."

You give him a thoughtless shrug, your hands fiddling with the sticker on the plastic cup as you avoid looking at either of your friends. "Maybe he just wants to keep private things private, y'know? You wouldn't like either if all of us is suddenly all up in your business. And besides, what if it's just casual?"

Hyunjin scoffs. "Please, I'm an open book. I tell you guys everything. I tell you every time I hook up with someone."

"Yeah, but you see, literally no one needs to know that," Seungmin says.

The taller one only scoffs, waving his hands around dismissively in Seungmin's direction before he turns to you. "If it was just casual, would he save her name as - oh my God, I forgot what her contact name is. Freaking bird person or something."

You make a face. "What?"

"Dude, seriously?" Seungmin rolls his eyes. "You forgot one word? Dove? What is the matter with you?"

Perhaps it's the half-hearted teasing judgment in Seungmin's voice that makes Hyunjin take offense and drop the topic. The conversation veers off course when they start bickering like children in the busy cafe. You suppose it works in your favor, but you can't focus. You drown it all out.

Your hand is still on the cup but the sticker has been left alone and forgotten, half peeled off, half still clinging to the plastic underneath the condensation.

The single word repeats itself in your mind, over and over and over again.

The entire time you're in class, you don't really focus on anything. You can't bring yourself to listen to whatever your professor is saying, not after what Hyunjin and Seungmin told you earlier. At some point, your friend has to nudge your shoulder to bring you back down to earth when usually, you're the one who has to remind Hyunjin to pay attention. Class ends soon enough though; time tends to fly by when your mind is lost elsewhere.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asks with his bag slung over his shoulder, slowing down his steps to match your speed as you walk out of the lecture hall together.

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. "Nothing's wrong. I was just tired."

"You wanna grab dinner with me and Felix?"

Any other day, you would've agreed in a heartbeat. But today, you want to be alone. Sometimes, you'd rather wallow in your own misery than settle for a temporary distraction.

You're still stuck on the conversation from earlier, on the small detail that Hyunjin and Seungmin had let slip in the cafe.

Dove.

His dove.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Perhaps it's only a nickname that he's assigned to you out of mere platonic fondness, but it makes you conscious about the dove on your own wrist nonetheless, the one that you feel compelled to hide from your friends underneath your long sleeve.

"No, it's okay," you tell Hyunjin. "I'll just go home and sleep it off."

"Okay. I can walk you for a bit," he says. "Just wait with me here. Minho's coming to give me back something he borrowed."

"Minho's coming?" you ask too quickly for it to sound casual. There's a panicked edge that you can hear in your own voice, though you don't think Hyunjin picks it up as he unlocks his phone and types something on the screen.

"Yeah, he was at the library. He's coming over right now, should only be a couple minutes. Then I'll walk back with you."

You shift on your feet uneasily, but you cover it up by rubbing your hands on your arms to pretend like you're just cold. There's no excuse that you could think of that would justify why you can't stand here with Hyunjin for just two more minutes, without giving it away the fact that you're avoiding Minho.

You take in a quiet breath, put on your best brave face. Casual, nonchalant. It's just Minho. Just Minho...

He comes up from behind, where you can't see him. A warm hand gently lands on your shoulder, and it takes everything not to shy away from his touch. It takes even more not to lean into his side.

You've missed it. You've missed him.

"Hey." He smiles at you while Hyunjin only gets a nod in acknowledgment.

"Hey." You return the smile, though you're sure you look a little rigid. You can tell there's an inkling of confusion in his eyes when he senses that your energy is off, but you're thankful he doesn't comment on it, at least not in front of Hyunjin anyway.

You don't notice the paper bag in his other hand until he hands it to your other friend with a simple Thanks, to which Hyunjin just nods along in a silent You're welcome.

"I was going to walk with Y/N for a bit and then meet Felix for food," he tells Minho. "You wanna get burgers with me and Lix?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry, I had a late lunch. I'll take the walk though."

You didn't plan on being alone with Minho today, even though you knew you had to talk to him eventually. You just thought you had a little more time, at least until you got your shit together and face him with a brave façade.

Minho's hand brushes yours the entire time you walk, and it's nothing if not confusing. It's unbearable, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to intertwine them with his.

It persists even after Hyunjin has waved you goodbye to you two and turned to head wherever he and Felix agreed to meet. You think Minho would hold your hand now that it's just you and him, but he doesn't. He lets your skin continue to brush, lets you suffer alone and wanting in your sunken disappointment.

It has very little to do with him and everything to do with you, the conflicting thoughts inside your head piling up one by one the more time you spend in his presence.

Dove, the brief display of jealousy at Yeonjun's party, the way he looks at you sometimes that you can't really decipher the meaning behind, how he kisses you so tenderly that it can't possibly be strictly platonic. You want these things to all mean something, and yet...

You want him to hold your hand, but you know you'd wave it off if he tries to reach for your fingers. You want him to stop you right then and there to kiss you breathless, just as he had that night two weeks ago, even though you're sure you'd only dodge his lips and push him away. You want to stay, you want to leave. You're terrified of things changing, but you wish that something, anything, would be different for him; that you aren't the only one who's spinning out of control. You love him, but you wish you didn't.

Eventually, Minho asks, "You okay?"

It's not until now that you realize this is the first time you've ever been this quiet around him. You purse your lips, glancing down briefly at your feet as you keep on treading the rest of the way home. "Yeah, all good. I'm just tired," you tell him, visibly unenthusiastic despite the smile you try to fake. "I just need to sleep it off."

"The project stressing you out?"

"I guess, yeah."

"And here I thought maybe you were avoiding me," he says, half a joke, half inquisitive. "Were you?"

"Was I what?"

"Were you avoiding me?"

You give him a weird look, one that's meant to be dismissive and call his question ridiculous even though you know you've been caught. And maybe it's the over-the-top glance that you throw his way and the way your pitch goes higher when you reply, "Why would I be avoiding you?" that makes him stop walking.

On the other side of the street, there's a couple of kids in high school uniforms, exchanging shy glances and sharing fond giggles.

Minho calls your name softly, and it's like you're just waiting for the ball to drop. You don't want to turn back and look at him, but what other option do you have? What else is there to do?

You can't decipher the expression on his face. He's still calm, but the air has turned serious, the silence of the mostly empty streets surrounding you only serves as the soundtrack of your impending heartbreak. The tender and innocent laughter fades away when young love moves further and further from where you stand. "What?" you ask with faux nonchalance as you look at him, another attempt at stalling. Biding your time even though a few more minutes aren't going to do any good for your case.

Anyone with half a braincell could tell that clearly it's not the truth, let alone someone who has learned to read you better than the back of his hand. He doesn't look like he believes you, though he doesn't push it, much to your surprise.

"Okay," he says after a moment of studying you, and this should be the part where you heave a sigh of relief because he's letting you off the hook for now, but your chest doesn't feel lighter at all. Your head is clouded with dread, with the anticipation that you're only delaying the inevitable.

You walk the rest of the way in awful silence, because you know that he knows something is wrong. You try your best to appear composed, but he sees right through you. You know he does.

You must look like a frightened animal, one that's about to take off running any second now.

When you reach your building, Minho is quick to keep you with him before you can make up a lame excuse and bolt.

"Hey," he starts, his voice so impossibly gentle that it hurts. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Heavier and heavier, it weighs you down until you feel like your chest is going to collapse. The nerves gnaw on you, clawing into you until you feel your heartbeat quicken, the overwhelming dread simmering low in your belly.

"I know," you say, but deep down, what you're really thinking is, Not this. This is the one thing I can't tell you.

"Is everything okay?"

It's the way that Minho's got his gaze set on you with those deep brown irises, the concern so apparent in them that it hurts you. It's the way he looks like he wants to reach out and touch you - a comforting hand on your shoulder or your back like you're so familiar with - but he has to hold himself back or you might slip away.

It's him, how he always puts you first, how he cares about you in ways that you've never been cared about before. He understands you, he sees you. It feels like it could be love if you let the lines blur just enough.

Is love supposed to hurt? Like this?

Maybe it's not that you don't know how to hold love. Maybe it's because you're not meant to hold it at all. Insignificant, unlovable.

And... it's the reminder that cuts through the dread like the sharpest knife.

You leave his question unanswered, because nothing is okay and you can't tell him any of it. You can't lie to him either, because it's the last thing that you want to do to him.

Instead, you ask, "We're good... right? We're okay?"

"What do you mean?"

You gesture between the two of you, though you're not sure what that's supposed to signify. "Just...," you trail off for a second, hesitant. "Nothing's changed, right?"

Minho doesn't answer right away. He looks at you for a moment, searching for something in your eyes that you can't tell if he's able to find.

He nods, seemingly wistful as he says, "Nothing's changed."

He seems unsure about it, at least more than he was just a few weeks ago when he told you the same thing in your apartment with his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The tug between his brows - though barely noticeable - tells you as much.

Is it because something is different now? Or does he only sound uncertain out of concern, because of you and how you're acting?

Then he continues, "For me, at least."

And there it is.

It's the confirmation this time around that turns you inside out so his simple words could cut into you.

You swallow thickly, put on a smile like you're pleased with his answer even though you're trying your hardest to stop yourself from shaking. Whatever energy you had left is instantly drained from you just because of a few words.

Your sentences get smashed together, tangled up like barbed wire and they only make you bleed when you try to pull them apart. All your nervous tics coming out to play despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. A frustrated hand running through your hair, gripping at the roots a little harshly. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes turning glassy for a split second before you blink the moisture away, because you can't let Minho see you like this. See you trying to keep your pathetic heart intact while he's none the wiser.

He's fine. And unlike you, he's going to be okay when this is over.

Unavoidable and inevitable, the end will come whether you like it or not. You're the only one who won't make it out unscathed, and it will only shatter you into more pieces the longer you drag this out.

Just rip the bandaid off. Salvage whatever you can. Stop digging the grave even deeper for yourself.

One second, then two, then three. You don't speak until you have enough faith that your voice is even enough to carry out a few sentences.

"Okay, uhm... I think I need some time for myself. We should..." But it isn't, and you crack halfway through. The sound is deafening to your own ears. "We should take a break. We should stop this."

Minho doesn't question if you mean the secret between the two of you, or your friendship entirely. Instead, he asks, "Why?"

"I told you." You clear your throat. "I need time for myself."

You can't tell what he's thinking, but the knife twists inside of you nonetheless.

He takes a step closer, you take a step back.

You watch as his face falls, and the same feeling mirrors itself within the confines of your ribcage. Your heart drops at the sight of his eyes, deep brown irises stained with a little confusion, then a little hurt though it lasts for only a few seconds. The slight slump of his shoulders, the absence of the familiar playfulness he always sports when he's with you.

He blinks.

"Time for yourself, or time away from me?"

You say nothing.

You don't address his question directly, and your reluctance to do so is a loud enough answer in and of itself. "Why does that matter? What's the difference?"

"It matters if I did something to upset you."

"You didn't."

"Okay. So?"

This is confusing, because he's not letting you rip the bandaid clean off and you don't know why. "Nothing's changed, right? If it didn't mean anything to you, why can't you just drop this?"

Minho is quiet for a beat. His eyes are searching again, but this time, you think he finds something.

Everything is still and you hate it - the silence of the streets, the scrutinizing orange glow of the streetlights as if they're watching the scene unfold, even the innocent cat that's sitting by itself on the balcony on one of the floors higher up. You hate all of it.

"I never said it didn't mean anything," he tells you.

It makes you a little angry for some reason, and there's enough red to cloud your vision because his words are contradicting and you're tired, you're so exhausted that you can't focus on what it is that he's really saying.

"So you lied to me?"

"I've never lied to you."

"I asked you before and you said nothing's changed. Now you're saying whatever this is didn't not mean anything. Make up your mind."

It gets redder when he keeps his eyes fixed on you, still so calm despite the frown that has returned to its place between his brows. Still so collected, while you're being pulled apart at the seams.

The ball doesn't drop the way you expect it to. It keeps falling so insufferably slowly, hanging over you like it's mocking you for being stupid, like it's milking every second of suspense to make you implode.

Until Minho speaks next and suddenly, it feels like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. His voice, still so soft and tender. His eyes, reading something in yours that you can't bear to admit out loud.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.06.2024]