#intent-based clustering

[infoanalysishub]

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[miedei]

remus is very pretty (and overwhelming) in the morning.

The boys dorm is quiet in a way you’ve rarely seen. Stirring in Remus’ bed, you peer bleary-eyed through the curtains around his bedframe, seeing that the room is empty, the other beds adorned with crumpled-up bedsheets.

Faintly, you remember James mentioning something about an early-morning prank in the Great Hall, and decide to make the most of the solitude, laying back down next to Remus. He’s sleeping heavily, in a way that he only really does around this time of the month, a week and a half after his last transformation and a few days before the early symptoms of the next one start to creep in. 

Taking advantage of his state, you shift, laying your torso over his and tangling your legs together. Propping your chin up on his sternum, your eyeline is full of him. His neck, his face, the sandy hair sticking straight up from his scalp.

Despite having dated for months, you can’t help but get nervous when his introspective gaze is directed at you. For that reason, you often find yourself wishing you had more time to simply stare, before you get far too flustered and have to look away. So, despite wishing he was awake so you could talk, you figure you might as well capitalize on this rare form.

You allow yourself to melt on his torso, pressing your cheek against his sternum as your left hand comes up to rest delicately on his collarbone. Eyes roving over him, you take in the many intricacies of Remus. 

The jagged scars that track from his face down to his chest, the ones you know go all the way down to his heels. The little moon and sun tattoos he’s got on his left shoulder, stick and pokes that Sirius did when they were in first year. Moles and freckles that form constellations, ones that you can see on the insides of your eyelids whenever you get a bit too lovedrunk on him. 

You imagine you look quite lovedrunk right now, eyes dopey with sleepiness and adoration, not daring to look away for even a second. 

Soaking it in, your index finger begins to trace his skin as softly as possible. You follow a scar from his jaw to his clavicle, the raised skin rough against the pad of your finger. It’s a relatively new one. You remember the morning after his transformation, sitting in the Hospital Wing as Madam Pomfrey puttered around his bed, applying tincture after tincture to the angry wound. 

Repressing a shudder at the memory, you move on to a cluster of freckles at the base of his throat. They form a lopsided star, and you smile to yourself as you trace the shape over and over, eyes trained on the small spot of skin.

“...What’re you doing, dove?” You jolt softly at the interruption, looking up sheepishly at Remus’ lidded eyes. His voice is thick with sleepiness, a low rumble in his chest that sends sparks down your spine.

You get momentarily lost in his eyes, pools of amber and oak that seemingly go on forever. Only when he brings a hand up to your hip, squeezing gently, do you answer. 

“Just looking,” His lips quirk up at your words, thumb rubbing up and down your hipbone steadily.

“Looking? At what, me?”

You smile bashfully, your finger never ceasing its movements against his throat.

“Yeah. Just admiring you.”

He puffs some breath out of his nose in amusement, eyes glinting as the sunrise peeks through the windows.

“Yeah?” His eyes dance with mischief as he watches you.

Alright, that’s enough. You’ve endured it as long as you can, the all-too-familiar flush creeping up your neck at his intent gaze. With a groan, you raise your head, shifting your legs so you can begin to roll off of him.

“Hey, where’re you going?” A heavy arm comes up from your hip to wrap around your back, forearm keeping you clasped firmly against his chest. He laughs at your wriggling, his voice low.

“Thought you were admiring me, what happened?”

Realising the futility of your struggle, you give up, burying your face in his chest with a frustrated sound. Your voice comes out muffled, but he hears every word. He doesn’t think he could ever miss a word you say.

“Can’t do it when you’re looking at me.” You cringe at your own voice, the words sounding exceedingly petulant.

“No? That why you were trying to sneak it? Look at me while I’m asleep? Y’little creep.” His voice drips with affection, despite the torment of his words.

Your muffled cry of embarrassment softens him, his free hand coming up to card through the hair at the back of your head.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dovey. Y’know I like it when you look at me. Should I close my eyes for you?” 

You grumble at his words, flicking his side, taking advantage of his dramatic yelp to roll out of his arms.

“You’ve ruined it. No more admiring today.”

His strangled sound of protest follows you all the way out the door.

[purplealmonds]

Finished this just in time for the new trailer drop! This is my Mononoke illustration featuring assorted merch from the anime, movie, and stage play! How many can you recognize? ⚖️👹

(Yes, please send answers in the replies! Answers, progress pics, artist commentary will be drafted on a separate post when I'm less tired) ⭐️ UPDATE 04/03/24: Abridged artist commentary is now available under the cut! For the full version, please see the Google Doc linked in the replies.

👁️Overview 

Late last year, I rather belatedly discovered Mononoke’s 15th anniversary came and went, and with it, an entire swath of new content to manically pore over. This is an illustration of the various Mononoke merchandise, props, and set dressing I discovered.

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🔎Scope

Some fun facts regarding the work that went into this illustration!

Not including research time, this project ran for roughly two months, consuming much of my waking hours outside of my full time and freelance jobs.

While the illustration does not depict all of my findings, it does feature over 120 unique props and set dressings!

The majority of the props and set dressing were modeled to varying degrees of detail in SketchUp.

To model prep, I often put together schematics on Photoshop or Illustrators. Some were created from scratch. Others were created with the liberal usage of the Photoshop transform and perspective warp function. 

The master file is 1.5GB. The dimensions are 6400x3600 at 300 dpi, and contains over 2,200 layers. 

Near the end of production, the master file became so unwieldy I created a separate working file. This way, I could create assets lag-free then import the layers into the master file. 

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Past this point is where most of the commentary cuts were made for the sake of brevity. Again, look in the replies for the Google Doc link containing the full version with a table of contents for easier navigation!

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🗳️3D Layout

As you can see, the backbone of this illustration is the 3D model. I spent perhaps 30-40% of my production time on this stage.

And this is the lit version. The lighting ultimately got downplayed in favor of showcasing the vibrant colors. I like how simple it looks though!

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🎬Production-Based Set Dressing

In addition to merchandise, I wanted to insert set dressing and props from the various Mononoke productions. 

🦊Kusuriuri

It’s odd to have a section dedicated just to him, but his unique appearance warrants it. His garb and overall appearance is an amalgam of the anime and movie. The original intent was ambiguity– kind of like the blue/black vs. yellow/white dress phenomena a few years back. But after doing the color flats, I rather liked how the rich, unaltered colored fit with the overall composition so it became more blatant. I’m surprised that nobody has commented on this since I published the illustration. Maybe because I didn’t feature him in a close-up?

🐈 kai ~Ayakashi~Bake Neko (2006)

Finding props iconic to this story arc (outside of the Kusuriuri’s tools of trade, of course) was somewhat difficult. While the environment was richly decorated, it mainly consisted of 2D artwork which I wasn’t keen on retracing. I opted to paint objects that characters interacted with or featured heavily in the show.

Salt Jar

Candlestick

Rat Trap

🦋Mononoke (2007)

The props fall into three distinct categories here: Kusuriuri’s tools and trinkets; things featured in the opening and ending credits; and objects iconic to each of the five story arcs in the series. I tried to keep most of them clustered on the tatami, but as space grew scarce some props trickled up onto the deck as well.

Medicine Box

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Mirror

Ring

Geta Sandal

Necklace

Paper Umbrella (Zashikiwarashi)

Daruma Dolls ( Zashikiwarashi)

Gunpowder Ball (Umi Bozu)

Smoking Pipe (Nopperabou)

Genjiko Blocks (Nue)

Train Ticket (Bake Neko)

Lantern (Anime OP)

Butterflies (Anime EP)

☂️Mononoke: Karakasa (2024)

Pretty slim pickings for the new movie since I only had the teaser, first trailer, and movie poster to reference from. Kusuriuri’s tools of trade were a given, but finding memorable and narratively significant objects was a tad troublesome.

Thankfully, the set dressing ended up (however subconsciously) strikingly similar to the movie’s environment design, down to the green tatami and multicolor shoji screen. I suppose at this point I was so immersed in Mononoke content that its aesthetics subconsciously informed my design choices! 

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Comb

Movie Poster

Butterfly (Custom design)

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🪭Official Merchandise

Goods related to canonical narratives and/or productions.

🎊15th Anniversary

Mononoke Shu - A light novel by Hideyui Niki & illustrated by 2964_KO

Whiskey Glass & Box

📖 Key Frame Art Books by Hashimoto Takashi

Ayakashi Key Art Frame Book (2010)

Key Frame Art Book vol.9 (2017)

📚Manga by Yaeko Ninagawa

Kai Ayakashi: Bake Neko Vol. 1-2

Kai Ayakashi: Mononoke Prequel

Mononoke Vol. 1-10

🎭Butai Mononoke

Bakeneko Pamphlet 

Zashikiwarashi Pamphlet

Zashikiwarashi Acrylic Standees

Zashikiwarashi Manegi

💿Physical Media

Official OST CD

DVD Box Set

Yokai Pattern Fabric

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Common Collab Merchandise

This category consists of goods that are generally more affordable and feature graphics from the source material with minimal alterations.

Amnibus

Wall Scrolls

Tenugui Fabric 

Shot Glasses

Minoyaki Bean Plates

ANIGA-TER

Stickers

Can Badges

Canvas Prints

Anique

Diorama Acrylic Stand

Acrylic Blocks

Challenge Kuji

Kusuriuri & Hyper Clocks

eeo Store Online

Folding Fan

Keychains

Can Badges

gj character G

Cushion

Acrylic Charms

Neo Gate

Satchels

Mini Badges

Mini Badges by Mame Shinoda

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High-End Collab Merchandise

Goods which derive motifs from the characters, props, and patterns from the production and transform them in an elevated manner through abstraction or usage of precious materials.

gj character G

Exorcism Sword Ring

Goodsmile

Kusuriuri Nendoroid Figurine

Folding Screen

Kusuriuri & Hyper Plush

Tote Bag

Kaya

Umbrella

Tenbin Kanzashi

Tabi Socks

Dress

Kotobukiya

Figurine

Mayla

Pump Heels

Kusuriuri & Hyper Hairpins

Tenbin Earrings

Hyper Earrings

Noitamina Apparel

Perfume

Tenbin Necklace

Folding Fan

Super Groupies

Purse

Wallet

Watch

Tsumuji Design

Exorcism Sword Necklace

Ofuda Bracelet

Useless Use Lab

Fragrance Set

Air Purifier

Three-Sided Mirror

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Rise in the Heat

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader Warnings: Angst, smut. Word count: ~4.6k

Summary: Tom comes to watch her perform every night while he's on shore leave, and he's a good tipper. When she finally relents and agrees to meet up with him for a drink, she's dismayed when he doesn't show up, and keen to find out why.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

There was something magical about a portside bar. On the nights when the Argentinian heat was so thick in the air it felt as though she could taste it, the cigarette smoke hung around the dingy yellow lamps like tendrils of silk. With the press of bodies all clustered around the stage, sipping sticky glasses of dark rum, it was easy to forget that the world was in the midst of a war. There was freedom in standing in front of a crowd and singing, she didn’t even have a microphone. An upturned soapbox served as her stage, a pint glass by her feet for the punters to throw their loose change into if they felt so inclined. In exchange for working behind the bar four nights a week, the landlord allowed her to take a room above the ramshackle little pub and sing in exchange for tips on the remaining three, if she wanted to. There had yet to be a night when she hadn’t wanted to. Her audience were usually all sailors on shore leave, who hadn’t seen a woman in weeks, and so by the end of each of her three nights off, the tip glass was usually overflowing.

Tonight was the beginning of two evenings off in a row for her. She stepped up onto her makeshift stage, the curls at the nape of her neck already clinging to her skin with a combination of sweat and humidity, and was met by cheers and whistles as she wet her lips, took a breath and then launched into her own rendition of Tar Paper Stomp. Her eyes moved over the crowd of sailors as she sang, some faces more familiar than others, but it was one in particular who stood out to her. He was tall, around six feet, and so easy to pick out of a crush of bodies, with sandy coloured hair and blue eyes that twinkled with mischief whenever he flashed one of his crooked grins. He tipped well – better than anyone, actually – while most of her audience would throw a half penny into her tip glass, occasionally a centavo if they’d received one in their change, this particular naval officer was far more generous. Every night that he had watched her since arriving in port two weeks ago he had dropped an entire shilling into her glass. It was a gesture she appreciated, but she knew better than to believe it was without intent, and he proved her right when he would push to the front at the end of every set he watched to ask to buy her a drink.

“I can buy my own, thank you,” came her curt response each time. He was handsome, but getting involved with someone who was at risk of never returning once they shipped out again was not an emotional investment that she was prepared to make. She had witnessed too much loss already. She simply wanted to sing and allow the world to pass her by in the warm embrace of the South American heat, until the world returned to normal once more. Then she would take the tip money she had saved, return home and buy herself a nice little place in the country. That was the dream.

By the time she finished her set, she noticed that he hadn’t come up to the front as usual to drop a shilling in her glass like he usually did. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling as flush tonight, or had simply given up on the idea of trying to woo her. She pushed the thought from her mind, and stepped down from the soap box, grabbing the pintful of coins, eager to get to the bar for a cool glass of water to relieve her parched throat.

"Oi, wait," he demanded, grasping her wrist as she attempted to work her way through the crowd. The press of bodies blocked her exit, slowing her down, so he was able to halt her progress with ease.

She sighed in exasperation, her eyes looking quickly down in annoyance to where his long fingers were wrapped around her arm, then back up to his face. His blue eyes were wide and imploring, but it wasn't enough to soften her to him. "You haven't tipped tonight," she said, holding up the pint glass of coins and rattling it, "my time's not cheap."

"Thought I'd save my money tonight," he said, raising his voice to be heard above the loud chatter of the other people in the pub, "use it to buy you a drink."

She rolled her eyes, tugging her wrist free of his grasp and pushed once more towards the bar. She didn’t have to look to know he was following her as she spoke. “We’ve had this chat many times before. My answer hasn’t changed.”

“But it could,” he insisted with a cocky smirk, leaning his elbow against the bar, watching as she gratefully accepted a glass of water from the bartender and drank greedily. “Give me a reason why not.”

She sighed, putting down her half empty glass and turned to face him. He really was handsome up close, even with strands of dirty blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He’d taken off his navy blue smock at some point in the evening, tying it by the sleeves around his waist. She watched as a bead of perspiration ran from his collarbone, down the centre of his chest and disappeared beneath the neckline of his white vest. “I don’t go for drinks with dead men,” she finally said, lifting her eyes to meet his and immediately felt herself grow hotter at the appraising look she was met with. He had noticed her looking and that was all the encouragement he needed.

“Pretty sure I’m alive, actually,” he quipped, tipping an appreciative nod to the bartender as he leaned across to top off his glass.

“You serve in the navy though, right?” she asked, not really needing an answer, “you’re putting yourself in danger every day, so you might not be around for much longer. So what’s the point?”

She drained the rest of her water glass and set it down heavily, ready to take her leave, but he reached out quickly, grasping her wrist once more. He grinned as he looked at her and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss or slap the look off his face. It was maddening.

“If I’m gonna get blown to bits by Germans, don’t you think I deserve a proper send off?” he joked.

He had finally worn her down. She wasn’t sure if it was the heat, his persistence or simply how he looked looming over her, broad chested and glistening with humidity, but she found herself nodding. “Fine, but I don’t want a drink from the bar I work in. Take me on a proper date.”

She laughed softly as he raised an eyebrow at her suggestion, and then told him all about a little restaurant a few streets away that served asado and empanadas – it was cheap and cheerful, but would serve as a decent place for a first date, perhaps the only date they would ever have. He nodded, agreeing to meet her there the following evening.

Excitement fizzed restlessly in her lower belly as she waited for him to arrive. In spite of herself, she was looking forward to their date. She had taken the time to carefully curl her hair, and fought against the humidity to ensure that the rouge upon her lips stayed in place. It was early evening, the sun had only just begun its slow dip upon the horizon, streaking amber across a cloudless sky. She sat beneath a red and white striped parasol on the restaurant’s front patio. The paint was chipping away from the uncomfortable metal chairs and tables, the red flaking off to reveal the rust beneath. She didn’t mind; the food was good here – flavourful, if a little spicy, and they served cheap red wine by the glass that made you feel too lightheaded to care how oppressive the heat of the evening was.

Thirty minutes passed, then turned into an hour, and she realised with an unpleasant prickle of humiliation and then anger that she had been stood up. He wasn’t coming. Perhaps she had asked too much in refusing a simple drink and insisting they go for dinner. Cursing him under her breath, she pushed abruptly out of her chair, ignoring the loud scrape of the metal legs against the concrete and stalked back towards the bar, determined to give him a piece of her mind the next time he came in.

There was no next time, however, as a week passed by with no sign of her mystery sailor. Every time the door to the pub swung open with a creak of protest, her head turned reflexively towards it, disappointed anew each time it wasn’t him that stepped through it. It dawned on her that perhaps he hadn’t stood her up, he’d simply been shipped out and hadn’t had the chance to tell her. Another week passed and the news of the attack upon the HMS Exeter by the Admiral Graf Spee reached her. Her heart sank. Though she couldn’t be sure, she had a feeling that the Exeter was the ship that he would have been aboard. She berated herself for calling him a dead man – such a thoughtless thing to say, considering the fate that had likely befallen him. The next time she stepped atop her soap box to sing, she lent her voice to her own rendition of We’ll Meet Again – a fitting tribute to the sailor whose name she’d never known.

Tom came to, his mind feeling foggy and struggling to keep pace with the speed his body seemed to want to move at. He didn’t know where he was or how long he’d been there. Confusion at his surroundings further muddled his thoughts as he slowly took in the bright white walls and pea green linoleum coating the floor. It wasn’t until he turned his head, and saw the unconscious man in the bed next to his – a ginger haired, heavy set man that he had served alongside on the HMS Exeter – that he realised he was in a hospital.

He groaned, attempting to sit up, and a dull ache in his head made the room swim as a wave of nausea filled his mouth with foul tasting saliva. He flopped back down heavily against the pillow, the movement alerting the attention of a doctor, who approached the bed from the far end of the ward, his long white coat billowing behind him with the rapidity of his steps.

“How are you feeling, Private…er–” the doctor paused, looking down at a clipboard he held tightly in his hands, lifted a page on it, then returned his gaze to Tom, “Bennett? I’m Doctor Roberts.”

The doctor had the well spoken southern English accent of someone highly educated, and the tone of someone who seemed irritated by the responsibility that such luxury has thrust upon them. He was a man who ought to be wearing a smoking jacket and drinking French brandy, not elbow deep in blood and sweat.

“Like my head’s been stamped on,” Tom replied, scrubbing a hand over his face and closing his eyes to block out the way the room spun. “How long’ve I been here for?”

“You were admitted last night,” the doctor said, coming to stand at the head of the bed and looking down at Tom, “brought up from the coast. You took quite the nasty blow to the head.”

It was then that Tom remembered. The dull boom that had sounded as though it was both hundreds of miles away and also right by his ear. The floor of the ship had rocked beneath his feet, and he’d struggled to stay upright as he had moved as fast as his legs could carry him on the unsteady surface, making his way down to the missile magazine to help load artillery to defend against the attack they were under. He had slipped, banging his head so hard against the steel wall of the ship that he had felt his teeth rattle. Adrenaline had kept him going through all of the smoking carnage, through the horror of seeing death all around him, and the entire length of the rocky journey in the bed of a truck to the inland hospital – the medical tents that were closer by were too overwhelmed to take anyone not at immediate threat of death. It was upon his arrival that he had finally lost consciousness and awoken in a hospital bed.

“So how long until I can leave?” Tom asked, blinking his eyes slowly open, to take in the olive skin of Dr. Roberts’ face, deeply lined with exhaustion.

“It’ll be around a week,” he said, glancing quickly over his shoulder as a man a few beds down cried out in pain while a nurse attempted to dab iodine onto a wound upon his shoulder, and then looked back at Tom. “You have a concussion, the worst of which you managed to stay awake for, but you’re also severely dehydrated, so we’ll need to give you plenty of fluids.”

Tom scowled, immediately wincing at the pain that it sent spearing through his skull. “A week in hospital for a bump on the head and a few glasses of water?! C’mon, doc, that can’t be right.”

Dr. Roberts sighed, lowering his voice as he leaned conspiratorially down towards him. “We currently do not have the resources to ferry you all back as and when you recover. The truck that brought you all here will take you all back when you have all recovered.”

“Christ, what the fuck am I gonna do in that time?” he complained.

“Well, the nurses are miserably understaffed,” Dr. Roberts offered with a shrug, “perhaps you could lend a hand with sponge baths once you’re feeling up to it?”  

Tom tutted, turning his face away. As Dr. Roberts moved to walk away, he called him back. “D’you think I could send a letter from here?”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll have one of the nurses sort it out for you.”

He wanted to write to her. He didn’t even know her name, and yet she’d frequented his thoughts ever since he’d laid eyes on her in that dingy portside bar. She sang like an angel, but had the look of the devil about her; all blood red lips and glossy black curls. Tom had just wanted to have some fun, and had attempted to sweeten her up by lifting a shilling from the ship’s betting pool, to drop into her tip glass, each time he went to watch her perform. There wasn’t much to do between waiting to ship out, besides play cards, write letters and gamble, so the sailors placed bets on almost everything – the date of their next voyage, who’d be first to catch the clap from a port town whore – the coins were all placed into a canvas bag, and Tom had regularly stolen from it. He wondered where it was now, probably sunk to the bottom of the South Atlantic. He had been digging through his kit bag, trying to find his civvies for his date that evening when the call had come - the Admiral Graf Spee, an enemy boat that had been attacking merchant ships had been spotted not far off the coast. The HMS Exeter was going to pursue and attack it. They had raised the anchor before he’d even had the chance to consider that he was inadvertently leaving her in the lurch. 

Once a nurse had delivered to him the things he needed, Tom leaned on his side, ignoring the way his head throbbed, and began to write.

Hello gorgeous,

Bet you thought I’d stood you up, didn’t ya? I s’pose in a way I did – had a more important date with a war ship. But I’m alive, and still want to take you for that dinner, if you’re not too pissed off. I’m in hospital, it’ll be a week till they let me out, but I’ll come straight to you. Don’t worry, my handsome face is fine, just my head took a bit of a knock, but I don’t use that much anyway. By my count, I must owe you at least four shillings by now, for all of your singing I’ve missed.

See you soon,

Tom.

It wasn’t until he’d folded the page and tucked it inside of the envelope that he realised he didn’t know the address, not even the name of the bar. Angrily, he stuffed the envelope beneath his pillow, flopping back against it with a groan of frustration.

The man in the bed next to his was now awake and looked over at Tom with a playful smirk. “Cheer up, mate, the Nazis scuttled their ship. We won.”

Tom huffed through his nose, eyes fixed firmly upon the bright white ceiling. “Yeah, doesn’t feel like it.”

God, he wanted a smoke.

The day of their departure came, and time seemed to have slowed to an agonising crawl. Tom felt as though he might jump right out of his skin with the impatience of waiting for nurses to put shoulders in slings, and re-dress wounds ready for travel. The pain in his head was gone, and he was left only with a few bruises and scrapes – injuries that would fade until he never remembered they were there. He was lucky, but right now he didn’t feel it. He just wanted to get back to the port, back to her.

By the time the truck rattled back into the little town, the sky was inky black, but the air still hung thick and oppressive, uncomfortably warm even without the sun beating down. He pushed out of the truck bed, not caring to listen to the officer who had climbed out of the passenger seat, ready to give further instructions regarding new ship assignments. Tom didn’t plan on spending the night in a cramped and uncomfortable bunk. He had other plans.

He walked his intended route in long strides, too preoccupied to notice that the physical exertion was making him sweat. He didn’t stop until he reached that dingy, little pub. It was empty of customers, obviously closed for the night, but through the window he could see her. She was standing behind the bar, wiping a glass with a rag. The dull yellow light of the lamps overhead illuminated her features – she was even more beautiful than he remembered. For a moment Tom was frozen to the spot. He didn’t know what to say. What if she was angry with him? What if she didn’t care at all? Maybe he’d imagined their connection as being more significant than it actually was and she’d find it strange that he’d come back for her.

Pushing the thoughts away, he took a deep breath, and tried the door handle. Thankfully, she hadn’t locked it yet and it creaked noisily open. He stood in the doorway as her head snapped up, her eyes settling on his face, and before he had had the chance to say anything, she had run out from behind the bar towards him, throwing her arms around his neck as she crushed her body tightly against his. He staggered backwards at the force of it, before composing himself and wrapping his arms gingerly around her waist, as an involuntary smirk tugged at his lips.

“What’s all this then?” he asked softly, pulling back with a grin, “almost knocked me over.”

There were tears in her eyes as he looked at her, and it made something in his chest twist painfully. He regretted pulling away from her embrace, wanting nothing more than to tug her back against him and make it all better.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I’m so sorry, I called you a dead man, and then you didn’t come back, and I–I…oh god, I’m just so happy to see you.”

Once Tom had calmed her, stroking her hair soothingly and quietly assuring her he was okay, he ushered her further into the bar, encouraging her to take a seat at a nearby table. He locked the door, before going behind the bar to fetch a bottle of rum and two glasses. He poured them both a generous measure before sitting next to her.

“Thanks,” she said appreciatively once she’d taken a sip, dabbing beneath her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry for getting weepy on you. It’s just…I was a nurse before all of this–” she gestured around the bar, “I packed it in. Got tired of seeing all that death. Being here, singing, working behind the bar, it feels like an escape from it all. But then you went missing and it reminded me that I can’t ever really run away from it. You must think I’m such a coward.”

She looked at him with sad, watery eyes and a lump formed in Tom’s throat. He didn’t think she was a coward at all, he had never related to anything more in his life. Thoughts of desertion had crossed his mind continuously during his week in the hospital. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to go back.

“I think you’re really brave, actually,” he told her, reaching across to grasp her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, “it takes courage to admit that. And I found my way back, I had to. Needed to give you this–”

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out the letter he’d written and handed it to her. She took it from him, unfolding it silently before she read it. Her eyes softened, the ghost of a smile upon her ruby lips as she scanned the page. When she finished, she looked up and Tom took the page from her, turning it over and showing her a crudely scrawled pencil tally on its back.

“I kept count of the days I’d missed you singing. Wanted to make sure you knew I still wanted to give you your tips, and that I still wanna take you on that date, maybe we–”

She cut him off as she lunged at him from her seat, grasping him by the collar as she kissed him so hard he could scarcely breath. Tom melted into her touch, cupping her cheek in one hand as his mouth moved eagerly against hers, not caring that he was smearing her lipstick. With his other hand, he pressed against the small of her back, wanting her as close to him as she could physically be. Until this point, Tom had been drowning and hadn’t even realised it – the touch of her lips was like being pulled to the surface and brought to life again.

“We could head upstairs, if you wanted,” she whispered breathlessly, her gaze dark with desire when they finally parted for breath.

The thought of being parted from her, if only to walk upstairs to her room, was excruciating; he was painfully hard already. He shook his head. “Here’s fine. Need you. Now.”

He shifted, lifting her onto the sticky table they were sitting at, sending their glasses crashing to the floor with a tinkle of shattering glass. That would be a problem for later, right now he just wanted to feel her, to remind them both they were still alive, that there was more than war and death, that they could seek pleasure even when the entire world seemed as though it were aflame.

She gasped as he nipped at the skin of her neck, her flesh salty upon his lips as she arched her body against his. Her hands worked eagerly to unfasten his trousers. He grinned at her boldness, before diving in for another kiss – this one messy, a frenzied clash of teeth and tongues. He groaned, pushing her skirt up her legs, his fingertips grazing the tops of her stockings. The feel of the nylon made him pulse and throb against the confines of his briefs, he hadn’t felt this lightheaded since he’d first awoken in hospital.

“I need to be inside you,” he panted, hooking a finger into the elastic of her knickers and tugging them to one side.

In response, she pushed down his briefs, freeing his cock. That was all the encouragement that Tom needed. He spat into his palm, stroking it along the length of his erection, groaning as the sensation sent white hot flames of pleasure licking along his lower spine. He dragged the residual moisture against her slick folds, an attempt to ease his passage. But even as he pressed against her, her tightness resisted and he hissed through clenched teeth at the mixture of pleasure and pain as she titled her hips, attempting to help him push deeper. He should have taken more time to prepare her, but he was desperate, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inside of a woman. When he finally sank all the way to the hilt he stilled, his forehead pressed against hers, lips parted as he savoured the feeling of her heat wrapped like a silken fist around him. He also knew he’d find his end all too soon if he got carried away.

She reached down, giving the swell of his backside a playful squeeze, a silent urge for him to move, and he began to thrust – slowly at first, beginning to gradually pick up speed as he rocked into her, his fingers digging tightly into the meat of her thighs. The table rocked beneath them, the rickety wood protesting and threatening to give way beneath the intensity of their movements.

“Let it fucking collapse”, Tom thought, “I’ll just fuck her on the floor.”

There wasn’t a thing that could have stopped him. The entire world had narrowed to the point where they joined together, there was nothing but them and the coil of tension he could feel tightening in his gut as he drove into her. He could feel his balls beginning to draw up tight, and he released one of her legs, snaking a hand between them to rub his thumb insistently at the delicate bundle of nerves at her centre.

She mewled wantonly in response, rippling around him, making his breath hitch. He screwed his eyes shut, fighting against the way his manhood pulsed and throbbed inside of her.

“Christ…please…” he choked out. He needed her to come before he did, but he was close, embarrassingly so.

She shuddered beneath him with a keening cry, spasming around his length as she reached her peak and he pulled out quickly, stroking himself in juddering, jerky movements as he spilled himself across the tops of her stockings. When the final aftershocks had finally subsided, and clarity returned to his mind, he looked at her, spread out on the table, flushed and sweaty, breathlessly debauched, and he huffed a soft laugh as he realised he must look similarly wrecked.

“That was…” she trailed off, a dreamy smile upon her lipstick smeared mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, it was,” he agreed softly.

Leaning forward, he placed a hand around the back of her neck, tugging her to his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. There were so many things he wanted to say to her – “come back with me”, “my sister sings, she could find you work in a pub”, “leave this all behind and we’ll make it work”.

As he twirled the curls at her nape around his fingers, he finally settled on the words he felt were fitting. He’d ask for her name.

Read on AO3

More Tom fics

[kikyoupdates]

Goddess Wink ⭑˚💘⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

bnha x f!reader

reverse harem, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn

Ever since your Quirk first manifested, you’ve been the apple of everyone’s eye. With the goal of becoming a hero, you enroll to U.A. and soon find yourself drawing the attention of many. Will you form genuine connections with others, or is this all just your power's will?

story masterlist | next

You were four years old when it happened.

As far back as you could remember, you’d lived in an orphanage. You’d never met your real parents, nor did it seem like they had any intention of coming to get you, just based on how your caretakers would act. They tried to convince you that your parents must have had their reasons; that they might not have been in the right place to take care of you, but it served as little reassurance. You felt unwanted, unloved. You wondered what you could have possibly done that your own parents wouldn’t want to be with you—why all of these children were missing their families. You didn’t understand, but it felt unfair. For whatever reason, you were undesirable. At least, that’s the way you felt.

On a rather uneventful day, you were out on the playground with some of the other kids from the orphanage. They were all playing together, but you were off by the sandpit on your own, fiddling with the outfit on your doll. At some point a cluster of them had broken off, and one of the boys came right up to you, grinned, and snatched the doll straight out of your hands.

You frowned at him. “Give it back.”

“Nuh uh,” he jeered. “You’re always so boring, [Name]. You never play with the rest of us.”

“I’m not in the mood to play right now. Can you please give me my doll back?”

“What’s so fun about these dolls anyways?” The boy squinted at the toy in his hands, and without wasting a beat, popped one of the doll’s legs clean off. “Whoa!” he cried out. “They break so easily!”

You felt like you should be bursting into tears, but oddly enough, the tears didn’t come. You were eerily composed, a sense of calm washing over you. Something was telling you there was no reason to get worked up. You felt your chest growing warm, and your eyes began to glow a faint, pink shade. You stepped up to the boy and grabbed him by the wrist.

“You ruined my doll,” you said. “Apologize.”

“Huh—?” He stared back at you, dubious, and something akin to realization overtook his expression. He began to grow red in the cheeks, his breaths became irregular, and he swayed unsteadily on his own two feet. The boy stared down at the doll and its now missing leg in shock, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. “I-I’m so sorry!” he spluttered. “I didn’t mean to… [Name]. I’m really, really sorry!”

You’d never seen the boy act like this before. He was always up to some sort of mischief, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to go around teasing the other girls. You glanced down to where your fingers were laced around his wrist. You tightened your grip, watching the way his blush only deepened.

“I want a new doll,” you told him.

“Of course! I’m so sorry… I’ll tell the supervisors what happened and get you a new one right away, I promise!”

Even his accomplices seemed to be confused. “Dude, why are you apologizing to her? She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else!”

“She thinks she’s too good to play with the rest of us!”

You pulled away from the first boy and stared at the other two. Still hesitant, you reached over and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. You felt something rushing or pulsing through your body. The air felt like it tasted richer, sweeter. And this time you were sure of it—the moment your hand made contact with their bodies, each of the boys grew red in the face and started rocking on their feet as if they were drunk.

“Apologize,” you ordered again.

“We’re sorry, [Name]!”

“So sorry…”

You took a step back and marveled at what had just happened. All three of them were staring at you with flushed, puffy cheeks, as if they were awaiting your next command. Your small limbs were practically oozing with power. You were sure that this must have been what everyone was always talking about—the birth of your Quirk.

“You guys can leave me alone now,” you said, crouching back down inside the sandpit. “Please make sure I get a new doll and tell the supervisors that you were the reason it broke in the first place.”

They nodded their heads furiously, already rushing over to confess their wrongdoings. You hugged your knees to your chest and inhaled shakily. You didn’t know exactly what kind of power it was, but the feeling of others being so helpless before you… it was oddly exhilarating.

—

You explained to the caretakers the gist of what had happened, and they began speculating as to what type of power you had. It was worth noting that while some became more interested in you as a result of your newly-developed Quirk, others were a bit more apprehensive after finding out what had happened to the three boys. The teachers and caretakers instructed you not to use your Quirk on others needlessly, since you presumably had a power that could control people.

Of course, you didn’t listen.

The next couple of weeks cleared up some questions you had about your Quirk. To be more exact, you weren't consciously using it. It was a difficult power to control, and you would find that it activated on its own without your awareness. It became evident that your Quirk didn’t simply enable you to control others; there were other aspects to it that you were struggling to grasp. You were too young and naive to make sense of it all, but the one thing that was seemingly apparent was that your powers relied on attracting others to you.

You’d been rather quiet and reserved for the majority of your stay at the orphanage, but now the others flocked to you like birds. The boys especially seemed most susceptible to your powers. They would follow you around for near hours at a time, even going so far as to give you presents that you hadn’t even asked for. On some occasions, the caretakers themselves would tilt their heads and smile, saying what a “cute, charming girl” you were, before letting you get away with things that normally wouldn’t have been allowed.

At first, you thought you liked your Quirk. You were getting more attention than you ever had, and for the first time, you felt loved and desired. You thought that maybe if you’d been born with this power, your parents might not have abandoned you. All of the boys in the orphanage loved you, all of the girls wanted to be your friends, and they would each go to any lengths to make you happy. You could get anything you wanted. Truly, it was the best possible Quirk.

But this too, was a fleeting feeling. Before long, the attention became overbearing. You could never get away from it all, from the looks of desire and adoration. The friendships you’d developed with the children started to feel less genuine and more fabricated. You felt like they weren’t really your friends; that your power was just forcing them to be. These ugly thoughts started to pile on more and more, to the point that you began to resent your Quirk. You couldn’t control the power leaving your body, and it felt as if you were living life trying to navigate through a misty pink haze.

Several months passed, and a visitor came to the orphanage.

“I’ve come to take you in, [Name].”

It was a man with pin-straight black hair and striking red eyes. He introduced himself as Mikael, and declared that he’d already filled out all the required paperwork to adopt you. The orphan children began to cry, lamenting the fact that you would be leaving them. You were both relieved and anxious. Even if you couldn’t control your powers, here, at least, you could rest easy knowing that everyone adored you. You’d spent all of your life in the orphanage, and you were a little afraid to leave.

This guy will probably listen to anything I say anyways…

Mikael held you by the hand and led you outside once you’d bid farewell to everyone. He looked down at you, eyes gleaming, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “I think you’ll find that your Quirk will have no effect on me, descendant of Aphrodite.”

“Aphrodite?”

You stared up at him, confused. He didn’t answer your question and instead chuckled to himself.

“Not to worry. I will teach you how to control your Quirk in due time. You’ve been blessed with a gift, young one. A beautiful power capable of touching the hearts of many.”

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[upagainstthewallwithme]

Silhouette

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

.

Natasha’s eyes clung to you as you walked over to the dancefloor. You pretended not to notice. 

Wanda held your hand tight.

Wordlessly, her thumb brushed the inside of your wrist. You caught her raised eyebrow and nodded reassuringly. 

The room was too hot. Pepper and Tony’s wedding reception was the event of the year but your skin was crawling. 

Natasha sat on a chair at the edge of the dancefloor. Her dress was short and her legs were parted purposefully. She rested her elbow against the drinks table, her hand cupped her face. She watched you obviously. 

You couldn't stop thinking about her stare.

Natasha’s eyes had haunted you for years. 

Wanda’s hand slid casually around your waist, pulling you flush against her front. A surprised huff escaped you as she stole back your attention. Instinctively, you moved your hips along with hers. 

Wanda’s thumb brushed your cheek now and then she touched your bottom lip. 

Her touch was gentle and warm. Time stood still.

She leaned in to kiss you slowly. Her lips were soft, pressing into you just as her fingers began to graze the base of your neck.

Her hips kept brushing against your front as she swayed, keeping up the pretense of dancing

A heady wave of attraction flooded you. You hummed with pleasure and watched as Wanda smirked at the sound. 

She took a step back and began to twirl you teasingly under her arm. From the corner of the room, you heard Tony give an ironic wolf whistle.

A reflex kicked in at the noise. Your attention shifted back to Natasha immediately, concerned for her reaction. 

Rage burned back at you in her stare.

Her fingers tapped impatiently against her tight jaw. Her hair was braided and the style made her face look taut. Nerves and attraction bundled confusingly in the pit of your stomach.

You turned back, trying to stay focused on Wanda. Her smile was soothing as she took in your expression. You knew she could only read the nerves in your eyes. 

Wanda always brought the calm back to you. You wished that you could forget Natasha.

If it wasn’t Tony’s wedding, you wouldn’t be here. 

Wanda tugged lightly at the fabric covering your shoulder, exposing a sliver of bare skin. She pressed her lips to the spot and your cheeks flamed at the intimacy on display. 

You knew she was trying to distract you. 

Your eyes flitted back to Natasha, but she wasn’t in her seat anymore.

You searched through the crowd of people in the busy room. Wanda murmured your name against your neck as she stretched back up slowly. Her splayed fingers slipped down to squeeze your ass. 

You caught sight of a red-headed woman leaving at the back of the room. 

You were nauseatingly predictable.

‘I need the bathroom.’ You mumbled. Wanda gave you a small pout, before stepping back. 

‘Go.’ She encouraged, and your heart stung at the trust in her gaze. ‘I’ll save my next dance for you.’

You moved quickly through the room, weaving between clusters of strangers, friends and colleagues. 

Pepper stared at you meaningfully. Clearly understanding your intention, her disapproval was obvious. You should have cared, instead you basked in the confirmation that you were right about the red-headed woman’s identity,

You pushed through the swinging door at the back of the room. The hallway was empty. You noticed the half open fire door and headed towards it without hesitation. 

You were right. You knew Natasha too well.

The day had grown dark whilst you’d been celebrating the wedding.

Now, all you could see was the burning orange of Natasha’s cigarette stub before she crushed it with her foot. 

‘I thought you quit.’ You said unthinkingly. You sounded too concerned. You couldn’t help it. You hated yourself. You tried to remember the trust in Wanda’s eyes.

Natasha gripped your shoulder tightly as she moved you back through the fire door.

‘You know I don’t quit.’ She told you, in a voice tight with frustration.

Fear built a lump in your throat. Still, an electric feeling sparked through your veins. You’d missed her. That’s what Wanda could never know. After everything, you still missed Natasha. 

You wanted her too. 

Natasha studied your face for a moment in the hallway. Her hand shifted from your shoulder, gripping your wrist instead. 

She led you wordlessly through the nearest door. 

The room was clearly used to store the chairs for events. A few rickety ones were still littered across the ugly green carpet. 

Natasha pushed you back against the opaque-glass paneled door as soon as she’d shut it. 

Her forearm crushed against your collarbone and your breaths came shakier. 

You shouldn’t be here, you should have learned.

‘You’re a slut.’ Natasha growled, and her face moved closer to yours. 

You could smell the cigarettes on her breath. She was still smoking the Russian ones.

‘I’m sorry.’ You whispered, because it was all you knew how to say. 

‘Are you?’ Natasha asked, pressing your jaw between her finger and thumb. Her nail dug in against your skin. 

‘I am.’ You admitted. Your eyes locked with Natasha’s.

‘I missed you.’ You continued with sudden ferocity. ‘And, you don’t even care about me.’

You pushed back against Natasha, feeling feeble in your attempt. 

Still, Natasha took a step back. Her hands went into the air in faux surrender. 

Her stare was unreadable but you couldn’t stop searching it for answers. 

‘I missed you too.’ Natasha admitted quietly, her eyes flickering down to the carpet.

She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and the nervous gesture washed you with nostalgia.

You knew Natasha better than anyone. You knew how lonely she was. You knew she was more afraid than anyone saw. 

‘I love you.’ You reminded her on instinct. 

Now, it was you taking her wrist. You rested your fingers over her pulse point, reminding you that she was there. Real, breathing, alive. 

Nothing was ever certain with Natasha. 

.

She kissed you hurriedly, barely allowing for breath as her fingers curled reflexively around your neck. 

Her body pressed you tight against the door. Your arms wrapped around her.

You felt her teeth drag across your bottom lip before she changed her focus to your shoulder. 

You knew she was leaving a mark. You knew she didn’t care. 

You tried to remember Wanda. But, everything felt hazy except for Natasha. 

‘If you love me, then love me.’ Natasha murmured against your bruising skin.

You understood her direction. You slid to your knees unhesitatingly.

Natasha braced herself against the door and smirked down at you. 

You rolled the hem of her fitted dress up to her hips.

She wasn’t wearing underwear, but you’d guessed that before. 

You could tell she was wet. You could almost feel the heat radiating from between her legs.

Your own possessiveness kicked in.

You wanted Natasha to be yours. To stay yours. 

Natasha gripped the hair at the back of your head and tilted you forward impatiently.

You moved obediently, tongue flat as you tasted her. 

Natasha groaned above you and you watched the muscles in her legs tense. 

Your fingers danced familiarly against the back of her bare thighs.

You pressed your tongue against her clit, before beginning to lick gently. 

You found a rhythm, enjoying the vibrations that you were shooting through her legs. 

Natasha swore incoherently as your pace picked up. 

Her hand fell to your shoulder and she dug her nails in again. You understood her silent demand. 

You sank your fingers inside her until you were knuckle deep. Natasha was already tightening around you.

You sucked her clit as you moved your fingers back and forth.

Natasha choked on her breath and you felt the tight squeeze and release around your fingers. 

You kissed her clit much more lightly as it continued, silently celebrating this moment. 

You wondered if Natasha would ever understand how good you felt when you made her happy.

You clambered back to your feet, sucking your fingers clean. 

You smiled as you saw the haziness in Natasha’s eyes. 

As it cleared, you squeezed her breast lightly.

You pressed your knee between her thighs, reminding her of where you’d just been.

Natasha smirked and a nervous attraction bloomed inside you.

It took a moment for you to notice the new coldness in her eyes. 

She brushed your hand away from her breast, with revulsion in her eyes. 

You felt diseased under her regard. Your arm fell to your side like a dead weight.

‘I never said I wanted you back.’ Natasha corrected cooly. You could hear the lace of humour in her tone. Self hatred bubbled up inside you. Tears filled your eyes. 

.

‘You’re a slut.’ Natasha reminded you lowly. And the heel of her hand dug into the crack between your ribs.

Misery and fear overwhelmed you.

‘Run back to your girlfriend.’ Natasha instructed you with a sneering dismissal. 

When she shifted her weight from the door, you cracked it open and stepped back into the corridor. 

You tried to fix your hair as a numbness crept over your skull. Your ragged breaths were obvious and you tried to steady them.

The doors to the dance floor swung open and Wanda’s face appeared suddenly in your line of sight. 

Her relieved smile switched to one of concern as she took you in. 

You walked unsurely towards her open arms.

Wanda’s hug was tight. Her lips pressed against your hair. 

‘Has she been bothering you?’ Wanda murmured, her stance tightening with defensiveness.

‘I just want to forget it.’ You whispered, closing your eyes as if Natasha didn’t hide in your darkest thoughts.

Wanda held your hand tightly. Protectiveness radiated from her as she led you gently toward the fire door at the end of the hallway. 

‘Let’s get you home.’ She promised soothingly, like you deserved anything good in this world.

You didn’t speak, trying desperately to ignore the silhouette lingering behind the opaque-glass door.

[mirayez]

GAARA X READER

Authors note: based on one bot(Gaara x reader)that I interact with. Again I'm not fluent in English.

Naruto and Hinata’s wedding day was today, of course you couldn’t miss it along with your friends. You heard that Gaara was coming so you decided to stick next to him throughout the wedding. When the two of you were walking towards the venue you two meet Sakura, she is basically your bestfriend after everything you two went through together.

“Hey y/n and kazekage!” She waves at both of you with a smile, before walking to your side and whispering in your ear. “long time no see oh you're with Kazekage huh.. you’re pretty picky.”

She teased, letting a small laugh. Gaara looked at the two of you trying to figure out the situation.

You felt your cheeks flush the moment Sakura’s words sank in.

“W-What are you talking about?” you whispered back, trying to keep your composure as Gaara’s curious gaze lingered on you.

Sakura grinned, folding her arms. “Oh come on, don’t play dumb. Everyone saw how close you’ve been with him lately. Besides, I’ve never seen you smile like that around anyone else.”

You glanced at Gaara, who was now standing patiently, slightly tilted toward you both, his calm expression giving nothing away. But you could tell he was listening—he always listened, even when he said nothing.

Sakura winked. “I’ll let you two lovebirds enjoy the walk. I’m heading ahead to help Ino with the flowers.”

She gave you a playful nudge and strolled off, leaving behind a trail of teasing laughter.

You sighed and looked at Gaara, bracing yourself for questions—but he just tilted his head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“She’s… always like that,” you muttered, trying to wave it off.

Gaara nodded slowly. “She is perceptive.”

You blinked. “So… you heard that, huh?”

“I did,” he said simply, his voice was soft. “But I didn’t mind.”

That caught you off guard. “You didn’t?”

He looked ahead toward the venue, where guests were beginning to gather in celebration. “I’m not used to assumptions like that,” he admitted. “But… if people believe we’re together, I don’t think I would correct them.”

You froze, stunned by how calmly he said it—so sincere, so Gaara.

He turned his gaze to you then, quiet and resolute. “Unless it bothers you.”

You shook your head quickly. “No! I mean… I don’t mind either.”

The two of you stood there for a bit too long, the buzz of the wedding fading around you as a warm breeze passed between you.

“Then let them assume,” Gaara said finally, his fingers brushing against yours with careful intent. “At least for today.”

You smiled—small but genuine—and slipped your hand into his.

“Okay. Just for today,” you replied, knowing deep down that you wanted it to be for far longer than that.

And as you walked side by side toward Naruto and Hinata’s wedding, you couldn't help but think maybe love wasn’t just in the air—it was standing quietly beside you, waiting for you to reach out and take it

The wedding venue was glowing with soft lanterns strung across the trees, bathing everything in a gentle golden light. Guests gathered in clusters, laughing and sharing stories, the war feeling like a distant memory for just this one perfect evening.

You and Gaara stayed close. He wasn’t much for small talk, and neither were you tonight. You were both content walking through the crowd quietly, hands brushing, occasionally holding.

When Naruto and Hinata finally appeared, the cheers were deafening. You smiled as Hinata blushed furiously, clinging to Naruto’s arm, while Naruto looked like he had just won every battle and prize in the world.

“They look happy,” Gaara said beside you, watching the couple with a rare softness in his eyes.

“They deserve it,” you replied. “After everything.”

He nodded slowly. “Do you ever think… we could have something like that?”

Your heart stuttered. You turned to look at him, surprised by the openness of his question.

“With someone?” you asked gently.

His eyes flickered to yours. “With you.”

For a moment, you forgot about the music, the people, the laughter around you. It was just him, and you, and a question that felt heavier than anything you carried through the war.

“Gaara…” you whispered, unsure how to even begin. “I think… we already do.”

You didn’t have to say more. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light. There was still hesitation in his movements—he was still learning what it meant to love, to feel—but there was no doubt in his eyes.

The music shifted into a slow melody as the first dance ended, and guests were invited to join.

“Would you… like to dance?” Gaara asked, his voice barely above the wind.

You stared at him for a moment, both touched and amused. “You dance?”

“No,” he admitted without shame. “But I’ll try. For you.”

You laughed softly and took his hand. “Then I’ll lead.”

You stepped onto the dance floor, guiding him gently, and although his movements were a little stiff at first, you could feel the effort in every step. Slowly, you melted into the rhythm, moving as one.

the night continued, but in your little world, time slowed down. Gaara's eyes never left yours, and for the first time since the war, you felt like you were finally beginning something—not rebuilding the old, but creating something entirely new.

When the dance ended, he leaned in, just enough that his forehead rested against yours.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For not leaving after the war… and for seeing me.”

You smiled, pressing your hand gently to his cheek. “I always did, Gaara.”

And for the first time in a long time, he smiled—not the small, polite smile of a leader, but the quiet, rare one he saved just for you.

[bunny-claws]

cloud magic ☁️

a cloud is an aerosol consisting of a visible mass of liquid droplets, ice crystals, or other particles, suspended in the atmosphere of a planetary body or similar space such as the earth.

my personal associations and correspondences for clouds include: all types of weather phenomena (storms, hurricanes, tornadoes, etc.), celestial bodies such as nebulae, uranus (ruler of the sky), the air element, destruction, shielding, illusion, distortion, peace, comfort, dreams, sleep, warding nightmares, and divination.

how to use clouds in magic

craft spell jars based on intent; add puffs of cotton to represent clouds

craft a cloud in a jar/bottle

craft a cloud shaped dream pillow

cloud watching as meditation

use cloud movement for weather prediction [to time spells]

use cloud shapes for divination [nephelomancy]

cluster crystals together in various shapes or patterns depending on the type of cloud you want to work with

pair with the suit of swords in tarot cards

listen to music produced with wind instruments

use marshmallows or whipped cream to represent clouds in desserts

use as a source of energy to charge items or spells [storm clouds would be good for this]

cloud manipulation [energy work]

cloud illusions [sun dogs, halos, and pillars]

nephelomany / cloud scrying

nephelomany, also known as cloud scrying, can be performed by interpreting cloud shapes and surrounding colors. the most common clouds to scry with are cumulus or stratocumulus clouds due to their well-formed shape and defined boundaries.

types of clouds by altitude ✧

prefix definitions cirro - curl, tendril alto - mid strato - layer, sheet nimbo - rain bearing cloud cumulo - heap

high level clouds - composed of ice crystals; above 20k ft

☁️ cirrus

appearance: white, narrow, wispy, fibrous, silky filaments

about: fastest moving type of cloud; occurs during fair conditions but may signal an approaching change in weather (warm front that can cause storms)

keywords: swiftness, wit, change, transformation, transitions, freedom

☁️ cirrocumulus

appearance: small puffs of white clouds arranged in patchy sheets or ripples

about: short lived; usually seen with fair but cold weather; signals approaching rainstorm or potentially hurricane

keywords: focus, momentum, energy, anxiety, preparation, safety

☁️ cirrostratus

appearance: widespread, veil-like; fibrous; smooth

about: looks similar to a thin stratus but is distinguished by the solar or lunar halo that shines through it; commonly forms optical illusions such as sun dogs, haloes, and sun pillars; signals approaching rain or snowstorm (within 12-24 hours)

keywords: distortion, illusion, glamours, beauty

mid level clouds - composed of water droplets or ice at low temperatures; between 6,500 and 20k ft

☁️ altocumulus

appearance: white or grey poofs in rows composed of scales or rolls

about: usually forms in groups; when they pass in front of the sun or moon, it can create a corona; often found between warm and cool fronts in a depression; signifies thunderstorm or cold front

keywords: comfort, peace, warmth, serenity

species of altocumulus clouds altocumulus lenticularis - lens shaped, resembles a UFO altocumulus castellanus - rising towers, turrets altocumulus floccus - puffy, ragged tufts altocumulus stratiformis - horizontal layers altocumulus volutus - tube shaped roll chaotic altocumulus - poorly defined, multiple species or forms of these types of clouds

☁️ altostratus

appearance: grey or bluish sheet-like layers in parallel bands; sometimes thin enough to see the sun as if you were looking at it through a foggy lens or ground glass

about: streaks of rain can be seen hanging from these clouds and may produce light precipitation; occurs before heavy rain or a warm front

keywords: invisibility, shielding, distortion, illusion, delusion

☁️ nimbostratus

appearance: multi-level dark grey, diffused by precipitation; thick enough to blot out the sun

about: cloud base lowers as precipitation continues; spreads vertically into high and low levels; occurs along warm fronts and produces steady, moderate to heavy rainfall; preceded by cirrostratus and altostratus

keywords: cleansing, renewal, consecration

low level clouds - composed of water droplets; below 6,500 ft

☁️ cumulus

appearance: white, detached, dense, well-defined; resembles mounds, domes, towers; your typical cloud-shaped cloud

about: develops on days of clear to fair skies; has the potential to become a thunderstorm

keywords: duality, balance, joy, dreams, psychic abilities, divination

☁️ cumulonimbus

appearance: thick, heavy, dense; often resembles an anvil, tower, or mountain; upper portion can be smooth, fibrous, or striated

about: storm cloud; produce larger droplets and more intense downpours than a nimbostratus cloud; can produce heavy rain, hail, and tornadoes; occurs with cold fronts; preceded by cirrocumulus and altocumulus clouds

keywords: destruction, manifestation, power, energy, catalyst

☁️ stratocumulus

appearance: white/grey rounded clumps or patches that form in groups

about: may or may not merge with other clouds; do not typically produce precipitation, but may indicate incoming weather changes (windstorms, thunderstorms); can turn into nimbostratus clouds

keywords: potential, humility, togetherness, companionship

☁️ stratus

appearance: low, grey cloud with a uniform base that blankets the sky; flat, hazy

about: turns to fog when it hits the ground; may produce drizzle, ice, or snow; typically do not produce a solar or lunar halo except, on occasion, at very low temperatures; reveals blue sky once dissipated

keywords: optimism, hope, wisdom, knowledge

other

☁️ fractus

appearance: small, ragged cloud fragments broken off from bigger clouds; jagged, shredded, cotton candy-esque

about: constantly changing; forms and dissipates rapidly

keywords: fleeting, temporary, metamorphosis, transformation, baneful magic

weather correspondences uranian weather magic

keywords in this post are based on my own associations and research - do not redistribute and please source back to me if you reference my content.

© 2025 bunny-claws

[netflixbingger]

Beneath Rebel Skies - Chapter 5

Characters:Cassian x Reader Summary: You and Cassian Andor were childhood friends on Ferrix—until your parents suddenly tore you away without warning. Years later, you reunite during a mission for the Rebellion. Old memories clash with new tension as you’re forced to work together, navigating the lines between friendship, loyalty, and something more. Word Count: 2,388words Warnings: Violence, Loss, Mild Language, mentions of sex Previous Chapter

Your day off had started with good intentions—sleep in, maybe do something mindless, not think about work or anything that required emotional bandwidth.

That plan lasted all of twenty minutes.

You made it through half a ration bar and one lukewarm cup of caf before you were pacing your quarters like a caged animal.

Yavin was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you itch. No assignments, no drills, no emergencies. Just you, your thoughts, and the gnawing urge to do something. Sadly Kiira was out on a mission, and you weren’t exactly on speaking terms with Cade just yet. 

Which is how you found yourself walking across base with no real destination - until your feet, apparently deciding for you, stopped in front of Cassian’s door.

You didn’t have a reason. Not one you’d admit to.

You knocked before you could think too hard about it.

The door slid open almost instantly, and there she was.

Mid-twenties, maybe. Rebel uniform half-done, damp hair curling slightly at the ends, like she hadn’t dried it properly. You recognized her vaguely—Elira? Eliya? Something like that. You’d seen her around base a handful of times. She was the kind of woman people noticed. All confidence and careless beauty, like she didn’t even have to try.

And she was stepping out of Cassian’s room with her boots in one hand and a knowing smile on her face.

“Oh—hey,” she said casually, barely missing a beat. “Looking for Cassian?”

You blinked. “Uh. Yeah.”

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, still smiling - friendly, almost apologetic. “He’s in the shower. I was just heading out.”

She brushed past you without waiting for a reply, a waft of warm air and citrus soap trailing in her wake. No shame, no awkwardness. Just... gone.

You stood there in the doorway, not moving.

For a second, you considered turning around. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should’ve stayed in your quarters, bored and alone, instead of showing up uninvited like an idiot.

But then - too late. You were already here.

You adjusted your shirt, ran a hand through your hair like it might make a difference, and stepped inside without another word.

It was Cassian’s quarters, alright. Sparse but lived in. His jacket slung over a chair, his boots abandoned near the foot of the bed. There was a small cluster of plants near the window - half-wilted, half-thriving, like he couldn’t quite decide whether he was trying to keep them alive or not.

You wandered over and poked at one of the pots idly, then circled the room again. Out of habit, you tugged the sheets straight on his bed, smoothing them out until the crumpled mess was neat again.

You told yourself it wasn’t weird. You were just… making use of your time.

Still restless, still thinking too much, you finally gave up and flopped onto the bed with a sigh, one arm thrown over your eyes.

The refresher door hissed open.

“What the—?”

You peeked out just in time to see Cassian step into the room—barefoot, towel slung low on his hips, water still glinting on his chest and shoulders. His hair was damp and pushed back messily, a few strands clinging to his forehead. He froze when he saw you, surprise flickering across his face—genuine, unguarded, and maybe the most un-Cassian thing you’d seen all week.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice rough from the steam.

Your brain short-circuited. For a second, all you could do was stare.

Then you sat up slowly, like this wasn’t the most awkward moment of your life. “I have the day off.”

Cassian blinked at you, then at the bed, then back again. “Did you… make my bed?”

You ignored that. “And you have the day off too.”

He was still dripping on the floor, towel still low on his hips. “So?”

“So,” you said, standing and brushing off your hands like this was perfectly normal, “let’s go do something... I’m bored.”

Cassian just looked at you like you’d started speaking Huttese, “You break into my quarters, and now you ask to hang out?”

“I didn’t break in. She let me in.”

His brow lifted. “She.”

“Elira,” you said pointedly.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is not how I imagined starting my day.”

You shrugged. “You got laid and now your friend’s asking you to take a walk. Pretty solid morning, if you ask me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re in a mood.”

“I’m unsupervised.”

A pause. Then: “Maker help me.”

He turned toward his closet. “Ten minutes.”

You grinned and flopped backward onto the bed again.

You listened to the soft rhythm of him moving through the room - drawers opening, boots hitting the floor. A muttered curse under his breath. You stayed where you were, hands folded on your stomach, eyes tracing the lines in the ceiling.

You expected him to change his mind. To tell you to leave. 

He didn’t.

Ten minutes later, he reappeared - fully dressed, hair still damp, blaster clipped to his belt like it was part of him. He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you, expression unreadable.

You sat up. “You ready?”

“For what?”

“I told you. Doing something.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him a live grenade.

“Where exactly are we going?”

You were already heading toward the door. “You’ll see.”

He didn’t follow immediately.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Nope.”

He let out a breath—half sigh, half surrender—then finally, finally followed.

You didn’t look back as you led him out of the hangar bay and through the winding corridors of the base, boots echoing against ground until the metallic hum of Yavin faded behind you. 

The jungle outside greeted you like a wall of green—humid, earthy, alive. Vines curled around old stone, roots cracked through ancient pavement, and the path beneath your feet slowly narrowed into something wilder.

Cassian caught up beside you, his steps measured, hands tucked into his pockets. “Should I be worried you’re leading me into the woods?”

You didn’t slow. “Worried? You came willingly.”

He gave you a look, dry as ever. “I was curious. That’s not the same as trusting your sense of direction.”

You glanced at him, lips twitching. “And yet, you’re still here.”

He gave a soft snort. “Against my better judgment.”

You nudged his arm. “You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, you know. The war won't collapse just because you took a walk.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the silence that followed wasn’t quite a protest either.

The trees eventually gave way to a clearing, where sunlight filtered through the canopy in long, lazy beams. You stopped near the edge of an overlook, the horizon spilling out in shades of green and gold.

Cassian stepped up beside you, gaze sweeping the landscape. “Didn’t know this was out here.”

“That’s because you don’t stop working long enough to notice things,” you said, nudging him again. “It’s called downtime. Try it sometime.”

He cast a quiet, sidelong glance your way. “You’re lecturing me about downtime when your idea of relaxing is breaking into my quarters?”

“I didn’t break in.” you sighed

Cassian tilted his head. “Fine. Barged in.”

“Elira let me in,” you countered smoothly, though saying her name aloud felt strange.

Cassian was quiet for a long beat, then shifted his stance, arms loosely crossed. “So… was this your plan all along? Invade my morning and drag me into the woods?”

You smiled despite yourself. “The plan was fresh air and good company. One out of two isn’t bad.”

Cassian shot you a look, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before he shook his head lightly. “Funny.”

You lowered yourself onto a flat rock overlooking the edge, stretching your legs out comfortably. Cassian hesitated for half a second before settling down next to you, leaving just enough space to keep it careful.

After a moment, his voice came again—low, thoughtful.

“Do you ever miss Ferrix?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just watched the light catch the tips of the trees like fire.

“I don’t think I miss Ferrix itself,” you said. “But I miss who I was there. It was easy. I was so… innocent and carefree in a way I didn’t even realize until it was gone.”

Cassian nodded slightly, still staring ahead.

“And now?” he asked.

You let out a breath. “Now, I feel like I’m surviving more than I’m living. Some days I wake up already bracing for the worst. Some days I look at the mission log and want to scream, to throw something, to beg someone else to do it instead.”

You swallowed. “But I go. Because someone has to. Because if we stop now, everything we’ve lost—everything people died for—it’s meaningless.”

He didn’t interrupt. His silence was steady, holding space for you.

You paused, the words settling between you.

“But we’re close,” you added quietly. “So close to something better.”

Cassian leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “I hope you’re right.”

You glanced over at him. “Do you ever think about what comes after all this?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment.

“I try not to,” he said finally. “It feels dangerous.”

You studied him. “To hope?”

“To want something I might not get.”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head in disagreement. “I think I’d want to be somewhere green. Field of grass, maybe a garden. Nothing fancy. Just… stillness. A place where I could sit outside and not have to listen for alarms.”

Cassian was silent for another breath before saying, “You deserve that.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten. Like he meant it more than anything else he’d said all day.

The quiet held for a while, soft and companionable.

You weren’t sure when the conversation picked up again—only that it did, slowly, easily. You both sat and talked. Nothing serious at first. Just… things. You joked about Draven’s permanent scowl, laughed when Cassian described the absolute disaster that was his first meeting with K-2, and swapped stories from childhood that neither of you had ever bothered to share before.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out there. It felt like thirty minutes. Maybe less. But when you glanced up, the sun had shifted, casting longer shadows across the grass. It had been hours. One of those rare stretches of time that didn’t drag or race - just passed. 

Eventually, you stood, brushing your palms on your thighs. Cassian rose with you, slower, like he’d forgotten the rest of the world existed.

You didn’t rush to leave.

You just stood there beside him, shoulder to shoulder, letting the moment settle into something unspoken.

Then a drop hit your shoulder.

Cassian looked up just as the clouds rolled in - sudden, fast. No warning. No thunder. Just a soft patter that became a steady downpour within seconds.

“Of course,” he muttered, wiping water from his brow, already annoyed.

But you just laughed -loud and unbothered - tilting your face toward the sky like it was the best thing to happen all day.

“You’re enjoying this?” he asked, disbelieving.

“It’s just water, Cass,” you grinned, hair already starting to cling to your cheeks. “You’ll survive.”

He gave you a look - classic Cassian: all tight-lipped practicality and mild suffering. Water trickled from his temples. His shirt was already soaked through, fabric clinging to his frame.

You spun in a slow circle, arms outstretched, letting the rain soak you without resistance. “Come on. Admit it. It’s kind of nice.”

“I’m soaked,” he said flatly.

“You’re dramatic,” you shot back, still laughing.

Cassian rolled his eyes but didn’t move. Didn’t seek cover. Just watched you - half annoyed, half… something else you couldn’t quite name.

You turned back toward him, strands of hair plastered to your face, your tank top now a second skin. The rain made it nearly sheer, fabric hugging your ribs, your collarbone, the curve of your chest. You didn’t notice…But Cassian definitely did.

He looked away too fast, blinking hard, like the rain had suddenly gotten in his eyes.

Your smile twitched. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, jaw tight.

The rain was cold now. Your skin prickled - not just from the chill, but from the quiet way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

Cassian cleared his throat, his focus snapping back to the treeline like it had done something to offend him. “Let's head back.”

You grinned through the curtain of rain. “Didn’t peg you for the type to be scared of a little weather.”

“I’m not,” he said, a little too quickly. “I’m soaked. You’re soaked. This isn’t fun.”

You stepped closer, just a little, voice playful. “Speak for yourself.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t step back. Just stood there, eyes darting to your mouth for half a second too long before flicking away.

The tension was quiet but unmistakable. Like a wire drawn tight between you, humming in the rain.

“It’s just rain,” you said, softer this time. “You’ve been through worse.”

Cassian didn’t answer right away. His gaze returned to you—once, then again. Slower now. Assessing. You weren’t trying to provoke him, not really, but there was something in the way his mouth pressed into a line. The way he suddenly couldn’t meet your eyes for more than a second.

You tried not to smile.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Nothing,” he muttered, redirecting his stare to a nearby tree like it held the secrets of the galaxy.

You laughed—quiet and real—and wandered forward a few paces, splashing in a forming puddle. “You really hate this, huh?”

“I don’t hate it,” he grumbled, clearly lying.

You twirled once more, arms loose, eyes half-closed.

“I’m soaked,” he repeated, like it was the only argument that mattered.

“You keep saying that like it’s some tragedy”

You turned back to face him again - and for a moment, the world stilled. The rain didn’t stop, but it quieted in your mind. Cassian looked at you. Really looked. And something passed between you then, fast and invisible, but sharp enough to feel.

You gave a small shrug, soft around the edges. “Fine. We’ll head back.”

Cassian didn’t protest. He just nodded and fell into step beside you, quiet as always. But something had shifted.

The silence between you felt different now. Not strained. Not awkward.

Just full.

And when your arms brushed on the walk back—he didn’t pull away. He didn’t even flinch.

NEXT CHAPTER

Ooo, the sexual tension is starting to buildddddd!!!

This chapter felt a bit rushed for me, but I wanted something cute before things start getting a bit more dark and heavy! Lmk what yall thought :)

[xesnox]

All currently active NeoBuilders.

Minecraft default skins in Ancient Ruins, reference picture at the end for comparison.

Don’t look too close at the faces, had to speedrun this so I could actually motivate myself to finish the entire lineup. Definitely not my best work. Clothing was a pain to figure out and I’ll definitely change some things in the future as I’m still not entirely happy with the general aesthetics of some sets. Zuri and Efe were the worst to figure out, their clothing styles were very modern in comparison to what I’m going for with Ancient Ruins so it took me a while.

But first of all, what is a NeoBuilder?

Lore entry Ahead, body horror warning, nothing too extreme I wouldn’t say, but the concept definitely isn’t the prettiest.

“NeoBuilder” describes a category of individuals that appear to be within the homo-genus (Artisan Family.).

The dissection of a deactivated individual showed (us) they are made of about 85% mechanical components, most of which consist of copper and iron. Organs however remain fully functional and can be traced back to Ancient Artisans in origin through DNA sampling. Blood vessels aswell as a large portion of their flesh has been replaced by machinery, activated regulated and moved through restricted soul energy coursing through their veins as blood would on a fully biological human.

The change of energy source makes them effectively immune to the green plague, which is transmitted through blood. In place of a heart they have a still unnamed chamber (Ch1), acting akin to a cockpit housing a freshly created soul, which is replaced by converting experience farmed in the previous lifecycle to the next, taking the raw energy and morphing it into a new soul. As souls are neither human nor animal but simply an energy cluster made of (if found post mortum) memories and life experience this can easily (and understandably) be transferred, even if the origin of the experience in question happens to be non-sentient. The experience is collected and stored within yet another unnamed organ replacing their left kidney (Ch2).

But do not be fooled, this process by no means makes them immortal. If the body is in critical shape it will resort to exporting the active soul and using the remaining soul energy still running through the machinery to activate the emergency program. In this state the body will do nothing but return to whatever point the machine has clocked as “safe” (this kind of reset happens when the person is resting for an extended period of time, as it marks said area as safe enough to stay vulnerable within.) and fix its injuries back to base point, excluding the bio-matter, as there no longer is any such material around. Through the expelling of the last soul, and slow process of developing a new one, the machine will power down there until the next energy burst. This means that even though the body itself remains alive, every life cycle houses a different person. If you see the same NeoBuilder twice it is therefore not guaranteed it will come with the same intention, as it might be a completely different soul speaking through the same form.

If the damage is too bad however, the NeoBuilder will shut down and cannot be reactivated unless one with actual knowledge of how to do so were to interfere. The how has been lost to history however, we blame the creature of despair and decay that shall not be named. It is different from deactivation, as it renders the body permanently dead. Many NeoBuilders have deactivated, we assume only 9 of the previous 30 remain.

We have no idea as to why these manmade humanoids were created, as the why has also been buried and lost to years of untouched unaddressed missing history.

Infact, their names are quite new, till about half a century ago, due to my own research if I may pat myself on the back, we had assumed them to be a strange strain of plague infested ancients, as they’d always remained distant to us and a dead specimen was a more than rare find. It is not a fully worked out name whatsoever, the “Builder” merely connecting them to the Artisan family, and the word “Neo”- as in “New” replacing the word “Ancient” we’ve been using to describe the other half of the family thus far, it is a placeholder by all means, but so is the latter.

Their nature would definitively make them more akin to bio-mechanical golems, however we chose to group them into the artisan family for the previously mentioned bio material, which matched identical to that of the mummified remains cave divers had found a few years back lodged between long forgotten pathways shut to time. Wasn’t a pretty sight when they showed me. One would think after a good few millennia they’d be nothing but a pile of ash and bones, but low oxygen levels within the closed off cave system made for some awfully good preservation, not pretty I dare say, I’m just glad nothing snapped at me during inspection as, perhaps in this case thankfully, the undead plague only infects the living; anything that doesn’t breathe and lacks running blood cannot fall victim to such a thing. But personal tangent aside, some interesting notes here:

- Despite the soul of the Neobuilder swapping with each lifecycle they generally keep the same base morals of the previous host.

- it seems Mother Earth isn’t very fond of them for whatever reason. The undead are very manageable if one isn’t around, but as soon as one chooses to stay in close vicinity it very quickly gets nearly impossible to maneuver, they’re like a magnet. It seems this is the reason they rarely last longer than 20 years within a single lifecycle.

- they’re actually quite cooperative, and many have learned our language. Though sorrowfully it appears they only store a single slot for their language, and forget all other information of a previously spoken one upon interaction (perhaps they were meant as a situational translation device?). I’ve attempted my best to reteach them, but I’m no linguist; I limit my research to history, with a limited understanding of biology. To figure out the mechanics alone I had to get a whole other villager to help my case.

- despite a large portion of their flesh being replaced by mechanical components an extra layer of the fat cells within the subcutis create an artificial layer of flesh like material dampening any slashes at the golem like form below.

More research to be added once I acquire more material to work with. This is a work in progress.

Understudied field, more research either classified information or unable to be attained due to both lack of examples and individuals willing enough to risk their lives acquiring such needless information. Ivan D. P. Retired shortly after writing his book discussing categorized biological information regarding the entities within our realm, which has since been removed from the market. The authors doctor title has been revoked due to a less than fortunate suspected alliance with the Illager cult on his end, so choose the information you’re willing to believe wisely, the villages dislike him for a reason.

We sincerely apologize but certain behaviors are to be taken seriously regarding the issues the cult on the outskirts has caused us in the past. Rumors have to be believed regarding individuals actively choosing to house away from the masses for whatever reason, to keep the general public safe.

Moving just out of sight to dedicate your life to dissecting humanoids on your dinner table is not normal behavior and was it not for his living position would hastily be investigated,

mumbling about how you hate our community doesn’t lessen our concerns, if you read this Ivan, it was not funny and it will never be, you know of the missing people concerns: if it happens again we’re sorry to inform you but you’ll no longer be welcome within this village.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Synopsis: Tabito Karasu has been in love with you for almost as long as he can remember. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like you have any intentions of reciprocating, considering you’ve only ever seen him as a child — and, more importantly, as your best friend’s little brother.

BLLK Masterlist | Part Two | Otoya Version

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Total Word Count: 41.6k

Content Warnings: reader is older than karasu (by like two years so it’s nbd but it exists), no blue lock au, bratty baby karasu, jealous karasu, slow burn, childhood friends, i have no idea how to write kids just deal w it, karasu’s older sister is given a name (look at that word count LMAO i’m not calling her ‘karasu’s older sister’ the entire time), reader gets drunk at one point, karasu the goat of pining, yukimiya and otoya mentions ⁉️

A/N: yes this is inspired by the song “best friend’s brother” from victorious but has barely anything to do with it. yes this is probably the longest karasu fic you will ever read as of its publishing date (word count is not a typo it fr is that long). yes reader and karasu are fuck ass little kids for half of the fic. i have nothing to say for myself except that i love karasu so much and i cannot be stopped…also tumblr is an opp so i had to split this into two parts EEK i’m sorry!!

In a sea of bright, patterned umbrellas, only one was dark and plain. It was wide, the practical sort, all but dwarfing the girl who held it as she hurried along to the covered entrance of the school, her shoulders hunched against the wind and her steps brisk. You thought that she seemed small for your age, like a particularly strong breeze might blow her away entirely, and strangely gloomy, though this might’ve been an effect of the weather and not her personality.

Your own umbrella was cheery, a pink-striped thing that announced its presence in a most domineering way and clashed with the shades of orange and teal and green around it. You had found it pretty when your parents had given it to you, but now you were much more taken with the sole matte black one that wove in and out of the crowd, the clear raindrops resting on it like diamonds.

By the time you were past the cherry trees lining the parking lot, you had lost the girl and her black umbrella alike. It should’ve been impossible, considering what an anomaly it was, but then again that color was like a shadow, blending in unless one looked for it very carefully, and sometimes even then.

You would’ve worried, but you had bigger problems to be preoccupied with — namely, it was your first day of elementary school, and you had no idea what to expect. Setting the girl out of your mind, you used your free hand to fiddle with the name tag on your breast pocket, ducking under the roof before closing your umbrella and shaking the excess water off of it. Then you scurried after an older student who seemed like they knew where they were going, following them until you found yourself in a corridor you recognized from the tour you had taken with your parents prior to the start of the year.

In the classroom, there was a shelf where you could put your wet umbrellas in neat rows. You didn’t see any rhyme or reason to how they had been arranged, except that everyone had avoided putting theirs beside the dull, dark umbrella that you had admired. Glancing around at the rest of your classmates, who had already grouped themselves into loose clusters based on their seats, you set your umbrella beside the black one. For some reason, the pink stripes at that angle resembled frowns; you found it suitable, then, that those two were the only ones on that shelf. They seemed to go together, depressed and angry in turn.

Although you had not seen the girl’s face, you recognized her immediately. She sat apart from everyone else, her spindly limbs held close to her body, her heart-shaped face dominated by a pair of sapphire eyes, hair like an oil spill pulled into a high ponytail that cascaded down her back like tail-feathers. At first glance, she was unassuming, and at second she was entirely off-putting, but you were contrarian enough to take a third, and it was only then that you realized she was actually magnetic in a way, her lips pulled into a serene smile, her irises lively and brows high with interest.

“Hello,” you said, taking the seat beside her. “I’m Y/N L/N.”

It was the radical thing, what you had done in willingly isolating yourself from the others, but you found that you had no interest in those shallow peers of yours, who had not bothered to look at a person three times and see the truth of their being. This girl, with her black umbrella and her keen gaze and her bird-like countenance, was the only one in the entire room you wanted to befriend.

“Are you talking to me?” she said. Her accent was more pronounced than yours, which resembled the one of your Tokyo-born parents’ far more than it did the rougher cadences that most people in the region spoke with. The boisterousness of her voice contrasted sharply with her frail appearance, though to charming effect, and it warmed you to her even more.

“Uh-huh,” you said. “It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

“Karasu,” she said. “Yayoi Karasu. Good to meet you, too, L/N.”

Karasu. She was a crow, and as pretty and sharp as one, too. It was more fitting of a name than it ought to be, and you nodded, because your childish mind liked when things made sense, could be categorized into labeled boxes. Black umbrella. Blue eyes. Crow-wing hair. Yayoi Karasu.

“Let’s be friends,” you said, and maybe it was a blunt, straightforward request, but she did not seem to mind it.

“You want to be friends with me?” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you said. She shrugged, bony shoulders brushing against her earlobes from the jerky motion.

“Don’t know. Just doesn’t seem like the others want to,” she said.

“The others are stupid. They’ll feel bad about it later, but by then we won’t need them,” you said.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s be friends, L/N.”

“If we’re friends, then you can call me Y/N,” you said.

She grinned, wide and gleaming. “Only if you call me Yayoi. Just Yayoi.”

When you got home that night, the first thing you did was race to the living room, where your mother was sitting, knitting needles stationary in her hands as she watched a drama.

“Mama!” you said, jumping onto the sofa beside her, tugging on her sleeve until she paused her show and looked at you. “Mama, I made a friend today.”

“Did you? How exciting! What’s their name?” she said.

“Yayoi Karasu, but she said I can just say Yayoi ’cause we’re friends,” you said.

“That’s wonderful,” your mother said. “Do you want to have Yayoi over sometime?”

“Hm, yes, I think so,” you said, already envisioning how fun it would be to play with her outside of school. You supposed you didn’t know much about what she liked to do, but you doubted it was anything you wouldn’t also enjoy, so there wouldn’t be a problem. There couldn’t be — the two of you were friends, and there were never problems between friends.

Within two weeks came an invitation, made before you could extend your own. The Karasu family wanted you to come over, and though your parents wished they had asked first, they did not mind that you were going, especially considering how elated you were when you relayed the news.

It was a short walk to Yayoi’s house, or perhaps it was that you were so excited which shortened the distance; either way, it hardly took any time at all before you and your mother were at their doorstep. You hid behind her leg when she knocked, suddenly timid, although you had no reason to be.

The woman who answered the door resembled Yayoi greatly, though she was fuller and taller and exuded an air of great confidence. She could only be Yayoi’s mother, and you wondered if this was the kind of person Yayoi would grow up to be.

“Are you Mrs. Karasu?” your mother said. The woman nodded, gesturing you into the home invitingly.

“Yes! You must be Mrs. L/N — Y/N’s mother?” she said.

“That’s right. Y/N, please say hello to Mrs. Karasu,” your mother said.

“Hello, Mrs. Karasu,” you said, your voice catching in the back of your throat. She had the same voice as Yayoi, the same exuberance to her words and geniality to her tone, but coming from her, it was almost intimidating.

“Yayoi should be in the playroom — down that hallway, the first door on your left. I’m surprised she didn’t come to the door to greet you; your visit is all she’s been able to talk about for the entire week,” Mrs. Karasu said.

“Y/N, too,” your mother said affectionately. You left them to speak in the kitchen, darting in the direction Mrs. Karasu had indicated, ducking into an appealingly decorated playroom.

The walls were painted pale yellow, and there were colorful bins stacked in the corners, labels written on them in black marker which detailed what their contents were. There was no sign of Yayoi, but in the center of the room, surrounded by a rainbow of blocks, was a little boy holding a model train in his hands.

He had the same hair as Yayoi, though while hers was sleek and flat, his stuck up every which way, a bitter warning to those who might’ve tried to tame it. His cheeks were rounder than hers, and his eyes were darker, the same deep shade as mulberry stains, but there was undeniably a resemblance between the two.

Though he was quite taken by the train he was playing with, he looked up when you opened the door to the room, and then he cocked his head, thick eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Do you know where Yayoi is?” you tried, hoping he could understand you. He was obviously younger than you and Yayoi, though you were unsure by how much — a year? Two?

“Ya-yi?” he repeated, stumbling over her name endearingly.

“Yes, Yayoi,” you said. “Where is she?”

He hummed in a whimsical way which clearly meant he had no clue, and then he raised his hand with the toy in it, beaming at you.

“D’you like my train?” he said.

“Yeah, it’s a cool color,” you said, not wanting to hurt his feelings. As an only child, this sort of interaction was out of your realm of expertise, but for some reason, you had an urge to try your best.

“My favorite,” he said. “Light blue.”

“That’s a good favorite,” you said. “So. Are you Yayoi’s little brother?”

“Yes,” he said enthusiastically. “I’m Tabito. Who are you? Ya-yi’s friend?”

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “Yayoi’s friend from school.”

“Y/N!” he said, like your name was the greatest word he had ever learned. “Let’s play trains! Can you play trains with me? Can we please play trains?”

You frowned. You needed to find Yayoi, but it wasn’t like you could wander around their house aimlessly, and Mrs. Karasu knew you were in the playroom, so your best course of action was staying put until your friend found you. Then, if that was the case, there was really no harm in obliging him, even if you weren’t an avid train enthusiast.

“Sure, alright,” you said, sitting down across from him and holding your hand out. “Give me one.”

He blinked at you. “Get your own.”

“I don’t know where you keep them, so I can’t,” you said.

“Then, um, then you can build, okay?” he said, piling blocks into your waiting hands. “Make a bridge. Do you know what a bridge is?”

“Yes?” you said. He seemed delighted by this, his entire face glowing from the simple affirmation; eager to keep his spirits high, you pointed at a point on the carpet. “Can I build it here?”

“Um…okay,” he said. It didn’t seem like he was particularly keen on the notion, but you were out of ideas at that point, so you just shrugged and began to stack the blocks into something resembling the bridges you had driven past on trips to your grandparents’ respective homes in Tokyo.

Tabito was too busy rolling the trains around the playroom to supervise your attempts at construction, so you were left to your own devices, designing it in the way you saw fit. Right when you had deemed the structure finished and turned to ask him if he liked it, the door to the playroom slammed open and Yayoi bounced in, hugging a hamper to her chest.

“Y/N! I’m sorry, I went to get all of my toys from my room, but then I had to go to the bathroom, so that’s why I’m late,” she said.

“It’s okay,” you said.

“Ya-yi!” Tabito said. “You’re playing with your upstairs toys? Can I also?”

“No way!” Yayoi said, hiding the hamper behind her. “Go somewhere else and leave Y/N and I alone!”

His lower lip trembled, and then, though he had been so happy only moments earlier, he broke into wailing sobs, causing Yayoi to groan and face-palm. Within seconds, Mrs. Karasu had burst into the room, looking around and only calming when she realized you were all alright, or at the least uninjured.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

“I told Tabito to leave Y/N and I alone and he just started crying!” Yayoi said.

“You should be nicer to your younger brother,” her mother reprimanded her, hands on her hips. “He’s still little. It’s up to you to be the bigger person in these kinds of disagreements.”

“I don’t wanna! He’s annoying! Can’t you take him away? We want to play with our toys now!” Yayoi said.

Tabito cried harder at this, hiccuping as Mrs. Karasu swept him into her arms with a sigh.

“Now, now, Tabito, don’t be upset,” she said, using her sleeve to wipe his teary cheeks. “Let’s go watch TV and let your sister play with her friend.”

“Okay!” he said, the tantrum dissipating as quickly as it had come. He rested his chin on his mother’s shoulder, waving a small hand at you as he and Mrs. Karasu rounded the corner, leaving you and Yayoi to play on your own.

“Finally,” Yayoi said. “Little brothers are the worst.”

“He made me build a bridge for his trains,” you said, pointing at your attempt at architecture. Yayoi giggled.

“That looks nothing like a bridge,” she said.

“I did my best,” you said. “How old is he?”

“He’s four,” she said. “And a total pain.”

“Really?” you said. Setting aside the fit he had had when Yayoi had demanded he leave, he hadn’t seemed like anything but a typical and cute little kid.

“You don’t get it because you don’t have to live with him, but he’s the worst,” she said. “And my mom always takes his side, too! It’s super unfair.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Don’t you have any siblings?” she said.

“No, I’m an only child,” you said.

“Ah, that makes sense,” she said. “Anyways. Sorry you had to play with him.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you said. “I didn’t mind.”

“Huh. Whatever; do you want to see my favorite stuffed animals?” she said.

“Sure!” you said. She dumped the contents of the hamper on the floor, and thus began your playdate, which mostly consisted of her introducing her toys to you and you clapping appropriately.

You were fairly certain Yayoi was a good friend — in fact, you supposed you could even call her your best friend, though you didn’t have many others who could’ve taken the position, so it was as much by default as it was out of any perceived loyalty. Even still, it was true that she was someone you were genuinely fond of, and who was genuinely fond of you in return, so the title was earned and not just awarded at random.

It was nice being with Yayoi. As you came to learn, she was more practical than gloomy and more shy than off-putting. Once those initial guards came down, she was as affable as anyone, or maybe even more so. Your prediction came true in another sense; now that your classmates, too, saw the truth of yours and Yayoi’s personalities, they began to seek you out in droves, trying to befriend you both, to bring you into their folds and mix you into their exclusive groups.

The two of you entertained these attempts, of course — neither of you were loners at heart, and indeed felt quite at ease amidst throngs of people — but in the end, you never strayed far from each other. It was a known fact that you and her were best friends, that where one of you went, the other would not be far behind, and so your peers quickly decided to go for a sort of joint-befriending strategy.

“L/N, Karasu, do you guys want to come to the park with us this weekend? My mom’s bringing snacks and stuff,” one of your classmates asked you. You had advanced a grade since you had all met for the first time, so in theory all of you had known one another for at least a year at this point, but all you could recall of the short, stocky boy was that his name was something like Akamine or Arakawa.

Typically, Yayoi would glance at you for confirmation, but today she rapidly nodded her head at the boy. Akamine? Arakawa? You wished that he would introduce himself so you were spared the embarrassment of asking.

“We’d love to, Aoyama. Thank you for inviting us,” she said. Aoyama. You had been astoundingly off the mark; silently thanking Yayoi, who had no doubt picked up on your struggle if not your distaste, you grunted.

“Sure,” you said. You had no great desire to go, not when this Saturday was supposed to be the first fair day after a week of rain. You’d rather spend it doing something of your own choosing, not playing in a park with people you hardly knew. But Yayoi was going, so you would, too, dutifully and without much complaint. “Though we’ll have to ask our parents first.”

It was just a formality. Neither Yayoi’s parents nor yours ever denied you from frolicking about with your school-friends, as long as you had done everything you needed to at home. In Yayoi’s case, it was that they were happy that she was coming out of her shell so rapidly, and for you, it was because your parents found it difficult to say no to you when you were their only and most beloved child.

As your mother’s weather app had predicted, there was sunlight on Saturday — gray and watery, to be sure, but it held fast in its patch of sky, its small corner of periwinkle which contrasted with the silvery lavender of the looming thunderheads threatening another storm in the near future.

You arrived at the park before Yayoi, and so you pretended to be famished, looking through the snacks that Aoyama’s mother had brought while you waited for her to come.

When she did, it was with an expression not too dissimilar to the clouds on the horizon on her face and a set of small fingers squeezed in between hers, their owner struggling to keep up with her furious, stomping pace.

“You brought Tabito?” you said when she reached where you were waiting. Her younger brother stood at her side, wearing a dark blue raincoat and a pair of black mittens, though it wasn’t that cold out. Someone — you could only assume his mother — had attempted to comb his hair back into something resembling a neat style, but they had mostly been unsuccessful, for it had not been tamed any.

“It wasn’t my choice,” Yayoi said, shooting the oblivious boy a dark glare. “My mom made me. According to her, it’s good for siblings to play together.”

“Look, Y/N,” Tabito said, pulling on your sleeve to get your attention and then opening his mouth wide, revealing a gaping hole in the row of his pearly upper teeth. “I lost my first tooth!”

“Did you throw it in the air?” you said.

“Of course,” he said, very self-importantly and more than a little derisively, as if you had been a fool to suggest otherwise.

“Good job,” you said. He was in his last year of kindergarten, and so he would soon join you and Yayoi at your school, which meant he was eager to learn everything he could from you in order to prepare for the momentous leap. This meant that there was not a person in the world who was a better listener than him; given, of course, that one was prepared to entertain his multitude of questions and did not find the curiosity to be a nuisance.

“Yayoi, can we go on the swings?” he said. He had, in the time you had known the two of them, accustomed himself to saying her name properly, though this was only a small consolation to the irritable Yayoi, who would rather he not say her name at all.

“Maybe later,” she said. “Right now, Y/N and I are going to play with our friends, but after that, we can go on the swings, okay? You just sit here and don’t get into trouble for a bit.”

For a moment, it seemed like he would argue, but around Tabito, Yayoi became a much bossier and more tyrannical version of herself, a version whose commands were impossible to deny, and so he only nodded.

“Come back quickly so we can swing,” he said beseechingly. Yayoi ruffled his hair, undoing her mother’s efforts entirely, and then she jutted her chin out in the direction of your classmates.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” she said.

“Do you think he’ll be okay if we just leave him there?” you said as you both walked towards where everyone was gathering on the slides.

“Yes, it’s not an issue,” she said. “He’ll be mopey for a bit, but that’s just the way of things. It’s his fault for getting upset when I said he couldn’t come with me and involving our mom in it! If he wanted to swing, he should’ve just waited until tomorrow when I said the two of us could go by ourselves instead of insisting he wanted to come today and see all of my friends.”

“Aw,” you said. “It’s kind of sweet that he wanted to meet your friends.”

“Try stupid,” she said. “Do you think any of them, besides you, will really be nice to him? It would’ve been better if he just stayed at home, but I didn’t want my mom to get mad at me.”

“That’s true,” you said. “Well, you would know better, so don’t take me too seriously.”

“I wish we could swap places,” she said. “I’d love to be an only child, and obviously you want a younger brother, so it would make everyone happy if we could trade roles, don’t you think?”

“You’d be sad if you didn’t have a sibling,” you said. “It’s a little bit lonely sometimes.”

“Seriously, you can have Tabito if you want,” she scoffed. “You’ll change your mind soon enough.”

She got carried away in a conversation with Aoyama after that. He was only too happy to oblige, although a needling sensation on the back of your neck alerted you to the fact that he was gazing at you all the while. You paid him no mind, though, preferring to observe everyone as they mingled about, waiting to see if anyone you could manage to tolerate would manifest.

Aoyama and his ilk were the sort of boneheaded future sports players that you least preferred. Normally, you were more outgoing than this, but in a group where you were so glaringly out of place, you withdrew into yourself, shrinking like a violet away from their brashness, which lacked a necessary amiability that would’ve made them far more approachable.

At one point, in an attempt to avoid Aoyama and his frequent stares, you glanced over your shoulder, pretending like you were checking on Tabito out of some sisterly duty. As an extension of Yayoi, it only made sense that you’d feel that same protective instinct for him, so no one questioned it when you muttered a quick farewell and made a beeline for where he was sitting.

Somehow, he had managed to stay in one place on the bench, his hands folded in his lap and his legs kicking in the air as he looked out at Yayoi forlornly. For some reason, he reminded you of a kitten which had been abandoned by its owner, so you stopped before him and poked him on the forehead to get his attention.

“Tabito,” you said. “Do you still want to go on the swings?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Is Yayoi coming?”

“Not yet,” you said. “But we can go together if you want.”

“You don’t want to play with your friends?” he said, hopping down from the bench and following you towards the swings anyways.

“Not really,” you said. “I’m only close with Yayoi anyways, and she’s busy with Aoyama at the moment.”

“Oh,” he said. It was an utterance filled with wisdom, or maybe that was just the impression he was trying to give off. Yet you earnestly believed at that moment that, despite his age, he understood what you meant when you said that, so you chose to think that it was the former.

“Do you need help getting on the swing?” you said when you reached the swing set.

“No, I can do it!” he said. “Watch, watch!”

He executed an inexplicable series of maneuvers that you could neither replicate nor even fathom, but somehow it ended up with him sitting squarely on the swing, his pale-knuckled hands gripping the chains tightly.

“Wow,” you said. “That was cool. Are you ready?”

“Yup!” he said. You pushed his back lightly, sending him soaring into the air, and the two of you continued in that manner for a while. It was meditative in a way; your mind was blank and the world was silent, save for the whistling of the wind. You didn’t have to care about what your annoying classmates would say next, or whether they were named Akamine or Arakawa or Aoyama or whatever.

If Tabito was your little brother, you’d take him to the playground every single day, and you’d push him on the swing for as long as he wanted. You were overcome with a sickening wave of jealousy for Yayoi, who could’ve done that but never did, and you wondered if this was how she felt towards you. Was it really that no one could ever just be satisfied with what they had? If you had been born with a sibling, would you have detested them as surely as Yayoi did Tabito?

There was another roll of thunder, louder and nearer this time than the last. A fat droplet of rain landed on your nose, and when Tabito next came closer to you, you caught him so that he would stop.

“What happened?” he said. “I want to keep swinging.”

“It looks like it’s about to start raining earlier than we thought,” you said. There was another droplet of rain, and then another, and another, in quicker and quicker succession until there was a verifiable deluge coming down. Tabito slid off of the swing, his left hand in your right as he pulled the hood of his raincoat up.

“Tabito!” It was Yayoi, running towards you and shouting frantically. “Y/N!”

“Yayoi, we should go!” you said as she skidded to a stop in the mulch bed of the swing set. She nodded, her eyelashes already clumping together, water trickling down her forehead. Grabbing Tabito’s other hand, she used her arm to cover her head, and you mirrored her actions, though it didn’t do much in the way of keeping you dry.

“My house is closer!” she shouted over another crack of thunder. All of you took off at a sprint, splashing through rapidly forming puddles without abandon as you raced towards her house, dragging Tabito along with you.

There was a sort of euphoria to it, and indeed you were all laughing as you went, despite the terror you felt with every new stroke of lightning. Tabito made sure to bring down his feet extra hard in the puddles, much to yours and Yayoi’s collective chagrin, as you were continuously sprayed with mud from his actions, but it was hard to tell him to stop when he was enjoying himself so thoroughly.

The three of you collapsed in the Karasus’ foyer right before the drumming beat of the rain increased even more, locking the door behind you and gasping for breath as you recovered from the exhausting run, Tabito sprawled atop Yayoi and your head leaning against her shoulder.

“I’m glad we’re all alright,” Yayoi said, hugging her brother tightly. He squirmed in her embrace, which only prompted her to squeeze him tighter until he yelled in protest.

“You three are a mess!” Mrs. Karasu said. Either the shutting of the door or Tabito’s shout had summoned her; regardless, she looked down at the set of you in fond disapproval, tugging you all to your feet. “By the time I’m done calling Y/N’s parents and letting them know where she is, I expect all of you to be washed up and in fresh clothes!”

You all exchanged glances before running up the stairs, shoving each other out of the way as you went, none of you wanting to be the last one to follow her directives, leaving behind wet footprints on the carpet wherever you stepped.

The next year, Tabito started primary school. For the most part, he walked to and from the building with you and Yayoi, holding onto his sister’s hand and listening to your conversations, frequently peppering his own interjections in. Every Wednesday, though, Yayoi had badminton club meetings, and you had art club, so he was left to walk by himself. Conversely, on Thursdays, he had soccer club — he was one of the youngest members, but he had been playing for two years at that point and could not fathom not joining the school team — which meant that you and Yayoi could dawdle as you wanted, walking at your own paces instead of the erratic one that Tabito often set.

That Wednesday, you were approached by Aoyama, who was a fellow member of the art club. He had neither the skill nor the aptitude for it, his paintings messy, the strokes of his calligraphy thick and runny, but no one could say he wasn’t determined. More than anyone in the entire club, he really tried his hardest, which was likely the sole reason he hadn’t yet been kicked out.

“Hey, L/N,” he said, jamming himself in between you and Yayoi as you walked to your afternoon classes. You sighed, having never found him agreeable despite how persistent he was. Yayoi gave him a dirty look; whatever friendliness she had had for him last year had long since vanished, replaced with the same disdain you held.

“Yes, Aoyama?” you said.

“Did you see art club’s canceled today?” he said.

“No, I didn’t. I haven’t had the chance to check the bulletin board. Did it say why?” you said.

“The teacher’s sick,” he said.

“I hope she gets better soon,” you said.

“Me, too,” he said. “I love the art club.”

“You sure do,” Yayoi said under her breath, earning an appreciative snicker from you and a perplexed look from Aoyama. She was privy to everything that happened in the art club courtesy of you; in exchange, she kept you updated about the goings-on of the badminton club, though these stories were decidedly less amusing, owing to the fact that most of the badminton club members were too dedicated to the sport to waste time with anything foolish enough to be entertaining.

Aoyama was bad at telling when he was unwanted, but even he could not deny that his presence was not required, and furthermore was an active impediment to your day. With a mumbled goodbye, he sped up so that he could reach your classroom before you and Yayoi, finally leaving you be once more.

“He’s so weird,” you said.

“Right?” Yayoi said. “Totally crazy. At least he was kind of helpful this time and only let you know that you don’t have art club today.”

“True, I was kind of scared he’d try to invite us to hang out with him again,” you said with a shudder. The corners of her eyes crinkled in sympathy.

“I think his birthday’s coming up. Do you think we’ll get invited to the party?” she said.

“I don’t know. Probably not. Girls and boys don’t go to each other’s birthday parties,” you said. “He might, though. It seems like he thinks we’re friends.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she said. “Are you just going to go home after school, then?”

“Yeah, it’s not like I have anything else to do,” you said. “Want me to walk with Tabito?”

“He’ll be alright if you don’t, but if you want to go that way, then it wouldn’t hurt,” she said. There were two routes you could take to get home from the school; one passed by the Karasu house, and the other was slightly shorter but in a different direction. Technically, you could’ve taken the second route today, but you didn’t mind walking for an extra minute or so to help out.

“Sure, I can do that. Do you think he’ll wait in the usual spot?” you said.

“Probably not. It’s not like he knows your meeting was canceled,” she reasoned. “But you should be able to catch up to him pretty quickly. He’s kind of distractible.”

It was true. Though he was a quick walker, Tabito was prone to stopping and staring at things which only he noticed, so it was hard to actually get to places in a reasonable time with him. That fact, combined with your comparatively longer strides, meant that even if he didn’t explicitly wait for you, you’d almost surely be able to walk most of the way home with him.

Students rolled out like an orderly tide the moment the bell rang, a veritable ocean of pressed shirts and dark shoes and jostling bags. Without an agreed-upon meeting point, it was impossible to find a person in the throng, and indeed you did not even attempt it, merely weaving through until the crowd began to thin as everyone dispersed, heading in different directions towards their respective homes and after-school activities.

It took you longer than you expected to find Tabito. He was standing in a patch of grass along the side of the road, his chin tilted up as he stared at a bird in wonder; it was so quintessentially him that you did not realize at first that something was wrong.

“Tabito!” you said cheerfully, tapping on his shoulder to get his attention. “My art club meeting got canceled, so we can walk back — did something happen?”

The jewel-like shade of his irises threw the rosy rims around his eyes into further relief. His dark lashes were bunched together with wetness, and his cheeks were puffy. Though he fought it, his lower lip trembled, and he sniffed when he noticed you frowning.

“No,” he said.

“Obviously, something did,” you said matter-of-factly. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” he mumbled.

“You can tell me what’s bothering you. I won’t make fun of you or anything,” you said. He shrugged stubbornly, shifting from foot to foot, gripping the straps of his backpack in his fists. You tried to think of what could’ve upset him. “Did you get yelled at in class?”

“No,” he said.

“Did you get in a fight with one of your friends?” you said.

“No,” he said.

“Hm. Has someone been messing with you?” you said. He was silent, but you knew you must’ve hit the mark because his cool facade — which was already terribly maintained in the first place — crumbled away entirely, his face falling and a small hiccup escaping him. “Oh, I see. You should’ve said something to Yayoi and I. Who is it? I'll yell at them.”

“It won’t help if you do,” he said quietly. “It’s better to just ignore them. I mean, it’s an average problem, so don’t make a big deal about it. They’ll probably go away after a while.”

“But it isn’t fair for you to have to deal with that on your own,” you said. “It’s not like it’s your fault. People like that just pick on whoever they have the chance to pick on. There’s those kinds of kids in my grade, too. Like you said, it’s common, but that doesn’t mean you have to accept it.”

“If you say something, it’ll just be worse the next time,” he said. “They’ll go away if I don’t pay attention to them. It’s not like I even care what they say. It doesn’t matter to me.”

When you pretended to look at the road, he brought up his forearm, rubbing his sleeve against his eyes in the moment where there was no one to notice. You saw it, but you did not bring it up, recognizing that it was something he’d rather not discuss.

“Alright,” you said as you set out towards his house. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“But if you change your mind, or if you’re ever having another problem, I hope you know I don’t mind helping,” you said. “Think of me as another Yayoi.”

“You’re not like Yayoi,” he said.

“Well, no, of course not,” you said. “I can be like an older sister for you, though, the way she is. Do you get it now?”

“I don’t want you to be an older sister for me,” he said crossly, kicking a piece of stray gravel across the road. “And I won’t have any other problems.”

The only way to tame his unruly hair was with wax, which made it as stiff as a board and completely impossible for you and Yayoi to ruffle it the way you used to. You had to settle for poking him in the cheek; considering it irritated him no less, it was a worthy substitute.

“Are you trying to be all grown up just because you’re in elementary school now? You’re still a little kid, so no need to act tough,” you said.

“I’m not a little kid!” he whined.

“Sure,” you said.

“I’m not! I’m only two years younger than you, it’s not a lot!” he insisted. You grinned at him.

“It is a lot. You just started elementary school, and this is my third year here. That means I’m way more experienced than you, so you should look up to me,” you said.

He folded his arms across his chest, grumbling something to himself that he wouldn’t dare vocalize to you, all thoughts of whoever had been bothering him earlier vanished. Maybe it wasn’t the best method of cheering him up, but though his mood had not improved, at least it had changed. That was the best you could do, so as he held onto your hand while you crossed the street, you congratulated yourself on the small victory.

As Tabito continued through primary school, two things became evident: one, he was uncannily smart, his eerily observant nature lending itself to a genuine academic prowess that one could consider exceptional, and two, because of his pride in this ability, he refused to ask anyone for assistance, no matter how hard he was struggling.

“It’s so dumb,” Yayoi told you one day at recess, scrubbing at a graphite stain that someone else had left on her desk. “He’s totally lost with long division, but whenever my parents or I offer to help him, he gets super mad at us. Even my grandma tried! Although she doesn’t really remember much about mathematics, so I don’t know what the point was there…”

“He’s always been the independent type, though,” you said. “It’s not a surprise.”

“It’ll be a surprise when he does terribly on his next test,” she said. “Considering how things have been going as of late and how badly he’s been doing on his homework assignments.”

You swept stray eraser bits littering the floor into a neat pile and then gathered them in a dustpan, pouring them into the trashcan Yayoi had dragged over for your convenience, thinking this over.

“I can try helping him,” you said. “You have badminton club today, right? So it’ll just be us two walking home. I can ask him if he wants me to explain it.”

Unlike the previous year, when both of your clubs had met on the same day, Yayoi’s badminton club meetings were now held on Thursdays. This was because the previous club supervisor had stepped down, and the sole teacher willing to fill the vacancy was only free on that day.

“Good luck with that,” Yayoi said.

“Tabito’s my buddy,” you said. “I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

Likely due to your closeness with Yayoi — you had been each other’s best friends for going on four years now, after all — you had built up some kind of relationship with her little brother, who was usually present whenever you went to see her. Most of the time it felt like he was your sibling, too, and certainly he was one of the few kids his age that you could tolerate without looking down on too much.

“Yayoi mentioned you’ve been having some trouble with long division,” you said that afternoon. It was a pleasant day, the vast blue of the sky unmarred by clouds, except for a few which were so fleecy and eggshell-pale that almost no one could be offended by them. The season was spring, and soon it would be unbearably hot, but for now, it was lovely and breezy and you were content with things as they were.

“She’s making it up,” Tabito said.

“Really? That’s great,” you said. “I always found long division super difficult. I had to have my parents explain it to me a few times before I got it.”

He eyed you warily. “You did? I thought you were good at school. Yayoi always says you’re the smartest person in your class.”

“I don’t know about being the smartest person in the class or anything, but I’m pretty good at school, yeah,” you said. “I mean, I always get full marks on my exams, don’t I? That’s because I don’t feel shy about asking for help when I need it. Isn’t it better to deal with problems when they first happen? Because if you wait too long, you’ll only get more and more lost; then, you’ll need even more help than if you had just gotten it out of the way at the start.”

“That’s true,” he said.

“If you don’t want Yayoi or your parents to help you, then I don’t mind doing it. We finished cleaning early in recess, so we got our homework done then, and my parents won’t mind if I stay at your house for a little bit,” you said.

“Okay!” he said eagerly. You were taken aback; you had fully believed that he’d take more convincing than just that, but here he was, as excited as anything, all but rejuvenated at the prospect. Perhaps it really was that relieving to be given the permission to ask for help as well as a method to receive it. “After you help me, can we play together?”

You didn’t necessarily want to play with him, but he said it with such wide, shimmery eyes that you could not help nodding in agreement. You weren’t quite sure what playing with him entailed, but you doubted it would be anything difficult, and you supposed you didn’t have much else to do that afternoon, so it wasn’t as if it was some great sacrifice.

Tabito and Yayoi’s grandmother was the only other one who was home at that time, so you and Tabito spread out your things on the dining table without worry, taking out pencils and graph paper so that you could discuss the issue at hand.

“What part are you having difficulty with?” you said.

“Um,” he said. You waited, but he only twirled his pencil in one hand, training his gaze on the blank sheet of paper.

“If you don’t tell me, I can’t explain it,” you said. “I won’t make fun of you.”

“You promise?” he said.

“Yes, I promise,” you said.

“All of it,” he said. “The teacher explained it too quickly.”

“That’s okay,” you said kindly. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Here, I’ll show you, and if it’s too fast, then tell me so I know to slow down.”

Thankfully, he was quick on the uptake, and within a few minutes, he was able to complete the practice problems on his homework without any hassle or intervention from you. You were glad to see the ease with which he approached the things he had been struggling with only moments previously, finding that his success was also yours, in a way.

He continued working until his entire sheet was filled out, and then he snapped the book shut and shoved it back in his bag. You did the same, clearing the table of the mess you had made and packing your own bag with your supplies.

“You didn’t forget that you’re going to play with me, right?” he said. You put your folder into the back pocket of your backpack and shook your head.

“No, but I don’t want the table to be disorderly if your parents come back from work early or if your grandmother needs it for something,” you said. He seemed suspicious, snatching your bag from you once he could tell that you were finished putting everything into it.

“I’ll put it with mine,” he informed you. “You can take it once we’re done playing.”

“Uh, okay,” you said, bemused. He ran up the stairs, a backpack hanging off of each arm, and returned with the same speed he had left with, a net in his hands. You gave him a confused look at the odd choice in toys. “What’s that for?”

“It’s springtime, so we can catch bugs,” he said, unlatching the back door. You made a face, having no interest in bugs, but you had said that you’d play with him already, so with a sigh, you traipsed out into the Karasus’ backyard with him.

Fortunately, Tabito was pretty flexible with his definition of playing. He wandered around, capturing bugs and bringing them to you so you could see, but for the most part he left you to sit under one of their flowering trees, leaning against the trunk and closing your eyes in something that was not quite sleep but was very close to it.

The blossoms perfumed the air so that it was sweet and fresh, and the shadows of the tree-boughs were lacy and delicate on your face. Petals fell into your hair and against your skin, and a soft wind murmured through the grass, swearing a million hushed things to you, things that you could only decipher at this edge of consciousness.

You realized dreamily that it had been quite some time since you had been jostled awake by Tabito, who up until that point had been quite steadily displaying his catches — which were mostly of the mundane, garden variety — to you with great flourish. Wondering what he was doing, you fluttered your eyes open, only to find him standing a few steps in front of you, his net loose at his side, wearing an expression of awe the likes of which you had never seen on anyone before, least of all him. When you opened your mouth to ask him what he was doing, he shook his head rapidly.

“Shh,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll scare it.”

“What?” you said. “Scare what?”

“Oh, no,” he said as his statement came true, the butterfly which had been resting on your nose taking wing at the sound of your voice. You gasped, for you had thought the brush of its legs to be nothing but flowers shaken loose from their branches, and your hand flew to your face, fingers grazing over where it had been sitting only moments previously.

The butterfly had wings the same blue-violet color as Tabito’s eyes, framed with black and interspersed with pale spots. It floated away lazily and easily, dipping back towards you once before disappearing into the sky for good, flying somewhere far out of your reach. You both watched it go in silence — for some reason, it didn’t feel right to speak in that moment, as if you would interrupt something very sacred and precious if you did.

“That was a great purple emperor,” he said after a while. “Sasakia Charonda. It’s the national butterfly of Japan.”

“I’ve never seen one before,” you said, your heart racing, though you had no clue why.

“They usually stay up high,” he said. “That’s what the book Yayoi gave me said. Apparently, they only come down if they’re looking for food.”

“What do they like to eat?” you said. Insects were his interest at the moment; he jumped from topic to topic, reading as much as he could about one subject and then moving on to another when he grew bored. Yayoi found it frustrating when he began to talk about whatever he was fixated on at the moment, but you liked to indulge him when you could. After all, you would give anything to have someone who would listen to you, but if you could not have that, then you would at least like to be that person for another. For him.

“Sap and nectar and fruit juice, I think,” he said. “They prefer sweet things.”

You smiled. “It must have found me sweet, then, for it to have stayed there for so long.”

You couldn’t understand why, but his cheeks turned pink like the flowers blooming overhead, and then he spun on his heel and stormed inside without further response, leaving you to look back up at the sky and wonder if you’d ever see that butterfly again.

At twelve years old, you and Yayoi graduated elementary school alongside the rest of your peers. It was the biggest moment of your lives up until that point, a cause of terror as much as celebration. Junior high would be an entirely different experience than the one you had grown accustomed to, and the only consolation was that you both were attending the same one, so you would have each other’s company through the transition and beyond.

The graduation ceremony was short, with the principal giving a speech and then leading the parents in a round of applause for your achievements. Your mother and father sat beside Yayoi’s; Tabito was there, too, in between his grandmother and a man who bore a resemblance to your classmate Aoyama.

Tabito was ten now, and he was entirely contrary, doing the exact opposite of whatever he was told. It was especially so when the one telling him to do something was a person he was related to — namely, Yayoi, who frequently gave up and begged you to boss him around for her instead. He was less reluctant to follow your commands, though this might’ve been because you phrased them more as requests than anything.

He had not mentioned it outright, but given his amenability as of late, you sensed that he’d miss you and Yayoi once you began to attend junior high. It’d mean he was left alone, after all, left alone where once he had had you two as his companions. He was old enough now that you did not worry as much — if anyone tried to bother him the way they had when he was younger, you were assured that he’d manage them without breaking a sweat, but still, just because he did not need you and did not acknowledge it did not mean that he did not want you there.

His bored expression vanished when he met your eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting as he raised his hand in a shy wave. You could not wave back, not when you were supposed to maintain your composure onstage, but you dipped your chin ever-so-slightly in acknowledgement, scrunching your nose at him when you were sure your teacher was not looking.

As soon as the ceremony was completed, you filed off of the stage to meet your families outside. The moment your principal dismissed you, you took off towards your parents, leaping into your mother’s arms with a squeal.

“You did it!” she said.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” your father said, the lines of his face deepening from the force of his grin. “We’re so proud of you.”

“I can’t believe it,” you said. “Yayoi and I are going to go to middle school next year.”

“Both of you are going to do amazing,” your mother said.

“That’s for certain,” your father agreed. “Did you want to go talk to the Karasus? I’m sure that boy of theirs wants to say hi.”

They exchanged one of those looks that you were frustratingly aware of but could never interpret, and then they ushered you towards where Yayoi was standing with her family.

“Y/N!” Mrs. Karasu said when she noticed you. “Wonderful job, honey. We’re all so happy that you and Yayoi are going to continue to go to school together!”

“It’s true, we were just talking about it,” Mr. Karasu said. “It’s a lucky thing.”

“Isn’t it? And lucky for us, too, I’d say,” your father said. Mr. Karasu chuckled, slapping your father on the back in agreement. Thanks to you and Yayoi, your parents had become close, and indeed your fathers often claimed that they were each other’s ‘only friends.’ They were as glad as you were that you would not be split apart. After all, you doubted they could handle meeting new people and befriending them after so long together.

Your parents began to reminisce over the days when you and Yayoi were younger, and when you looked for Yayoi, you saw that she was talking to her grandmother, who she had always been close with. This left you to glance around in search of someone else to speak with yourself, though unfortunately, you soon came to the realization that there were not so many options.

“Y/N.” It was Tabito standing in front of you, his hands clasped behind his back. He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the pavement periodically, far more interested in the plumes of dust it created than anything, his head inclined towards his feet instead of at you. “Good job.”

“Thanks!” you said, glad to have a conversation partner. “It’ll be you, soon. Just two years! Are you excited?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go to the same junior high school as you, though.”

“That’s okay,” you said. “Even if you did, it would only be for one year, and then we’d be graduating again. You should make the choice based on what’s right for you, not where Yayoi and I are.”

“What happens if you and Yayoi don’t go to high school together?” he said.

“Why are you already thinking about us going to high school? That’s so far away,” you said.

“I just wanna know,” he said. “Will you stop being friends with her?”

“I don’t think so,” you said. “I’d have no reason to. Besides, if that happens, we’ll already have been friends for over nine years. It’s hard to abandon someone you’ve known for that long. Why do you ask? Are you worried that you’ll lose your friends when you graduate? You shouldn’t be.”

“I don’t want you to stop being friends with Yayoi,” he said. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“You try to act all cool, but you’re actually a really caring little brother, you know,” you said. “It’s sweet of you to worry about her, but it’ll take a lot more than attending different schools to break us apart, and even if something like that happens, she’ll easily make more friends, so it’s no cause to stress.”

“That’s not—”

“L/N, hey!”

Whatever Tabito was going to say was cut off by the arrival of your fellow art club member, Aoyama. He grabbed you in a hug before you could react, squeezing you in a vice grip that was impossible to escape from. You patted him on the back awkwardly until he let you go, though his fingers remained on your upper arms and he stayed leaning close to you.

“Hey, Aoyama,” you said. “Congrats on graduating.”

“You, too,” he said. “Oh, who’s this?”

“Yayoi’s little brother,” you said. Aoyama squinted at Tabito before nodding.

“I can see it — there’s definitely a resemblance. Hi, little Karasu! I’m Aoyama. I’ve been in the same class as your older sister and L/N here for the past few years,” he said. The way he introduced himself made it seem as if the three of you were particularly close, but indeed, other than your weekly art club meetings, neither you nor Yayoi had interacted much with the boy in the past couple of years.

“Hi,” Tabito said stiffly.

“He’s two years younger than us,” you added, in an attempt to smooth over Tabito’s surliness.

“That’s it?” Aoyama said. “He looks so small.”

“I’m not small!” Tabito said, but considering how much shorter he was than you and Aoyama, it wasn’t that convincing. He must’ve realized this, as his face grew red and his shoulders dropped, his lips drawing into a childish pout.

“Maybe it runs in the family,” Aoyama said. “Yayoi’s pretty tiny, too.”

“Well, it was good to see you, Aoyama,” you said, sensing that the conversation might take a turn for the worse very soon. “We should probably get back to our families, so…”

“No problem! See you next year?” he said.

You had forgotten that Aoyama, too, would be attending the same junior high as you and Yayoi, along with a handful of your other classmates. Nodding slightly and placing a hand on Tabito’s shoulder to steer him towards Yayoi, you waved at Aoyama.

“See you next year! Let’s go, Tabito,” you said.

There was a sullen quality to the stomp of his feet, but until Aoyama was out of earshot, he did not say anything to explain it. The moment the boy was gone, though, Tabito was whirling to face you, looking up at you plaintively.

“Do you think I’m small?” he demanded. It seemed his pride, which he guarded so fiercely, had been wounded by Aoyama’s comment. Even if you found it silly, it wasn’t unreasonable when you thought about it, so you did not make fun of him.

“Of course, right now you are,” you said. “It’s only natural. Eventually, you’ll grow, and then you won’t be.”

“I’ll be super tall when I’m an adult,” he said. “Taller than that guy.”

“Aoyama?” you said.

“Whatever his name is,” he said. “I’ll be taller than him, and — and — and better at soccer, too!”

“He doesn’t play soccer, so you’re already better than him at it,” you said. “Even if he did, though, I bet you wouldn’t have to try to beat him. You’re really good.”

He grunted. “Thanks.”

Though he tried to disguise it, it was obvious that he was pleased by the compliment. There was a spring to his step and a sparkle to his eyes as you rejoined your families, and you knew that you had once again succeeded in cheering him up, as you often took it upon yourself to do.

During your next summer term break, Yayoi insisted on going to the pool with you. She had heard that the next unit in your Physical Education class was going to be swimming, so even though you had not been assigned the practice as a requirement, she wanted to take advantage of your natural aptitude at the activity and get some time in so that she wasn’t behind.

“What’s your secret?” she nagged you as you, she, and Tabito walked towards your junior high school’s main building. Because of the swimming club, the pool was left open year-round, and even outside of practices, members of the student body were allowed to utilize the pool for their own reasons. Tabito wasn’t a student, but since he was with you and Yayoi, there was a high likelihood that nobody would even notice; besides, hardly anyone ever used the pool at this hour, so all in all there wouldn’t be any issues.

“Secret to what?” you said.

“Being so good at swimming! I can’t believe you didn’t join the club,” she said.

“It’s just something I like doing for fun. If I had to do it for the school club, I’d probably end up hating it,” you said. “Anyways, I don’t know. There’s no secret to it. I just get in the water and do what the teachers tell us to.”

Even in elementary school, you had been given rudimentary swim lessons as a part of your Physical Education class, but middle school would take those lessons to a far more brutal extent, at least according to Yayoi’s sources from the badminton club. You weren’t worried, but whatever information she had heard from her upperclassmen had terrified her enough that she was convinced you needed to spend every spare minute you had in the water.

“That’s what I do, but it looks so much easier when you do it,” she said, scanning her student card and motioning for you and Tabito to follow her through the open door.

“I don’t know. Things always look easier when you’re watching another person do them,” you said. “I’m sure it’s just as hard for me as it is for you.”

“Maybe,” she said.

“Do you like swimming, Tabito?” you said, taking off your shirt and pants, adjusting the straps of your bathing suit, which had twisted on the way to the pool. He had remained oddly quiet the entire time that you and Yayoi had been talking, which was out of character, considering he had been the one to insist on coming with you two.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I haven’t done it much before, so I don’t know.”

“Tabito’s afraid of the water,” Yayoi said. “He always cries when we go to the beach.”

“I don’t! Stop making things up, Yayoi,” he said. She snickered, already halfway down the stairs leading to the shallow end, the water licking around her thighs as she flopped backwards into the pool. As you had predicted, there was no one else there, so you had the entire area to yourselves, allowing you to be less focused in your efforts. Yayoi floated down the lane on her back, not even bothering to kick, her dark hair fanning out in a curtain around her waist, looking akin to a pair of unfurled wings fluttering in the wind.

“You so do,” she said. “I don’t know why you begged to come with us. I bet you won’t even go in the water, you chicken.”

“I am not a chicken!” he snapped, trailing after you like a shadow as you made your way over to the deep end.

“You definitely are,” Yayoi said. “Chicken, chicken!”

“Come on, Yayoi, that’s enough,” you said, stretching your arms and preparing to dive in. “It’s okay. He doesn’t have to swim if he doesn’t want to. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid of the water, especially not given that he’s still in primary school.”

Tabito puffed his cheeks out. “I’m not scared of the water. Only babies are, and I’m not a baby. I’m gonna swim just like you.”

“How about we do it together, then?” you bargained. Although Yayoi liked to tease Tabito, she would not lie or make things up solely to bully him, which meant that he really was frightened of the water. And if that was the case, then it’d be foolish of you to leave him alone, especially if he couldn’t even swim, the way she had been hinting he could not.

“That sounds good,” he said. You took his hand in between yours, interlocking your fingers with his tightly, so there was no chance that he’d accidentally let go, and then you leapt into the pool, pulling him after you. He let out a shriek at the suddenness, but then you hit the water and he was cut off by the cold temperature and the tangy, burning taste of chlorine.

A rush of bubbles surrounded you, the coruscating clear-blue obscuring your vision, but even before they could burst away into nothingness, you were pushing off the pool floor, dragging Tabito behind you until you reached the surface and he could gasp for breath.

His legs wrapped around your waist as your own churned the water, treading it to keep the both of you afloat, and his fingers clawed at your shoulders, digging them into your skin hard enough to bruise. When he tucked his cheek to your pulse, you noticed that his breaths were coming in harsh, short pants, his entire frame trembling against yours.

“Tabito,” you said gently. “You’ll have to let go so I can swim to the shallow end.”

“I can’t,” he said. “If I let go, I’ll drown.”

“If you don’t let go, we’ll both drown,” you said. “I’m not strong enough to keep treading water forever, and I don’t think Yayoi could save us both if it came to it.”

You weren’t worried yet, but it was true that at some point, you’d get tired, and then you’d be in trouble. Yet you also knew you had to be soft, for it seemed his fear was far more paralyzing than you had anticipated, and if he began to genuinely panic, then he might accidentally drown you both.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his face hidden in the hollow of your collarbone. “I am scared.”

“I know,” you said, using one hand to stroke along his bony spine, the other swishing back and forth to assist your efforts in staying above the surface. “But sometimes, you still have to do things, even when you’re afraid.”

“I can’t do it, though,” he sniffed. “I can’t at all.”

“Is everything okay?” Yayoi shouted from the shallow end.

“It’s fine!” you called back, knowing that Tabito might rather drown than let her know of this weakness. “Tabito, listen, I’m not going to let you go. Even if you let go of me, I won’t do the same. Do you trust me when I say that?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

“Then prove it and leave me,” you said.

Slowly, almost painstakingly, he removed his arms from around you and drew his legs back. For the briefest moment, he was floating by himself, but before he could begin to flail around out of fear, you grabbed his arm, taking him along beside you as you swam to the shallow end where Yayoi was waiting.

As soon as he was able to stand, Tabito sprinted out of the pool, splashing up the stairs, shivering as he made a beeline for where his towel was waiting. You and Yayoi watched as he flopped into one of the chairs, curling up and draping the towel over his shoulders.

“Well, I guess he spent more time in the water than I expected,” Yayoi allowed. “That was a surprise.”

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders, which had tightened from the burden you had carried along the length of the pool. “He’s braver than you give him credit for.”

“Maybe around you,” Yayoi said. “I think he just wants to impress you, since you’re older and cooler.”

“It could be,” you said. “Though I doubt it. He’s known me for too long to think of me as worthy of impressing. It’s probably just because I’m nicer to him than you.”

“That’s just because you don’t see him every day. Trust me, if you did, you’d be even meaner than me. I’m told I’m quite patient,” she said. You flicked water at her.

“Our resident saint, Yayoi Karasu,” you said. She flicked water back at you with a mock-scowl.

“Oh, shut up,” she said, and then it was an all out war as the two of you endeavored to soak the other, forgetting about anything more important than the newfound game and the happiness it brought you.

When it finally came time for Tabito to graduate elementary school, there was a sort of melancholy in the air, though by all rights it should’ve been an exciting time. You had been asked to come to the ceremony by Yayoi, though she had confessed that it had been her brother who had actually wanted you there but was too shy to ask directly, and almost as soon as you sat down, you were aware of that feeling settled over all of the Karasus, even Tabito himself, though he was so far away on the stage.

Perhaps for their parents and grandmother, it was because their youngest was at this milestone. Never again would they have a child in elementary school; now, both of the siblings were older, nearer to adulthood than anything, but you doubted that that fact was congruent with the images they held of them as helpless infants. Even for you, it was peculiar to see Tabito standing on that stage when you still at times thought of him as that four year old boy who played with trains, so you assumed the effect was tenfold for his parents and grandmother, who had raised him since birth.

You weren’t so sure that it was the same for Yayoi, who had a different sort of glumness about her. She was sad for another reason, and as the principal droned on about the class’s achievements, you leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“What’s got you down?” you said.

“I’m not down,” she muttered. She would’ve fooled any other person, but you were not any other person, so you only elbowed her in the side.

“Yayoi,” you said under your breath in a sing-song voice. “Are you sad about Tabito graduating?”

“Why would I be sad about that?” she said.

“You tell me,” you said.

“It’s just hard to wrap my head around,” she said. “I always complain about him following me around and bothering me, but it’s just hitting me now that he probably won’t do that very much anymore. He’s going to go to a different middle school and make friends and want nothing to do with me.”

“I don’t think he’d do that,” you reassured her. “He’ll be less annoying about it, but he won’t just abandon you, at least not before you do the same to him. He’s bad at letting go of things unless you force him to.”

“I’d never abandon him,” she said.

“It’s not that you’d abandon him, but just think about it. In four years we’ll be headed to university, and he’ll still be in high school. Isn’t that kind of like you leaving him first?” you said.

“I don’t want to think about that,” she said after a minute.

“I get it,” you said. “It’s weird for me as well. Not him, but what if you and I don’t go to the same high school or university? What will I do without you?”

The changing of the seasons was what weighed on Yayoi, and consequently, on you. Tabito’s graduation was a reminder that the years did not stop for anyone, that you were all growing older with every passing day, and that one day things would not be so simple, the way they were right now. Of course, that day was far away, but then again, there had been a time when the day that Tabito left primary school, too, had been far away, and yet here you were, arriving upon it so soon.

The end of the ceremony was familiar to you, but this time you were on the opposite side, standing amongst the parents as they waited for their children to join them. You stood on your tiptoes, peering over Mr. Karasu’s shoulder in an attempt to spot Tabito when he came out. There wasn’t anyone else in his class who you knew; you had gone solely for him, and so it was only he who you searched for, counting the heads until he appeared.

He was one of the last ones to come out, talking to a few of his friends, though they all peeled off in different directions as they grew closer to you. Finally, by the time he reached the area where you, his parents, grandmother, and Yayoi were waiting, he was by himself, his hands shoved in his pockets as he braced himself for your reactions.

“Come here, Tabito,” his grandmother said, embracing him as tightly as she could given her frail body. “You’ve worked so hard, my grandson. You deserve everything good that’s bound to come your way.”

“Thank you, grandmother,” he said. There was this one thing about him — no matter how he acted around his peers, no one could ever say that he disrespected his elders, which was not always the case with those his age.

“How do you feel? You’re officially a middle schooler now!” Mr. Karasu said once his grandmother had let him go.

“Good,” he said. He was obviously squirmy and embarrassed at everyone’s attention being focused on him, so his mother only kissed him atop the head before releasing him to speak with you and Yayoi.

“Good going, Tabito,” Yayoi said, offering him her hand. He shook it firmly, much more at ease now that it was just the three of you. It was so typical as to be normal, despite the less-than-ordinary circumstances of the meeting, so it was impossible for any of you to be awkward.

“Thanks, Yayoi,” he said. She scoffed, making a big show of wiping her hand against her pants, which Tabito only rolled his eyes at.

“Whatever. Don’t forget that I’m going to a better junior high school than you, okay?” she said.

“It’s not my fault that your school’s soccer club sucks!” he said. “I’d have gone there if I could’ve.”

“More like you couldn’t get in,” she said. “Because you’re super stupid. I can’t believe you even managed to graduate in the first place. In fact, I only even congratulated you because I was so surprised by that fact.”

“Stupid? You’re the stupid one!” Tabito said.

“Nuh-uh, you didn’t even understand long division until Y/N explained it to you!” Yayoi said.

“That’s the only thing I was ever confused by, and I understood it as soon as she told me how to!” he said.

“Well, that just means Y/N’s a good teacher. It has nothing to do with how smart you are,” she said. You laughed.

“To be sure, I’m a good teacher, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid. It’s his graduation, so we should be nice to him for today, don’t you think, Yayoi?” you said. She pouted.

“Just for today, I guess,” she said. “Fine. You’re not that stupid, Tabito.”

“You’re not that stupid, either,” he said. Coming from them, this was actually a stunning declaration of fraternal love, and you were taken aback that you had inspired it. However, upon further consideration, you supposed everyone was feeling sentimental by that point, so it wasn’t too hard to tease out.

“How far is your new school?” you asked him in an attempt to change the subject.

“Pretty far,” he said. “They have the best soccer club in the area, though, so it only makes sense for me to go there.”

“Are you going to have to try out?” you said.

“Of course. It’s not a guarantee I’ll get to play at all, especially in my first year, but just the fact that the chance is there is enough,” he said.

“That’s intense,” you said. You had stayed with the art club all throughout middle school, and though it was conducted with the same stringency as the sports clubs, there wasn’t as much of a competitive aspect to it. Anyone who wanted to join was allowed to, as long as they abided by the rules and regulations of the club, and such concepts as ‘trying-out’ were foreign to you outside of the stories Yayoi told you about her misadventures with badminton.

“It’s how it is in all sports clubs,” he said.

“True,” Yayoi said. “Remember my first year in the badminton club? It’ll be like that, only to a greater extent, since his school is known for soccer, so the club will be way more popular.”

“I don’t know how you guys do it. I could never; having to try out and possibly being denied the chance to do something I love would stress me out way too much,” you said. “But hey, Tabito, when you do get in — because I’m sure you will — invite us to your games so we can cheer you on, alright?”

“You’d really want to watch me?” he said.

“Why not?” you said. “I’m sure it’d be fun.”

“Eh,” Yayoi said. “Don’t be too sure. The games are kinda boring, to tell you the truth.”

“Nobody said you had to come!” Tabito said, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

“It’s not like I’d leave Y/N to suffer on her own just because she wants to be a supportive older-sister-figure. Obviously, I’d go,” she said.

“Aw, you’re the best, Yayoi,” you said.

“I try,” she said.

“Although, it’s kind of crazy that you’d go to support me but not him, when he’s the one actually related to you,” you pointed out.

“That’s because I like you more,” she said. “Not too crazy.”

“What happened to being nice to him on his graduation day?” you reminded her.

“Sorry,” she said automatically. “It had to be said, though.”

“Whatever,” Tabito said. “I don’t care if you’re there or not.”

“Wow, I see how it is,” she said.

“Just keep me posted,” you said. “As long as I’m not busy, I’ll go for sure.”

“I’ll tell you the moment I make the team. You’ll be the first person to know,” he said.

“Not even our parents?” Yayoi said.

“Obviously I wasn’t counting them!”

Either he was more talented than he let on, or more determined than the rest of his classmates, but regardless, mere months after the next school year began, you picked up a phone call that came from Yayoi’s phone but was made by another person entirely.

“Hello?” you said.

“Hello, Y/N? It’s Tabito. I’m using Yayoi’s phone to call you because I don’t have one of my own,” he said.

“Hi, Tabito. What’s up?” you said, holding the phone between your ear and shoulder as you filled out a worksheet for your science class.

“I made it onto the soccer team,” he said. The tone was casual, but there was energy brimming behind it, so you knew he was likely rocking back and forth on his heels in excitement.

“No way! As just a first year?” you said.

“Yeah, I’m the youngest member of the team. The others are all second and third years,” he said.

“That’s amazing! I knew you could do it,” you said.

“I was pretty nervous, but I just did the best I could at tryouts, and I guess they thought I fit in well with the team,” he said.

“Of course you do,” you said.

“So,” he said. “Our first game is in two weeks. On Saturday. Are you busy that day?”

“I don’t think so. I’m usually free on Saturdays, especially if I’m good about doing my homework on time,” you said.

“Will you come?” he said, spitting it out like it was something boiling and acidic on his tongue.

“To your game? Yeah, I already promised I would, didn’t I? Just send me the address and I’ll be there,” you said.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. “See you later. And seriously, you should be proud of yourself. Getting into the club at your age is awesome.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll have Yayoi send you the address so you can meet her there. Um, but only if you want to.”

“I do want to,” you assured him. “Promise. Bye, Tabito.”

The day of the game was brisk and windy, almost like winter but not quite as punishing — the kind of weather where you could still just as easily grow too hot as too cold. All of the trees lining the street were bursting with colors other than the typical viridian, their leaves glimmering in the afternoon sunlight like ruby-studded crowns of gold which cascaded through the air with every passing breeze. There was a hint of loneliness in the piles of browning foliage littering the sidewalk, which meant that, in short, it was Tabito’s favorite kind of day. You hoped that it was a good omen for his first game.

Yayoi was waiting for you by the bottom of the bleachers, playing with the frayed ends of the pale blue scarf wrapped around her neck. She was wearing a cable-knit sweater, a pair of jeans that were loose around her ankles, and once-white shoes which had long ago been ruined by purple ink and too much free time.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said. She glanced up at you and then smiled slightly in greeting.

“No worries, you’re not late at all. I just came early because I walked with Tabito and he had to be here in time to warm up,” she said.

“If you get here so early every time, then I can see why you get bored of watching his games,” you said.

“I guess maybe that’s on me,” she allowed. “Where do you want to sit? If we’re closer to the field, we can see better, but there’s a greater chance we’ll get hit by a stray ball.”

“How about three rows back? That should be enough of a buffer that we don’t get hurt, but we’ll be able to see everything that happens,” you said.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said.

The metal benches were icy when you first sat on them, and you pulled your cardigan tighter around you to ward away the chill which seeped through your entire body from the point of contact. Yayoi, who was nearly as observant as her brother, offered you her scarf when she noticed, but you shook your head in a silent rejection.

The two of you talked about random, mindless things while you waited for the game to begin — how your classes were going, the latest gossip at your school, which high schools you were planning to apply for, and other such topics. They were the same subjects you went over every time you hung out, and for a moment you forgot that you had another purpose for meeting beyond just enjoying one another’s company.

Then the referee blew the whistle, effectively cutting off your conversation and bringing the impending game back to your collective attention. The gathered spectators, who were mostly parents and other students that attended Tabito’s junior high school, broke into applause as the teams took the field for the kickoff. You did the same, though both you and Yayoi made sure to applaud extra hard when Tabito jogged up with the others.

“Do you know what position he plays?” you said.

“Back in elementary school, he was the striker, but I doubt they’d give that role to a first year,” she said. “He’ll have to work up to it, I’m sure. He’s probably in the midfield for now.”

“I don’t really know what that means,” you admittedly sheepishly.

“I guess you could think of midfielders as the in-between men? Before, he was on pure offense, so his job was to stay up and score whenever possible, and then of course there’s players who prefer to be on defense, which means they aim to stop the opposite team from making goals. Midfielders have to be fluid, though, since they’re responsible for the middle portion of the field — ah, hence the name. Depending on who has the ball, they have to either go on offense or stay back on defense, which means they need to be equally as skilled at both,” she said.

“But then why would they put an inexperienced player in such a spot?” you said.

“It’s a pretty forgiving position, surprisingly. If you mess up as a midfielder, you have a buffer of offensive and defensive players on either side of you, so it’s likely that someone will be able to recover for the error, but if you’re up on top at offense or near the goal on defense, then there’s no one beyond you, so mistakes are more costly,” she explained.

“I get it now,” you said. “Sorry if that was a dumb thing to be asking so many questions about.”

“Not at all,” she said. “It can be confusing, especially when you don’t know much about the game. You should ask Tabito to explain everything to you if you plan on becoming a soccer fan; he can go on and on about it. My knowledge is pretty surface level and also entirely dependent on whatever he’s told me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said.

“Ooh, look, they’re starting!” Yayoi said, pointing at the field, where indeed the game had exploded into action, players darting back and forth, shoving one another aside as they reached for the ball. As she had predicted, Tabito stayed towards the middle of the field, surveying the players fighting over the ball, and though he wasn’t anywhere near the thick of things, you found yourself far more interested in him than the others.

What did he see when he was on the field? It was something you’d never really get to understand. What was it like in the heat of a match, where every single movement was the difference between win or lose — in essence, between life or death? You wondered what kind of person he became when he played soccer, if it was the sort of experience that changed one’s character or if you were just ascribing fantastical aspects to it because you couldn’t live through it yourself.

The game went on at a breakneck speed, and frequently, by the time you asked Yayoi what was happening, the play had ended and a new strategy had already been implemented. It was difficult to keep up with but no less exciting for your lack of comprehension, and at least it was easy to keep track of the score, for the goals needed no explanation.

By the time that the second half was all but over, the score was tied. You thought about asking Yayoi what’d happen if it ended like that, but based on the way she was leaning forward in her seat and biting her nails, you doubted it was anything good.

Entirely by chance or perhaps by choice, the ball rolled to a stop at Tabito’s feet. For the entire game, he had been flitting around the action, never cutting in despite how he must’ve ached to, and now he was being given a chance to prove himself, a chance to change the course of the match entirely. Your heart pounded, though nowhere near as fiercely as his own must’ve, and somehow your hand sought out Yayoi’s, the racing pulse in your wrist crushing against hers, which was equally as quick.

In the moment that the side of Tabito’s foot brushed against the ball, there was a rebirth which occurred. He came alive in an instant, like a hawk which had finally swooped upon its prey, talons digging into a tender neck and rending through the soft flesh, wings spreading in an ominous shadow over the unassuming creature that he was bound to devour.

The other team did not stand a chance. He cut through them in a way that almost felt mocking, slamming his hands against their chests to push them away, keeping them at an arm’s length as he flew past, his eyes constantly scanning the area around him, trusting his feet to take care of the ball, which stayed by him with the loyalty of a hound. It was a terrible and yet beautiful thing to take in, the cruelty of his play-style; you could not reconcile it with the sweet boy you knew, yet neither could you tear your eyes away from that sly, vicious force as it darkened the field.

His goal was punctuated with the whistle of the game’s end. For a moment, he stood there alone, staring at the ball rolling out of the net, sending up sprays of turf when it bounced against the ground, and then he was tackled by his teammates, all of whom were shouting praises as they piled atop him.

“I can’t believe he scored the winning goal!” Yayoi said, tugging you to your feet. “Come on, let’s go congratulate him!”

“Are we allowed to?” you said.

“Mm, not if this was an actual game, but considering it was just a practice match between two middle schools, no one will care,” she said, vaulting over the short fence separating the field from the seating area and helping you do the same.

“If you say so,” you said.

All of the players were congregated by their coach, who was delivering an inspirational speech about their teamwork and how wonderful they were, so you and Yayoi hung back until they were dismissed. After that, you snuck up on Tabito, who was taking off his cleats, and Yayoi thumped him on the back.

“Boo!” she said. He squealed, and it was a high-pitched, girlish sound which had Yayoi cackling with laughter as she squished his cheeks together in one hand.

“Yayoi!” he said, though his voice was muffled, his mouth resembling a fish’s. “Let go of me!”

“I can’t bear to! My baby brother, the hero of the match,” Yayoi said. “It’s unbelievable. As exciting as if I was the one to score the winning goal.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t,” he said, using his shoulder to get her off of him so he could tie the laces of his sneakers.

“Wow, way to take away from my fun,” she said. “And here I was, trying to be proud of you.”

“Whatever,” he said. “What did you think, Y/N?”

Before you could answer, two of Tabito’s older teammates, one of whom was wearing a captain’s armband, appeared behind him. They were probably your age, towering over little Tabito, with handsome faces and the beginnings of sleek muscles swelling in their arms and legs.

“Hi,” the captain said to you. “You’re super pretty.”

You had never been approached so boldly, and certainly not by anyone so good-looking. Your cheeks warmed, and you fought back a smile.

“Hi,” you said. “Thanks. You played really well.”

You couldn’t quite remember how he had played, actually, for you had spent most of the game looking at Tabito, but you assumed it wouldn’t hurt for you to compliment him back, and mentioning the game was a safe enough way to do so. He seemed to appreciate it, laughing loudly, though you hadn’t said anything particularly funny.

“I’m glad you thought so!” he said. “We tried out a new strategy, and we weren’t sure it’d work, but thanks to Tabito here, it ended up for the best.”

“That’s great,” you said, directing your words to both of them, though the other teammate, who seemed to be less outgoing than his captain, was too busy staring at Yayoi to notice.

“How d’you know this shrimp, anyways?” the captain said, throwing an arm around the disgruntled Tabito’s shoulders. Tabito’s expression, which had already soured with the captain’s arrival, only warped more at the friendly display, his lip curling like he had tasted spoiled milk.

“He’s my little brother, and she’s my best friend,” Yayoi offered, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“We came to support him at his first game!” you said. “He’s been super excited about getting the chance to play, so there was no way we couldn’t come.”

“As far as first years go, he’s definitely one of the best. I’m confident he’ll be taking my spot once he’s old enough for it,” the captain said. “I can’t name a single kid his age who’s as talented or hardworking.”

“He gets it from his older sister,” Yayoi joked. The captain grinned at her.

“I’m sure he does,” he said. “Look, I’m going to be plain with you: my friend and I were wondering if we could get your numbers and maybe—”

“We have to go now,” Tabito said, cutting off the captain, who gave him a surprised look. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he crossed his arms at you and Yayoi. “My mom will get mad at us if we’re late.”

“No, she won’t,” Yayoi said, furrowing her brow. “Since when has she cared about how late we are getting home?”

“Yes, she will!” he insisted. “She told me before we left that we have to be back before sunset or else we’ll be in big trouble.”

The captain raised his hands in the air. “No worries. Come to another game and we can catch up then, alright? There’s no point in risking getting in trouble.”

“Sure, that sounds cool,” you said.

“Nice meeting you,” he said.

“Yeah, nice meeting you,” the other teammate echoed, speaking for the first time, his face immediately turning bright red when Yayoi glanced at him.

“See you around,” she said. You thought that you heard the boy squeak, but you couldn’t quite tell. “Alright, Tabito, let’s go, then. Since apparently we’ll be in such big trouble if we’re not on time. Whatever that means.”

She didn’t roll her eyes, but it was implied in the rise and fall of her voice. Tabito ignored her, trotting off towards the exit, forcing you both to follow after him without further delay.

Once you were all on the road towards the Karasu household, Yayoi pulled out her phone, holding it out to her younger brother threateningly.

“I’m going to call mom, and if it turns out you were lying, I’m — I’m — I’m going to be really upset! You made us miss out on a chance to get dates, so if you were just making stuff up, then I’ll kill you for sure!” she said, speeding ahead of you so she could talk uninterrupted. Tabito shifted closer to you, a small frown on his face, not bothering to respond to Yayoi’s threat. You waited for him to say something; he confided in you often, expressing things to you which he dared not discuss with his sister, and you did not doubt that he would take advantage of the moment of solitude to speak his mind to you.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said after a moment of walking at your side.

“Tell you what?” you said.

“What you thought,” he said. “You told the captain he played well, but what about me?”

“I assumed it would be a given,” you said. “Of course, naturally I thought you were wonderful, Tabito. You were the best player out there.”

“Better than the captain?” he said. You beckoned him closer, cupping your hands around his ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whispered. He nodded eagerly. “I don’t really know how the captain played. I just said that he was good to be nice to him, as he was nice to me, but the truth is that even when you didn’t have the ball, I couldn’t help but watch you the entire time.”

“Really?” he said.

“Really,” you said, nodding at him quite seriously. “I came to support you, didn’t I? Why would I bother with the other players?”

Any traces of his earlier vexation vanished in an instant. As you had suspected, he had been upset that you and Yayoi had ignored him in favor of the charming older players when he had been the one to invite you in the first place. Thankfully, he was easy to read and easier to placate, and anyways he never held grudges for very long, so he quickly cheered as if he had never been angry at all.

“Y/N, can I ask you one more thing before Yayoi comes back?” he said, looking over at his sister, who was speaking quite furiously to who you could only imagine was their mother.

“You can always ask me anything,” you said. “Go ahead.”

“Your phone number,” he said.

“What about it?” you said, puzzled. He avoided your eyes, kicking apart a pile of leaves and gazing at them as they plumed into the air.

“I want it,” he said. You gave him an amused look.

“You don’t even have a phone, Tabito. What would you do with my number?” you said.

“I’ll remember it,” he said, picking up a leaf and tearing it apart into many small pieces.

“Is that so?” you said. It was a ridiculous request, and you doubted he’d be able to follow through on that kind of promise, but you figured there was no harm in telling him. So you listed off the digits of your phone number, slowly and carefully, as he nodded along and told you he really would never forget them.

“Tabito!” Yayoi shrieked, sprinting towards you two at full pace. Tabito yelped and hid behind you as his sister, who was hardly ever so intimidating, came closer and closer, her countenance dark and a malevolent aura rolling off of her in waves. “Explain yourself, punk! Why’d mom tell me she said nothing like the crap you were spouting earlier? What’s the big idea, huh?”

“Oh, it’s alright, Yayoi,” you said. “I’m sure it was weird for him to watch his own teammates flirting with his older sister and her friend. That has to be some kind of murky territory or something. What if it didn’t work out and then they bullied him because of that? I don’t blame him for trying to get out of the situation.”

She huffed. “You’re lucky Y/N’s here. One day she won’t be there to defend you, and then you’ll really be sorry!”

Tabito stood on his tiptoes to peek over your shoulder and stuck his tongue out at her. Scowling, she returned the gesture in kind, blowing a raspberry at him before grabbing your hand and yanking you away with her.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s leave this loser to walk by himself.”

You chuckled and freed your hand from her grasp, which was a Herculean feat given that she had a grip made of iron, and then you looped your arm through her own.

“Alright, Yayoi,” you said. “Let’s do that.”

Later that night, as you wrapped up the last of your homework for the weekend, your cell phone lit up with an incoming call. Setting down your pencil, you picked up the phone and saw it was from the Karasus’ home phone — which was odd, because ever since Yayoi had gotten a cellphone of her own, she had called you from that, so it had been quite some time since you had seen that particular contact pop up.

“Hi, Yayoi,” you said. “Did your phone die or something?”

There was a pause. Then: “This isn’t Yayoi. It’s Tabito. I told you I’d remember your number.”

“Tabito?” you said. “Well, good job with that.”

“I wrote it down as soon as I got home,” he said. “Once I get my own phone, I’ll make you my first contact.”

“Me? Not your parents or Yayoi? Or one of your other friends from school?” you said, snickering. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I want it to be you.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. Maybe in some way, your friendship with Yayoi had transferred to him; after all, you had been the first number she inputted once she got a new phone, and you were also the first person she gave her personal number to, so maybe that kind of tradition had stayed with him and, in a typical sibling manner, became something he wanted to replicate. “You do that, then. And you can text me directly when you have games so I can come to them.”

“Actually, I also wanted to tell you that you don’t have to watch any more games where I’m not doing anything. When I’m in high school and I’m the captain of a really good team, then you can come,” he said.

“I don’t mind if you’re not doing much. The game today was fun. I got to hang out with Yayoi and meet your teammates,” you said.

“I don’t want you there anymore, so don’t come!” he said.

“Goodness. I won’t, then,” you said. “But that means you really have to work hard, because even if you invite me, I’ll only attend if you’re the captain of the team.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll be a way better captain than the one I have right now.”

“Sure,” you said.

“Okay,” he said. “Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye,” you said, hanging up, finding a great humor in his competitive mindset, which even reared its head against his own captain, who he was meant to respect above all else.

Somehow, by chance or by fate, both you and Yayoi had the same top high school, and furthermore, you both received offers of admission despite how selective it was. The only other person from your middle school who was accepted was Aoyama, which you only knew because he told you one day during art club.

Both his artistic skills and his appearance had improved markedly since the two of you had first met; though he had never managed to master calligraphy or watercolor painting, he had discovered a talent for making scenes come alive with the use of a simple pencil. It was admirable, that with solely shades of gray he was able elicit images of color, and as he had grown older, he had also mellowed into someone you did not mind speaking to, so when you discovered that he was going to high school with you and Yayoi, you were surprised to find that you were actually a little happy about that fact.

Despite his obvious aptitude for sports — he was tall and sturdily built, with long limbs and a wide torso — he had denied every athletic club which attempted to recruit him, staying loyal to the art club despite how hard he had to work at keeping up with the rest of you. And because you and he had been in the same club for years upon years and the same school for longer, you supposed that it was inevitable for some kind of relationship to blossom between the two of you, which was why it was all but a foregone conclusion when he asked you out, the winter of your first year of high school.

It wasn’t the most romantic proposal. In fact, it was rushed and harried and fumbling, altogether messy and unplanned, but endearing in a way. You had been walking home from an art club meeting when you passed by the park where he had had a birthday party, so many years ago, and then he was pulling you over to the slides and sitting you down at the foot of one. You were motionless as he paced back and forth, trying to muster up the courage and the words to say to you, and then finally he just spat it out, all in a jumble. Will you go out with me?

You saw no reason to say no, so you said yes. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, and his lips were cold like the weather, but you did not complain, because he could not help it. And then he sprinted off and left you sitting there, at the edge of the red plastic slide in that desolate playground, the wind pushing the empty swings the way you had once pushed Tabito.

Aoyama was a fine boyfriend, or at least you thought he was; you had no experience with any others, so of course you could not say for certain, but in your opinion, he did as well of a job as he could be expected to. He held your hand when you walked together and took you on dates and kissed you in private — never in public, though, because you hated the idea, even if he would’ve liked to very much.

“I don’t get what your problem is,” you said, pressing a button on your controller to send a red shell flying. It connected with Yayoi’s character, and your own avatar, Princess Daisy, pumped her fist in celebration as you shot past the dismayed Rosalina.

“Don’t have one,” she said, shaking her remote in a futile effort to reawaken Rosalina. The character remained stunned for a second more before rejoining the race.

“Every time I bring up Aoyama, you stop talking and get all standoffish,” you said. “You obviously do have a problem. Is it because I keep talking about my boyfriend? I’m sorry if I’ve been doing that. I don’t want to be one of those people.”

“You don’t talk about him a ton,” she said, using a power up to speed through a shortcut, ramming your character out of the way to snag first place at the last minute.

“Okay, but something about him annoys you. What is it? I can’t fix a problem if I don’t even know it exists,” you said.

There was a set of thudding footsteps, and then Tabito, freshly showered from a game, peeked his head into the living room, batting his eyelashes at you in an attempt to seem sweet and innocent.

“Are you guys playing Mario Kart?” he said.

“What’s it to you?” Yayoi said.

“I want to, too,” he said. “Can I?”

“We were kind of talking about something,” you said. You weren’t sure if Yayoi would discuss the subject in front of her little brother, but it had been bothering you for long enough that you wanted to get things out in the open once and for all.

“It’s fine,” Yayoi said. “You can play with us. Just don’t be a pain.”

This was an absolute role reversal, and Tabito must’ve picked up on that, but he did not mention it, only plodding over to the TV and connecting his own set of controllers before settling on the floor in front of you, leaning back on your legs instead of attempting to squish between his sister and the armrest of the small couch.

“Are you seriously going to be Waluigi again?” you asked him with some disdain, wrinkling your nose as he selected his typical character.

“He’s my favorite,” he said.

“Gross,” you said. “But back to the original topic, Yayoi, don’t think you’re getting out of things just because Tabito’s here. You still have to explain what’s up.”

“Did something happen?” Tabito said as you selected a cup at random and the first race began.

“No,” Yayoi said.

“Yes,” you said, at exactly the same time.

“…Okay, then,” Tabito said.

“It’s about Aoyama,” Yayoi said. “Her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” he said.

“It feels like Yayoi has some issues with him, but she won’t tell me what those issues are, exactly,” you said.

“Is he a bad boyfriend?” Tabito said.

“I don’t think so,” you said. “No, he’s perfectly alright.”

“Look, I don’t have anything against Aoyama. I liked him, all of the way back in first grade, so obviously I don’t have a problem with him,” she said.

“Is that it?” you said. “I didn’t even realize you had a crush on him at all.”

“No, why would I care about a crush from when I was so young? To be honest, I just don’t think he deserves you,” she said.

“Why not?” you said.

“That’s my duty as your best friend,” she said. “To me, you’re the most amazing person ever, so how could someone like Aoyama ever be worthy of dating you? Besides, it doesn’t seem like you like him very much.”

“What are you talking about? Obviously, I like him, or I wouldn’t be going out with him,” you said.

“You should break up with him if you don’t like him,” Tabito suggested.

“I do like him, and I’m not breaking up with him,” you said. “Yayoi, why would you say something like that?”

“Dunno,” she said. “Forget about it. Maybe I was just seeing things. If you say that you like him, then you definitely do.”

“Right,” you said.

“What’s so great about him, anyways?” Tabito said, shifting so that he could be more comfortable. “For you to want to date him. Why do you like him? Does he even do anything of note?”

You snorted. “Not everyone’s a soccer ace like you, Tabito. Aoyama could’ve been an athlete, but he’s stayed in the art club with me since elementary school. That’s a long time; it would’ve been impossible for me not to grow fond of him over the years, and by the time he worked up the nerve to ask me out officially, I suppose I was fond enough to say yes.”

“That’s stupid,” Tabito said. For emphasis, he released a blue shell, which hit you right before you crossed the finish line. “Anyone could join the art club, and you’ve known other people longer than you’ve known him. That’s not enough of a reason to date somebody.”

“Rude,” you said, kneeing him in the head playfully, for you had come in fourth due to his intervention. “You know, you don’t really need a reason to date someone. You can date them just because. Maybe it’s true that hanging out with you two is more fun than being with Aoyama, but isn’t it normal to get along better with your friends? And especially when the relationship is so fresh. We’re still getting to know one another right now.”

“That’s fair,” Yayoi said. “Don’t expect me to be outright hospitable with him or anything, but for your sake, I’ll be polite. As long as he knows that I’ll make sure he regrets hurting you, if ever he does.”

“I’ll pass the message along,” you said.

“And you have to like me — us more,” Tabito added. “You’ve known us longer, so you have to like us better.”

“I’ll always like you better,” you said, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Already, his face was losing that round quality from his youth; you expected it’d be entirely gone soon, and you mourned the imminent loss of his doll-like appearance, vowing to adore it for as long as it remained.

Surprisingly, he did not slap your hand away. He only hummed in pleased agreement, and that was that. The conversation was finished, and it was the last any of you spoke about the matter for quite some time.

High school flew by faster than you had anticipated, certainly far faster than middle school had, though they were the exact same length. You divided your time between your club activities, studying for exams, hanging out with Yayoi as well as your other friends, and going on dates with Aoyama, so you hardly had a moment in which you could be bored. You almost missed the feeling of lethargy and inertia you had at least experienced once or twice in junior high, but yet you could not bear to give any of those aspects of your life up, so you managed the demanding schedule as best as you could and somehow made it work.

As he had attended a different middle school than you and Yayoi, so, too, did Tabito attend a separate high school. He chose it because their soccer club was well-known, but when he was in his first year, he was scouted to join the youth team of the prestigious J1 League football club Bambi Osaka, so it ended up mattering little. When he had reached such a point, why would he concern himself with school soccer clubs? There was no higher peak that he could reach with them than the one he already had achieved, especially not at his age.

It was rare for someone so young to consistently give such excellent performances. After all, he had been chosen as a starter for his junior high team as only a first year, albeit as a midfielder instead of his preferred position as a striker, and now, at the beginning of his high school career, he had already been selected to play for Bambi Osaka. Even Yayoi had to admit that her little brother had something to him — she claimed it to be an intrinsic talent, for that meant she had a chance at inheriting it as well, but Tabito was far more modest than she and always countered these declarations, arguing that it was nothing more than constant practice.

“Don’t tell anyone this, but I’m not that good,” he told you one day, when you were watching one of Yayoi’s badminton matches together. You were sitting on his black camping chair; he had offered to you and sat on the ground instead of making you do so, though you had never complained about it.

“There’s no way you’re not,” you said. “Ask anyone, and they’ll agree with me.”

“It’s true,” he said, shrugging like it was a fact he had accepted long ago and which consequently did not bother him anymore. “Some people are handed everything, but I’m not like that. I’m not a prodigy in any sense of the word. It’s easy to seem talented when you only pick on a person’s weak spots.”

You rested your hand on his shoulder. He was taller now, and growing more by the day, so you no longer had to lean down very far to do so, though he was on the ground and you were not. Exhaling through his nose, he bent his neck so his cheek could rest on your fingers, which were perpetually cold and must’ve felt nice in the summery heat of the midafternoon.

“If you seem like you’re talented, then you really must be,” you said. “I don’t think faking things like that is as simple as you believe it to be.”

“It’s simpler than you think,” he said. “Anyways, please don’t bring it up again. I just wanted one person to know the truth of who I am.”

“And it had to be me?” you said. You couldn’t see him smile, but you felt his cheeks grow fuller as his mouth curved into the wry smirk he donned more often than not nowadays.

“Of course, it had to be you,” he affirmed. “Who else would it be?”

Who, indeed? In some ways, you were as close with her little brother as you were with Yayoi herself, though it was a different kind of relationship there. As an only child, you supposed that all-consuming affection must’ve been what one felt for a younger sibling, so you put it down to that. After all, you had known Tabito for long enough that he could probably be considered your brother as well as Yayoi’s, so what else would it be? And the way he treated you was how he would’ve treated Yayoi if she were gentler with him, so although it was definitely preferential, you never saw anything wrong with it nor felt any need to correct his loving behavior.

The end of entrance exams, which was the culmination of the many months of hellish work that you had all put in, came with bittersweet news. For the first time, you, Yayoi, and Aoyama would split ways, each of you accepted to different universities. Those two, whose steady presences at your side you took all but for granted, had paths which diverged from yours, and you wondered if ever they would converge again.

Your path took you to Tokyo, to the exact university that your parents had met at. They wept when they found out, for though they loved where they were now, their hearts still beat for the bustling city where they had spent so much of their lives.

Your only consolation was that Yayoi, too, was going to the capital city. She would attend a different school, and thus would live in a different part of the megalopolis than you would, so the distance between you would not be small, exactly, but at least it was manageable. At least your paths would not be so separate. The same could not be said for Aoyama, who was going to Kyoto for university. You would be hours apart, and as the date of your graduation grew ever nearer, this took a toll on your relationship.

The ceremony itself was beautiful, exactly the kind of celebration that was shown in movies. The choir sang your school’s anthem and the president of the school board personally handed you each your diplomas; everyone was dressed in their best clothes, and the click-clack of heels against wood echoed around the hall as students and parents alike bustled about, congratulating one another and wiping away tears at another milestone crossed.

As always, as ever, your parents were sitting with the Karasus. You knew because you sought them out when it was your turn to receive your diploma. At first, they were impossible to find in the crowd, but then, like a miracle, you saw Tabito in the back, towards the left entrance, his pensive expression vanishing the moment he realized you were looking at him. Just as he had when you had graduated elementary school, he grinned at you, and then he waved, but unlike back then, he wasn’t at all shy about it. Also unlike then, you beamed at him with no care for propriety, cameras flashing in your eyes as you clutched your diploma in front of you with one hand and used the other to wave enthusiastically back.

“What a sweet photo,” your father said when all of you rendezvoused after the official ceremony, showing you his phone. The picture was of you on stage, your face radiant with delight, your arm raised mid-wave, the gold lettering on your diploma legible thanks to the power of the zoom on his camera. “You’re so beautiful, dear. I can’t believe you’re so grown up already.”

“She’ll always be our baby,” your mother said, not even attempting to disguise the tears wetting the shadows under her eyes.

“Can we get a picture with our two graduates?” Mrs. Karasu said.

“That’s a great idea,” your father said. “It’s so special that the two of you started school together, and now you’ve graduated side by side.”

“It only happens in the movies,” Mr. Karasu said, taking a pack of tissues out of his pocket and blowing his nose with a great honk. “And yet we have an example right here in front of us. Go on, girls, get together.”

You and Yayoi did not need to be told twice, pressing your shoulders together, so close that they rose and fell in tandem. You fancied that if one was to listen to your heartbeats at that moment, they would’ve been keeping the same rhythm, for you had lived more of your lives together than not, and so even your most basic systems were familiar with one another.

“How about one of Yayoi and Tabito?” Mr. Karasu said. “Let the L/Ns take a couple with Y/N, too.”

Your parents took turns posing with you and taking photos before your father flagged down a random classmate of yours, entreating the confused boy to take a picture of the three of you together. You could already envision exactly where they were going to hang that particular shot — in the living room, framed by something gaudy and likely near the vase of false, ever-blooming flowers your mother kept on one of the tables.

The Karasus were still taking family photos, for there were quite a few more of them than there were of you, so you decided to take the moment to look for Aoyama, who had been separated from you and Yayoi in the rush of people leaving the ceremony hall. It would be nice to take a picture or two with him, too, after all.

It was not hard to find him, not given how tall he was — in the crowd, there were few who were taller, and of those few, only the lanky Tabito was one you recognized. His mother greeted you exuberantly; she had always loved you, perhaps even more than her son did, and she immediately pushed the two of you together so that she could take a million photographs which she promised she would send to you at the earliest possible convenience.

“Do you ever think that this might be the last time we’re like this?” Aoyama said, his hand resting on your hip, a politician’s grin on his square face. You hummed in agreement.

“It is the last time we’ll be like this,” you said. “You’ll be off to Kyoto soon, and I’ll go to Tokyo sooner.”

“That’s true,” he said. “We should savor it, then. While we can.”

You knew what he was hinting at, but now was not the time to consider it. Now, you were meant to be happy, so you mirrored that smile of his and posed with him as if nothing was wrong, unsure of whether, in two weeks’ time, you’d be able to look at those particular photos at all.

At some point while you were you were with Aoyama, Tabito appeared, his arms crossed over his chest. He stood a respectful distance away from Aoyama’s mother, and it was only when you stepped away from your boyfriend and left him to his family that he hesitantly approached you.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, yourself,” you said. “How’d you manage to find me? There’s so much going on.”

“You’re pretty hard to miss,” he said. You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but he didn’t bother with explaining himself. “You’re probably all photographed-out, but if you don’t mind…can we also take one? I don’t want you to forget that I came, too.”

“You only came for Yayoi,” you teased him. “It’ll hurt my feelings less if I don’t remember you were here at all.”

“I came for you, too!” he said earnestly, showing you both of his hands to prove he wasn’t crossing his fingers behind his back. “Really, I did.”

“So you would’ve come even if Yayoi wasn’t graduating, too?” you said.

“If you invited me, I would’ve,” he said. “I’d even skip soccer practice for it.”

“Wow, you hold me in higher regard than soccer practice? I feel like you’ve bestowed some great honor upon me,” you said. “That’s worthy of a picture, I’d say.”

You handed your phone to a nearby classmate of yours, a pretty girl who you had sat by in your Maths class. She understood quickly what you were asking of her, accepting the phone and waiting for you to get in position.

“Say, L/N, I thought you were dating Aoyama?” she said as Tabito wrapped an arm around your waist and you leaned against his side.

“I am?” you said, confused at why she had brought it up. She furrowed her brow, taking a couple of photos before giving you your phone back to ensure you approved of them.

“Who’s this, then?” she said, nodding towards Tabito. “He’s awfully cute.”

“Huh? Oh, he’s just Yayoi’s brother, it’s not like that!” you said. “But he is so cute, isn’t he? He reminds me of a baby version of Yayoi. It makes me nostalgic sometimes.”

“Yayoi…ah, Karasu! I had Modern Literature with her,” she said, snapping her fingers in recognition. “Wow. I didn’t realize she had a brother. Sorry for making a weird assumption about the two of you! I guess you’ve known one another for a while, so it makes sense that you’d be close.”

“Exactly,” you said, confused about how she had even arrived at such a conclusion in the first place when there was nothing between the two of you to hint at a relationship that was anything but platonic or familial. “Hey, thanks so much! These are awesome.”

“Anytime!” she said. “So, Karasu’s little brother. How old are you, exactly?”

“Um…” Tabito glanced over at you for help, creeping imperceptibly closer as if you were some last line of defense between him and the curious girl.

“He just finished his first year,” you said, taking pity on him and answering. The girl wrinkled her nose.

“So you’re barely a second year? Ah, that’s a bit young for me at the moment. Maybe in a little while, yeah? Call me once you’re in college and then we can talk,” she said, winking at him and fluttering her fingers in a wave before vanishing in the crowd.

You tried very hard not to laugh, but when you turned and saw Tabito’s bewildered expression, you could not help it. When he realized you were laughing at him, he turned a vermillion shade that only he was capable of becoming.

“I’m — I’m sorry she said that. I wouldn’t have agreed with her if I knew she was calling you cute in that way,” you gasped out. “Oh, my poor Tabito. I really didn’t expect that at all, or I would’ve asked Aoyama to stay and take our photos instead.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’d like it — um, I’d like it better if you thought of me as cute like that instead of like a baby.”

“But you are a baby,” you cooed.

“I am not!” he said. It was another rendition of the same argument you both had had in the past, and though calling this particular example an argument was certainly a stretch, you did not want to sully the night with even a joking disagreement. So instead of refuting his childish rebuttal, you embraced him tightly.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you said. “You know I have no siblings of my own, but unlike most with that affliction, I am lucky enough to have met Yayoi, and through her gained a brother of my own.”

He shoved you off of him with a grumble. “I’m not your brother, either.”

“Alright,” you said, raising your hands in the air. “You’re not a baby, and you’re not my brother. Anything else?”

“No,” he said. “Let’s go back to our families. Your parents were looking for you. I think they all want to get dinner together.”

“Lead the way, then,” you said. “I call sitting next to you.”

He glanced at you shyly. “Okay. I don’t think you’ll have much competition there, though, so you don’t have to call it.”

“I just want to be certain. These are the final few weeks I’ll get to see you, aren’t they? I’ll miss you while I’m gone, so I have to stick to you like glue for as long as we have left,” you said, throwing a companionable arm around his shoulders for emphasis.

“Yes,” he said, bending his elbow so he could intertwine his fingers with yours, which dangled loosely by his collarbone. “Stick to me. Until the day you have to leave for good, stay by my side.”

The month in between graduation and the beginning of university was a whirlwind of receiving congratulations from random relatives, packing to move into your new apartment, and visiting your friends from high school, who you might not see for many months or perhaps ever again, now that you were all going in your separate directions.

More than anywhere else, you spent your hours at the Karasu residence. You never did anything particularly special, and neither did you bring up the ever-nearing date of yours and Yayoi’s departures; when the three of you were together — for Tabito insisted on accompanying you no matter how much Yayoi protested — you pretended like it was a normal break, like at the beginning of April you’d all once again return to your respective high schools and things would be exactly as they always had been.

You’d go to your favorite restaurants or run to ice cream shops late at night, laughing and teasing another as you licked at your cones and wandered around the streets. Sometimes you’d all go to the playground and pretend like you were children, sliding down slides that were only twice the length of your bodies and climbing across monkey bars with your feet brushing against the mulch. You’d sit on the swings and make Tabito push you as payback for the many times you had done so for him when he was younger, though he never viewed it as a punishment, and Yayoi would build castles in the sandpit, the grains digging into her skin and standing out in bright red patterns against her pale knees. Other days, if it was raining or any of you were particularly tired, you’d play video games, Tabito laying against your legs as he always did and Yayoi perched on the armrest like a gargoyle.

It was simple and wonderful and easy, but the same could not be said for your relationship with Aoyama. There was a tension between you both which had never been there before, and though he had claimed at graduation that he wanted to savor the last few weeks of your time together, you found yourself thinking more and more frequently that you wished you had ended things when you were still happy with one another.

You fought with him about random things, so irritable were you with one another. He accused you of spending all of your time with Yayoi, even though you’d be so close to her once the next year began, and ignoring him completely. You bit back with ten times the force, telling him plainly that you loved her first, and that even though you’d be nearer to her than him, the two of you would still be apart in a way you never had been, not since you both were six years old. And what of Tabito? What of the boy you had known since he was so young, that boy you had grown up alongside? You would leave him behind for good, and you could not bear the thought.

But in turn, this only angered him further. You like him, Aoyama accused you. You like him more than you like me. You weren’t sure how to respond to this. Of course you liked Tabito more than you liked Aoyama. You liked him more than you liked just about anybody, excepting his sister. Yet when Aoyama said it, it didn’t seem as innocuous as you knew it to be. It was the same thing that that girl from your math class had brought up, that there was something else between you and Tabito. You found it so distasteful that your words turned to poison.

You can’t say that, you’d snap, over and over, however fruitless it always was. He’s a kid. You can’t say that.

Aoyama would laugh bitterly, burying his face in his hands. Sometimes, he’d seem so tired and hollow and sick of it all that you’d regret it, regret whatever had happened between you two that had made you end up like this, but then he’d look up at you again and you’d know that this was the inevitable outcome.

It’s only two years. He’d remind you of that fact every time, and what could you say? It was the truth, and the same thing Tabito always insisted to your deaf ears. Two years or maybe less. 

It’s different, you’d huff when you could not think of anything else. Aoyama would sigh and then one of you would apologize: sometimes you, sometimes him. After that you’d kiss, and things would settle into a distorted version of your old comfort, but each time you ran through that fight or one that was similar, it became a little more difficult and your relationship fractured a little more.

There was no one great mistake. You couldn’t pick out a single moment when everything went wrong, when one of you committed a grave and unforgivable sin. It was just the accumulation of many small grievances, the stress of both of your impending moves as well as the knowledge that the end for you both was near, that blew up into an enormous fight, the kind of confrontation that was only frightening when it was finally over.

You both shouted about everything and yet nothing. The relationship, in its best days, had never had anything worth complaining about, and so it was difficult to find something to genuinely be upset over. He insisted you were cheating on him, or that, if you were not already, you soon would. You spat insults at him that you were not proud of, calling him controlling and cruel and stupid, even if he wasn’t really any of these things, and definitely not in the great quantity you insinuated he was.

I joined the art club for you. That was the last thing he said, when it was officially over and your fist was clenched around the doorknob. I could’ve been a national champion at any sport. Soccer or basketball or baseball or whatever. I could’ve been great, but I stayed in the goddamn art club because I wanted to be with you.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, stepping onto his doorstep, the rage leaving you in a minute, replaced by a deep sense of shame, but also, peculiarly, of freedom. Do you wish you had made a different choice now? Now that it’s come to this, I mean.

He laughed bitterly. Nah. Somehow, I can’t seem to regret it.

A lump formed in your throat, but bravely and surely, you swallowed it back. If you cried now, then you were afraid you’d never leave him. I see. Well, good luck in Kyoto.

Good luck with wherever your life takes you, he said. Tell Yayoi I said the same to her. 

I will, you promised.

Tell that brother of hers, too, he said. And tell him you love him while you’re at it.

There was no merit in responding to that final statement, which was as much an assertion of his perceived correctness as it was a heartfelt attempt at reconciliation. So you turned around, allowing your tears to fall when you heard the door shut behind you, the streetlights guiding your way home as you cried silently to yourself.

You never did see him again. It was probably for the best, anyways. A few days later, you were off to Tokyo, with an entire life ahead of you — a life that had no longer had a place for the dalliances of your past.

You and Yayoi, as well as your parents, took the train to Tokyo together. Tabito stayed at home with his grandmother, though he bemoaned the turn of events; he was about to start his second year of high school, though, so how could he justify tagging along? He did come to the station, however, pretending to be nonchalant and ever-so-cool, like he didn’t care one bit that you and Yayoi were leaving for good.

“I hope you’re not considering a career in the film industry, Tabito,” you said. The three of you were sitting on a bench together, yours and Yayoi’s suitcases at your feet, your parents waiting in line at the window to receive your tickets.

“Why not?” he said stiffly.

“You’re horrible at acting,” you said, your arms going around his firm bicep, your forehead pressing to the curve of his shoulder. “It’s okay for you to be sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he said, his voice a dull, trained monotone.

“I am,” you said. “We’re not going to be like this again for a while. Not ever, in one sense of the word. I think it’s natural to be sad about that.”

“Hmph,” Yayoi said, from Tabito’s other side. She was like her brother, but with marginally more of an aptitude at theatrics. Still, there was a curious sheen to her eyes, a dampness to the typically fiery irises. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you said. “Things will be different no matter what. I don’t think it’s a bad development, but it’s a true one. We’ll — we’ll be apart, Yayoi, and we’ll have to take taxis to visit each other instead of being close enough to walk.”

“You’ll still be able to visit each other,” Tabito said, his face stoic but his voice trembling. “I won’t even get that. I’ll be hours away and all alone.”

“You have your friends and your soccer team,” you said.

“They’re not you,” he said. You weren’t sure if he meant it for the both of you or you alone. Selfishly, you wished for it to be the latter, though you could not say why and had no claim to him for it to be the case. “Nobody could ever be you.”

“If our mom got pregnant again, someone could be like us,” Yayoi offered with a wavering, half-hearted laugh. “You’ll have another sister then. Name her Ya-Y/N and it’ll be like we never left.”

“I’ll be older than her,” Tabito said. “She’ll be a crying, whiny baby.”

“Sounds like you’ll get along well, then,” Yayoi said. He scoffed and smacked her on the arm. She yelped in dismay and rubbed the sore spot, glaring at him all the while, which did inject some levity into the atmosphere.

Your spirits immediately plummeted once again when the train arrived with a rushing, roaring wind, coasting to a stop, the doors heaving open with a sigh. There was a looming emptiness in every car, mirroring the pit in your stomach and the jagged, frayed tears in your heart, which widened with every step you took towards the edge of the platform.

“See you around, bro,” Yayoi said, doing an elaborate handshake with Tabito. “Good luck with soccer. Call me if our parents are being annoying; I’ll talk to them. You can count on it.”

“Thanks, bro,” he said. “Stay safe in Tokyo. Maybe try to get a boyfriend or something, if you can manage it.”

“Shut up, you little twerp. I definitely can! I’m going to end up dating a model, just you wait and watch!” she said, punching him in the arm lightheartedly and then leaping onto the train without a backwards glance, leaving you and Tabito alone. Your parents were waiting inside with your luggage, and you knew Yayoi would probably be confused about why you hadn’t followed her, but for some reason, you found yourself hesitating.

“You’ll be able to get home from the station by yourself okay?” you fretted.

“Yes, of course,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving up in amusement. “Despite what you and Yayoi seem to believe, I’m not a baby, and besides, my house isn’t that far from here. It won’t be a long walk. I’ll be okay — I’ve had to do worse exercise in practice.”

“Okay, but just be careful,” you said, shifting from foot to foot uneasily, playing with your fingers. “You have people who can help you if something happens and we’re not there, right?”

“I do,” he said.

“And — and stay away from pools,” you instructed him firmly. “Because you suck at swimming and I won’t be there to look out for you anymore.”

“I would’ve done that even if you didn’t tell me to,” he said. “Quit nagging me, Y/N. It’s seriously annoying. Don’t you have to go? You’ll miss the train if you don’t hurry up.”

On cue, the train let out a warning whistle. You swallowed and then nodded, but you didn’t move. You didn’t want to leave him. That was what you realized in that very moment: it wasn’t your entire life that you cared about abandoning. There wasn’t anything much you’d miss about your hometown, and certainly nothing you’d miss more than him. Tabito, your Tabito — because he was yours in a way you were loath to share with even Yayoi, who was his actual sister, and you were suddenly so certain that it had always been so and you had just never discerned it.

“Go on,” he said after a second, nudging you towards the train. “Really, you’ll be in trouble soon.”

You thought that you should tell him, but there were not words enough to describe it, so you did not. You could not. You only forced a smile and then stepped onto the train, clutching the metal bar and facing the platform so that you could gaze at him one final time. The train whistled again, and then Tabito’s expression changed into something strict and determined as he raced forward, skidding to a stop on the painted yellow border right in front of you.

“Did something happen?” you said. He shook his head, motioning for you to come closer. Still holding onto the metal bar for balance, you brought your face to his, thinking he might want to whisper one final secret in your ear before he no longer could. Yet he did not; instead, he pressed his lips to your cheek, one of his hands holding the other carefully, so gentle despite the roughness of his calloused palms.

“Bye, Y/N,” he said. “Don’t forget me while you’re in Tokyo.”

The doors closed and the train shot off as you took a step back, too stunned to shout out a final farewell until it was too late and all you could do was watch as his waving form receded into the distance.

[azrielsdove]

Don’t Blame Me: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Suggestive

(loosely based on the don’t blame me x LWYMMD mashup from the eras tour ngl)

***

You heard a desperate, strangled shout of your name as he went down. You screamed, anger and fear taking over. No, no, no, you chanted in your head, diving in the direction Azriel had fallen. This couldn’t happen, not to him.

The two of you were sent on a mission to investigate unknown creatures breaching the borders of the Night Court. Rhys wasn’t even able to tell you what they were, just that they were more dangerous than anything you’d dealt with before. You had been given explicit instruction to leave once you found where they were residing and report back the location. From there a larger team would be sent out to eradicate the threat.

You had been tracking them carefully for days, trying to find their home base. You were beginning to think they didn’t have one, that these creatures were nomadic. Until an hour ago. Azriel had practically dragged you as high as you could go in the sky, pointing to a cluster of trees a while away. “There,” he explained, “they reconvene there during the day.” You nodded, preparing to fly back to Velaris and tell Rhys. Azriel caught your arm, shaking his head. “I want to track them a little longer. Make sure I have the pattern right so when we come back we can have the best chance at taking them out.”

You didn’t have a good feeling about staying out, but you agreed anyway. It was important to ensure the information you had was as detailed as possible. That’s how you ended up here, wind rushing past your face as you free fell down to where Azriel landed. Please be okay.

You dropped to the ground and surveyed the area for any sign of life. There was nothing there. If you hadn’t seen Azriel fall yourself you would have assumed nothing was ever down here. You took off through the trees, heading in the direction of what you assumed was their camp. You listened carefully for any sound, whether it be danger or Azriel himself. You were nearing the clearing he had spotted earlier when you heard a slow hum, ducking back behind a tree and tucking your wings tight against you. You poked your head out to watch two of the creatures move farther in the area, Azriel dragged between the two of them. Your heart ached at the blood running down his face and his limp body.

You followed the creatures until you were at the edge of the camp, watching their moves intently. The tied Azriel to a tree trunk, moving and muttering around him. You were taking in how many you saw, estimating that about 30 of these things were living here. Your nose wrinkled at the sight of the insect-like beings, their long stingers the supposed most dangerous part of them. The creatures were roughly the size of an Illyrian soldier, resembling wasps more than any type of fae. Large, disgusting wasps. The hum grew louder as what you supposed was the leader approached Azriel. Your toes curled as you watched the way it yanked his face up, inspecting the unconscious male.

It turned to one of its workers, a horrible clicking sound coming from its mouth. The other responded in the same way, the language grating against your ears. They turned back to Azriel, continuing to talk about him. You wished more than anything you could understand what they were saying. You looked over Azriel again, noticing that his blades were still strapped to his body. Did the creatures not realize what they were? Or were they truly so deadly they didn’t need to worry about disarming their enemies? A chill ran through your spine at the thought.

The leader let out a loud screech and the others filed into neat rows in front of it. You paled at the sight of them all together. What were you going to do? You desperately called for Rhys in your mind, knowing he likely would never hear you. Even if he did, how long would it take him to get here? Azriel might not have that much time left.

The leader gave some sort of command, and you watched in horrified shock as they all opened their mouths. Long, sharp, straw-like tubes came out, heading straight towards Azriel. You didn’t have time to think before you ran out there, quick enough to take them by surprise and get in front of him. The creatures all stopped, taking in this new sight in front of them. Adrenaline was pumping through your body, the only thought you had was to save Azriel.

Don’t blame me.

You pressed your back to his front, reaching behind to grab on to one of the swords strapped to his chest. Your warrior eyes darted around the creatures, desperately searching for any sign of weakness.

Don’t blame me.

The leader moved towards you, that horrible straw coming straight to your face instead. In a split-second decision you ripped the sword from its place on Azriel’s chest, a loud scream tearing from your throat as you swung. Tense silence spread through the woods, followed by a sickening squelch as the creature split in half.

Don’t blame me for what you made me do.

The other creatures all swarmed towards you at once, your screams and the sounds of bodies hitting the floor echoing through the woods around you. You became feral, tapping into the deepest parts of your Illyrian training. All you knew was to not let them touch Azriel. One of those horrid straws sank into your thigh, a searing pain ripping through your skin. You yelled, the next strike aimed at the creature who attacked. The wound burned like acid had been poured into your bloodstream, and knowing the way these creatures worked it probably had. You couldn’t let that stop you, not when Azriel was in danger.

Look what you made me do.

You fought back with more anger, cutting down creature after creature. You were a force of pure power, midnight blue siphons a thing of deadly beauty. Another straw embedded itself into your arm, the sword clanging to the ground. You wrapped your uninjured hand around the pulsating thing, ripping it out of your skin. You squeezed your hand around it, harder and harder until you felt the satisfying pop of it breaking. The creature it was attached to howled and you shot it square in the chest with your power. You looked around, noting there were only three of these left. Even with your arm and leg out of commission, you felt you could finish these last few off.

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy.

Your uninjured arm slid down, pulling out a dagger you had strapped to your thigh. You surveyed the three creatures around you, deciding to go for the middle one. You roared, jumping forward and latching on to the nasty beast. Your dagger rammed into its chest and you slid down, your weight pulling the blade down its body. It screeched as you were showered with its sticky green blood, collapsing backwards. You turned to the other two, adrenaline dulling the pain of your injuries as you pulled out a second dagger.

Oh, Lord save me, my drug is my baby I’ll be using for the rest of my life.

The two convened on you at the same time and you swung out both arms, spinning in a death dance with the blades. You landed on one knee in front of Azriel, twin thuds from behind you letting you know you struck true. Your breathing was heavy as you looked up, up into his wide eyes. He murmured your name and you dropped the daggers, the adrenaline rushing out of you. You winced at the sudden pain in your arm and leg, spreading quickly from your intense use of them. You fell forward, body shaking while you tried to push yourself up. You had to untie Azriel, he had to get out of here.

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy.

You forced yourself up with a cry, fingers undoing the knots the creatures had used to keep Azriel trapped. He pulled out of them the second he could, catching you as your weakened body fell against him. “I got you, I got you,” he whispered, cradling you tight to his chest before shooting off into the sky. Far, far away from the carnage you unleashed on those creatures who dared to threaten him.

***

“No, Rhys, i’ve never seen anything quite like it. She took out all of them. Heavily injured on top of that.” You recognized Azriel’s voice, muffled as if he was standing behind a door. You tried to open your eyes, but your eyelids felt as if they were ten thousand pounds each.

“That can’t be. You’re certain no one else was around? I’ve never heard of one single person taking out 30 of them. I’ve rarely heard of someone taking out just one on their own.” Rhysands voice was contemplative, trying to understand how you could have pulled off such a feat.

“I know that. I saw her do it Rhys. She was a true force of raw power.” Azriel sounded…in awe of you. You forced your eyes open, blinking as you adjusted to the soft light pouring in from the windows. You looked around the room, realizing Rhys and Azriel must be standing right outside the cracked door. You tried to sit up, a loud gasp of pain ripping from you at the action.

The sound alerted the two males outside, the door flinging open as they rushed in. “How are you feeling?” Azriel demanded, immediately coming to your side. You tried to sit again, the pain knocking the breath out of you. “Let me help,” he said softly, gently pulling you into a sitting position.

“I think i’m okay. In a lot of pain. What happened?” Your throat was sore, voice gravelly. You assumed you had been out for some time. Rhys observed you carefully, like you were a specimen he was investigating.

“You took on a hoard of those creatures. Alone. Do you remember that?” His question was almost accusatory, as if he didn’t believe the story.

You nodded. “Yes.” The reminder of those horrible bug creatures made you shiver, the sounds of them dying echoing in your ears.

“Can you show me? How you did it?” Rhys’ eyes bore into you, almost a threat. You stared right back, not appreciating the doubt from your friend.

“Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.” A claw stroked your mental shields and you dropped them easily. The memories of the fight began playing, the anger you felt overtaking your senses. If you hadn’t been there you wouldn’t have believed the strength you showed to defeat all of them. The reminder of your wounds stung your healing skin, Rhys even wincing as he watched. He could feel your rage, your power.

He could feel the dedication and love you felt towards Azriel.

You threw your shields back up at that, not wishing to let him in any further. He had seen enough. Rhys blinked at you, eyes flitting between you and Azriel. “I see,” he mused. “Well, you certainly did kill them all. That’s quite some feat of power. I think perhaps I should tell Cassian to up your training.” He winked at you and moved to leave the room. “I’ll let the healers know you are awake. I will be back later to check in.” He left, closing the door quietly behind him. Leaving you with Azriel.

Azriel, who was looking at you like you were the most delicate flower he had ever seen. “Are you sure you’re alright?” His concern struck a chord in you, a hand reaching out for his.

“I will be just fine. How are you? Is your head okay?” Your eyes scanned his hairline, relieved that there seemed to be no permanent damage.

“I’m good. My wounds weren’t half as bad as yours. They knocked me unconscious once I hit the ground.” His eyes lowered and he ran his thumb over your joined hands. “I should’ve been there for you. To help.”

You squeezed his hand in your own. “You were attacked, Az. I’m just glad I was able to get to you in time. If I were a moment later…” your voice trailed off and tears pricked at your eyes. Those straws were so close to stabbing into his body, sucking the life out of him.

“Hey,” he said, looking back up at you. “You saved my life. That’s all that matters.” He gave you a smile, your heart squeezing tight.

“Yea,” you agreed, even though you wished to say more. You wanted to tell him you loved him, be honest about your feelings. You were so close to losing him, to losing any chance to be with him. The fear of rejection stopped you from continuing, the way it always did.

Azriel was looking at you intently, eyes seeming to read your mind. You put on a small smile, pushing your feelings back down. His eyes dipped down to your lips, gaze heavy. Your heart skipped at his expression of hunger. “Az,” you whispered as he leaned closer to you.

“Hm?” He asked, not taking his eyes off your mouth.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was a whisper, so quiet you weren’t sure he could hear you.

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago.” He ducked his head down then, pressing his lips to yours. You went completely still at the touch of him, mind in overdrive. He began to pull away when you came to, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back. You kissed him hard then, the way you wished you had when you thought he was going to die. When you thought you’d never get the chance to.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight to him. You ignored the protest of pain in your arm and leg, focusing on the feel of Azriel pressed up against you. Of his mouth on yours. The way one of his hands began traveling down your thigh, fingers running along the edge of your nightgown. He bit gently on your lower lip, a silent question to open your mouth. You obliged, moaning at the taste of him. His fingers dug into your thigh at the noise and you let out a cry of pain.

Azriel pulled away from you quickly, apologizing immediately. “Maybe we should wait until you’re healed.” You sighed at the statement, but unfortunately agreed. You wanted to enjoy your first time tasting, feeling, loving Azriel. You pouted at him as he readjusted you, laying you back down on your pillows. He brushed a stray piece of hair off your forehead, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your skin. “I love you.”

Your heart was going to thud out of your chest. “I love you too.” Your declaration was a tad breathless, trying to decide if you could actually ignore the pain long enough to get on top of the male. He laughed, sensing your thoughts and gave you a soft kiss. You had waited so long for this moment, to have your love reciprocated.

“You need to rest.” He moved to hover slightly over you, carefully moving his way down your body. His fingers found the edge of your gown again, eyes looking up to yours from between your legs. “There are plenty of other ways I can please you.”

***

I needed to write something that was a request or a series, so this is what happened. I hope you guys enjoyed it!!! <3

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ ON A PILLOW OF

GRASS AND DANDELIONS ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

astarion ancunin x fem!reader

summary: you and astarion take much-needed time to yourselves in a field kissed by the sun. blueberries are the fruit of the occassion, as messy and sticky as they were. sometimes though, messy is a good thing.

warnings: 18+, smut, oral, ejaculation, deep-throating (??), a bit of nipple play if you squint hard enough, astarion's very vocal ( i don't make the rules ), astarion licks fruit juice off reader's chest, slight worshipping, not proof-read

a/n: wrote this at two am with a foggy mind and rusty smut skills. but alas, here's a small gift of an idea that refused to leave me. now, i can rest easily, bless.

The sun - a ball of fire in the abyss of the sky - is the brightest star. It burns the surface of your skin in vibrant rays of light, warming you from the inside; and setting you aflame. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, just one you learned to appreciate in the years you’ve been on this plane, a hug without drastic intentions, a heated embrace. Aside from the fruit in your hand; cobalt in color, soft-skinned, ripe, and dripping sour juices. It pools on the surface of your tongue alongside sugary essence once the sharp ridges of teeth puncture through; mixing in with warm spit, tricking down the chin and onto the expanse of your chest, loose, low-cut blouse leaving little to the imagination. 

The feeling you get from it is almost erotic, you think, as your lover laps at stray sweetness making its way to the base of your neck, right under the spot he adored so very much. The wet muscle of his tongue skims across your collarbone, his long, cold fingers hovering above your hip, the other keeping himself steady, hand sinking into the softness of the sheet below. His touches give off a certain urgency although his actions show otherwise. Astarion wants to take his time with you; albeit having seemingly all the time in existence to do so. 

A sigh escapes your lips involuntarily, airy as the hairs on your arms raise every millisecond that his body inches closer to yours, craving skin-to-skin through the thin layers of fabric. It causes you to straighten your spine, almost as if you were a stick wedged in damp soil, letting it mold further into you, keeping your soul in place. Every single bone within you was practically screaming. They didn’t mind being constricted like this, a small jumble of voices bouncing back and forth. 

It made you chuckle, a sound that had him humming against your skin in curiosity. “What’s so funny, my love?” 

Smiling,  you lock your irises onto a cluster of stray curls above you, hand moving to twist around them - an action that makes him visibly shiver.

“I’m supposed to be feeding you.” 

With a raise of his head, you could see just how big his pupils had dilated, ruby eyes just a shade or two darker than usual. His low-lidded gaze traveled down toward the valley of your chest, a purple tint left in streaks adorning your collarbone; evidence of his affection. “Are you not already?”

You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you shuffle about next to him on your side, propping your chin on the palm of your hand, elbow digging into the ground beneath the white linen of the sheet. “No, you’re far too busy being a tease.”

At your words, he chuckled, face dropping to the left side of your neck with such swiftness that you raised your hips further into his at the feeling of plump lips on your pulse point. Although you couldn’t see him anymore, the way his fingers squeezed at your clothed hip told you everything you needed to know.  

“If you wanted me to bite you, all you had to do was ask.”

A breathy sigh left your lips, nails moving from his silver curls down to his back, his tunic wrinkling under your touch, preventing him from escaping. Hot white heat pooled in your lower stomach; a longing to have him touch you in your most intimate of places - desperately. Desire envelops you whole, just like the sparkle of the sun.

“Please Astarion….”

Shivering at the coolness of his lips against your neck, your face grew hot in sudden embarrassment. The organ that was your heart hammered erratically in your sternum as he sucked on your flesh, setting your skin ablaze in a way where it was somewhat painful… a delectable pinch as his fangs pierced the skin.

Astarion was no stranger to drinking your lifeblood, and the act itself wasn’t a rare occurrence. He enjoyed it - no, he craved it as if it were the finest, most expensive brand of wine he had ever tasted in all his years. It satiated his thirst.

His cheeks hallowed as he sucked once - twice more before pulling away, thumbing at the corner of his lip before parting his lips, tucking his bloody thumb into the heat of his mouth. “Delicious…”

Astarion was sure that his body had started to relax as your blood flowed through his veins, sloshing around in the confines of his belly as if he were a drunkard. 

The ridges of your front teeth sunk into the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip, and you watched cautiously as he toyed with the edges of his tunic, lifting it to his naval. Slight hesitation embedded itself in his hands before he flexed them a bit, ridding himself of the fabric completely. Despite having been bare in front of you countless times - even if not fully on display, he found himself growing somewhat small under your fixated look, opting to stand and plop himself in a bed of grass a couple of feet away. 

He extended his arms outward, blades of deep green tickling his knuckles, creating an itch that he refused to scratch. Filling his mouth with fresh air, his chest rose before deflating, the hairs in his nose burning. “Sometimes, I forget how to breathe.” 

Lashes fan against his skin as he closes his eyes, his undead lungs trying to find a comfortable rhythm, steady.  You can’t help but admire him from your place, eyebrows unfurrowing from their constant state of distress. 

The light had moved in his direction, clouds changing their position to make way as it shone down on his figure, drawn to him like magnets to metal. It casts shadows on his face, carving out every gentle dip of his abs, the flexing of his biceps as he raises a hand in front of his face, blocking his vision from the viciousness of it all. Instead of irritation filling his undead heart, it was a foreign sense of calamity. A feeling that he held dear for as long as it lingered.

“This feels nice.” 

His ears perk at the sound of your feet crunching grass, alongside the periodic chirping of birds perched on enormous tree branches above. A gust of wind weaved through tendrils of curls, seeping into his scalp, metaphorically dousing him in cold water. For a second, he indulged in the thought of bathing in a nearby lake wherever camp was set up for the night, taking his time to let it take over every inch of his body. 

A clench of his stomach muscles sends his eyes shooting open, neck craning to stare down at your hand traveling down the ‘v’ of his naval, tracing patterns on the way. Your unexpected compliment was nothing but a whisper in the wind that made the tips of his ears grow as red as his eyes. 

“You’re beautiful.” Leaning down between his wide legs, your sticky lips graced his icy skin, sending a jolt of heat through him, a gasp caught in his throat as you painstakingly peppered his abdomen in an abundance of kisses. 

Astarion was by no means ashamed when it came to eliciting pretty noises in response to your touch; need apparent in the way his head fell back, cushioned by grass and a halo of dandelions, his adams apple bobbing as your fingers hooked in the waistband of his pants.

“Let me worship you Astarion. You deserve to be tasted.” 

He propped himself on an elbow, staring down at you with an expression that could only be described as that of some sort of challenge at your request, his unoccupied hand stretching out to grip your chin loosely in his hands, fingers tapping on the fullness of your cheeks. “Needy little thing.” 

The low tone of his voice caused you to rub your thighs together, trying to soothe the developing ache between them, a feeling you knew wouldn’t go away unless he helped you - until he conjured every single facet of his love and adoration for you to the tips of his fingers. “Who am I to refuse my love’s desires?” 

Loosening his grip on your face, he allowed you to tug at the fabric of his pants, lifting his hips slightly as you shed them off of him completely, fingers dancing up his thighs, eyes greedily taking in his cock that lay hard before you, slightly curved and sensitive. His tip glistened with wetness that formed a waterfall of saliva in your mouth to coat him with. 

It practically begged for attention, some sort of relief that you were more than willing to give by darting out your tongue, bobbing your head down his length, and taking him down your throat as far as you could.

Through spit-covered teeth, Astarion hissed lightly as you palmed him gently, the extra layers of skin doing little to help him catch his breath. It stretched at every tug of your hand, at every bob of your head as you took him further in your mouth, cheeks hollow and mouth wet, shining under mustard yellow hues from the surrounding landscape of the hidden field. 

He was fucking perfect lying beneath you like this, devoid of any sharp remarks, and scandalous comments - just a blubbering mess. A man formed by all things precious, and a subtle sort of stunning. 

“Gods, just like that, pet.” He bucked his hips upward, hitting the back of your throat so violently that you gagged, an encouraging hum causing his cock to throb in the expanse of your warm mouth. 

He could stay here forever, your lips closed around him, cheeks stained with tears, fingers from your other hand tracing figure eights on his pubic bone to occupy yourself further with pleasing him. Even with a brain filled with endless fog, the pale elf couldn’t recount the last time you had sucked him as if your entire existence depended solely on his pleasure. 

Hell, he wasn’t complaining at all. The noises escaping his esophagus were more than enough proof, and you were more than happy to make it known. 

You swirled your tongue around his tip, gathering the taste of him, pubic hairs tickling your nostrils as the tip of your nose made contact with the base of his shaft. His lower stomach couldn’t help but clench tightly, only contracting when your lips widened, jaw slacking as you quickened your pace. 

White heat coiled in his stomach, a sensation so euphoric to him that his back arched slightly, brows furrowing, a chorus of broken, muffled cries leaving his parted lips. He released his seed, spurting his arousal down your throat, something you swallowed without hesitation as you pulled away from him.

Finding the strength to open his eyes, Astarion narrowed them at the white puff of clouds painting the sky above through vibrant leaves, a tingle vibrating throughout his body as you straddled his hips, rocking against him gently as he peaked at you. “Isn’t there something else you crave?” 

The flesh of your mouth meets his pointed ear and his spine grows rigid, then he shudders in anticipation, in desire. His hands are under your blouse before you can utter anything else, following the dip of your lower back as you press yourself against him. 

“I want to be inside of you.” 

There it was. 

The seven words you’ve been wanting to hear ever since he took your hand and whisked you away into the horizon, a basket full of berries that currently sat discarded somewhere around the crumpled blanket, rotting away in the heat.

“I’d rip this off of you if you’d let me.” He whispered, thumbing at your shirt, hair tousled and out of its usual format of precise placement. 

He looked like heaven. He tasted like heaven. He felt like heaven. 

It was a mantra that you repeated in your head as he discarded the shirt that covered the swell of your breasts, nipples perking when he pinched them between his fingers, taking one of them in his mouth almost immediately after as if he were still famished. 

Fidgeting with the ends of your long skirt, you bunched the fabric up your thighs, fingers disappearing under the material to move your soaked underwear to the side, throbbing with need. “You know I would if the circumstances were different.” 

Ah, yes, the fact that you two were fucking like rabbits out in the open. A thrill that never ceased to make your heart beat quickly no matter how many times you both found yourselves in this position. 

“Yet you’re letting me take you in broad daylight.” 

It was hard not to smile at that. 

After all, he did have a point.

tags: @tallymonster, @astariongf, @scandalcus

[lookingbetteringlasses]

I think something important to keep in mind during Steven's argument with Bismuth is the fact that it takes place after the Cluster arc. Steven knows just how devious Homeworld can be with its enemies, breaking them apart and forcing them together into an unnatural form of existence. To Steven, Bismuth is suggesting that the Crystal Gems should resort to a similar level of violence, not so obviously monstrous, but a form of combat without room for mercy. The Cluster was borne because Homeworld lacked empathy, lacked the ability to care for its enemies, and saw them only as objects to play around with as toys. Steven doesn't want to stoop that low, because he's someone who believes in having empathy towards others no matter what, including in battle.

Furthermore, the war is over. For all intents and purposes, the Crystal Gems lost, but Bismuth doesn't know that Pink Diamond was shattered. She only thinks that the rebellion won a Pyrrhic victory, with the rest of the rebellion destroyed at the eve of their victory. Notably, Pearl & Garnet don't tell Bismuth about the corrupted gems, she only finds that out when she comes back in Season 5, likely because they were trying to keep her from knowing the painful truth that all her friends were turned into near-mindless beasts left to wander the Earth for millennia. What they do tell her is about Homeworld's repeated reinterest in Earth, but for Bismuth, that just confirms her worst fears: Pink Diamond is coming back, and it's only a matter of time before the armies come down from orbit. She thinks that it's only a matter of time before Pink Diamond & the rest of the Authority come back after millennia of having abandoned Earth to the rebels, so Bismuth feels that she needs to encourage the Crystal Gems to strike back hard before they have a chance of being annihilated.

But notably, I don't think Bismuth is being framed in the wrong here. Her final moments are her admitting that Rose bubbled her away, hid her and lied to her about what they were even fighting for. She is someone without the proper context, stuck in a soldier's mentality in a world that's only just now starting to see a potential revival of a conflict that practically ended so long ago. She's angry at Rose for leaving her imprisoned for millennia without even having the decency to tell her friends what happened, and so she resorts to the only things she can fall back on - the promises she made to herself, based on what Rose encouraged from her during the Gem War.

I've seen people criticize this episode for being an example of the show bending itself over to prove Steven right, but the thing is, I think that ignores Bismuth as being essentially a traumatized soldier lacking proper guidance, resorting to operating on the vitriol she was taught in frustration at Rose's seeming hypocrisy. It's less that Steven was entirely and utterly correct, and more so that Rose was wrong for treating Bismuth so callously.

Furthermore, I think some people are mistaking this argument as being the show saying "nonviolent empathy is the only answer to injustice." But that would ignore that the war was still fought in order to protect Gems like Garnet & Bismuth, encouraging them to find independence against the established social order and protect the futures for both themselves and life on Earth. The exact causes of the war are messy, particularly around Rose's motivations, but what it became was genuine. Steven fights. The Crystal Gems fought, and still fight for Earth. Fighting is how you get people to listen to you, to listen to what you have to say. If it were worthless, then why would the show be set in a temple carved to the outline of the fusion looking like the most vicious of the Hindu goddesses? The trouble is figuring out what to say after the fact, something Steven is quite adept at.

And Steven says the one thing that snaps Bismuth out of her rage, acknowledging that she matters to him, getting her to accept that he is in fact a different person from his mother, someone who can be new and different in how he fights and how he protects others and actually cares about everyone:

"I'll tell them. I'll tell them everything."

"...Then you really are better than her."

[nizhspo]

and this is just the intro.

chapter four: know she’s somewhere with a good guy.

m.list | next

synopsis: you were supposed to outgrow him, supposed to outgrow everyone and leave that small town behind, but somehow, he outgrew it too, and instead of growing apart, you fell right back into orbit-same gravity, same pull.

pairing: atsumu miya x f!reader

january 27, 2024

kobe, japan

the hallway outside his condo smells like cologne and takeout. somewhere, two floors up, a party’s going loud, bass pulsing through the drywall like a heartbeat, muffled laughter spilling down the stairwell. atsumu doesn’t care.

it’s been eight days since he last spoke to you in miami.

four days back in japan.

and four days since hinata showed him the post.

less than twelve hours since he played like his body was a weapon and his mind was somewhere else.

tonight’s game was hosted at home.

sold-out seats, news crews lined up along the baseline, branded towels waving in the crowd. the season’s first major matchup against sendai’s top seed, televised nationally. every interview after was about how sharp he looked. how focused. how ruthless.

but after the final whistle, after the post-match speeches and the high-fives and the locker room clatter, he dipped. didn’t stay for drinks. didn’t even shower at the facility. just pulled his hoodie over his head and left.

he said he was tired.

and technically, that wasn’t a lie.

but really? he didn’t want to be seen. not with this weight on him. not with your name sitting in his mouth like copper. not with oikawa’s face stuck behind his eyes like a flashbang.

he drops his keys in the ceramic bowl by the door, kicks his shoes off halfway into the living room, and tosses his jacket over the couch. he’s still wearing his game-day compression leggings, sweat dried stiff under the collar of his black hoodie. the team won. he played like a demon.

he never celebrated.

you posted again this morning on your main story.

he shouldn’t’ve looked. should’ve muted the page. closed the app. thrown his phone into the fucking ocean.

but he didn’t.

the post was soft, pretty—filtered with that low pink tone you always used when you were trying to look effortless.

a bouquet. huge. extravagant.

tall-stemmed lilies, white with flushed centers. soft pink peonies blooming wide and decadent. pale garden roses clustered at the base, the color of ballet slippers and glossy lips. white orchids dripping down like silk. the whole arrangement sat thick and heavy on your kitchen table, crowding the frame in a way that felt intentional. expensive.

and next to it, a small cream-colored card. thick stock. calligraphy in silver foil.

to the most beautiful girl. thank you for letting your guard down.

no name. no tag. you never do with these kinds of things. not since atsumu.

and that’s what gets him.

because it took him damn near three years to get you to let your guard down. three years of pride and patience and crying on couches and showing up when he shouldn’t’ve and staying when you told him not to. he bled for that softness. earned every inch of it. every secret. every sigh. every time you curled into him at night like you didn’t hate him for the damage he’d done.

and now some smug, pressed, perfect motherfucker waltzes in during his one week of silence?

he’s not just mad at oikawa, he’s mad at you too. mad that you let it happen. mad that you made it look so easy to forget about him. mad that you look so happy.

he thinks oikawa’s stupid. thinks he doesn’t know how to touch you. thinks he’s just playing house with something he doesn’t understand.

but the truth? he’s mostly mad at himself. because he’s the one who gave you the silence to slip away in.

he stares at it for too long, thumb hovering over your handle. checked the following tab first thing and saw his name missing. realized you’d unfollowed him.

he couldn’t bring himself to do the same.

because this is what always happens, isn’t it?

flings, men who appear in bursts, men who show up with gifts and affection just long enough for atsumu to crawl back in the cracks.

the only other man you ever publicly tagged was your ex, the basketball player. and back then? atsumu was the other man.

the secret. the late-night “i miss you” call. the shoulder to cry on when front-row floor seats didn’t fix whatever was broken. the one who wormed his way in with patience and timing and the promise to treat you better.

he wonders if this is what karma feels like now.

if oikawa’s gonna do to him what he once did to somebody else. if the universe’s sense of justice is cruel enough to make him feel what he made others feel.

he scoffs at the thought. kicks the coffee table. his phone buzzes in his back pocket.

[bokuto: yo you good?]

[hinata: you left mad early. you good bro?]

he throws the phone face-down on the couch and doesn’t answer.

september 29, 2022

miami, fl

the ac was busted, and the fan overhead wasn’t doing much—just spinning in slow, lazy circles that barely stirred the thick florida heat pressing in from every window.

the air smelled like coconut body butter and fabric softener, and the takeout bag from dinner still sat open on the kitchen counter, its contents long gone cold. your speaker buzzed with a quiet playlist of 2000s r&b, and somewhere beneath it all was the faint thrum of traffic outside, muffled through the glass.

you were curled up on his chest in nothing but your underwear and his practice tee, the neckline stretched wide from where you’d tugged it over your head earlier. you were sticky with sweat, but you didn’t move. he had one hand spread across your back, the other tracing lazy circles into your bare hip, fingers skimming just under the hem of the shirt. his face was buried in the curve of your neck, breath slow and heavy, like he could fall asleep right there and call it the best nap of his life.

“how long you gonna keep me down here?” he asked, voice rough with sleep and something else.

you tilted your chin, brushed your lips against the edge of his jaw, and smiled into his skin. “’til i’m tired of you.”

“so never?” he mumbled, grinning against your shoulder.

you laughed soft and slow, like the room had melted around you. then you kissed him again. longer this time. sweet and quiet and lingering.

and that’s when he said it. low. almost like he didn’t mean for it to come out.

“you feel like home.”

he didn’t pull back. didn’t look at you. just let it sit there, pressed against your cheek, his lips brushing your skin like punctuation.

you didn’t say it back, you just kissed him harder.

and that was enough for him back then.

january 27, 2024

kobe, japan

it’s nighttime now. the city’s gone quiet outside his window—just the occasional car passing seven floors below, headlights washing the buildings in white.

he spent most of the day in and out of sleep. didn’t change out of his compression pants. didn’t shower either. baddies west played on a loop in the background, volume low, the fights loud enough to jolt him awake every so often.

it was your zeus account. still logged in.

he wonders when you’re gonna kick him off, and the thought makes his jaw clench.

he’s in the kitchen now, pouring a drink. maybe his second. maybe his third. it doesn’t really matter.

neat bourbon. dark glass. nothing fancy. the good stuff, technically, but it tastes the same as everything else when your mouth is this bitter.

the tv in the corner now glows faintly blue, cycling through muted post-match sports coverage he doesn’t remember turning to. his name flashes across the bottom of the screen for a second, something about his performance, a clip from the spike that sealed the third set, but he doesn’t look up.

he just stands in the kitchen, lit by the fridge light and nothing else, counting the seconds until the bourbon burns down his throat.

his phone buzzes on the counter. he flips it over.

it’s not you. it never is.

there’s a girl in his messages. a model. new. twenty-two. she’s been liking every one of his posts since last month.

he opens her story. her tongue is out. the outfit is tight. neon pink lighting from a nightclub washes over everything like a filter that won’t come off.

she’s in osaka tonight.

he stares at the screen longer than he should. thinks about closing it. doesn’t. instead, he types:

[atsumu: pull up?]

she replies within two minutes.

[unknown: already on the way.]

he sets his phone down and finishes his drink slower this time. then he runs a hand through his hair and sighs. he looks at the empty glass. then at the living room. then down at his shirt.

“shit,” he mutters, and gets up.

the water in the shower is hot. he lets it hit his back while he exhales slowly, palms pressed flat to the tile. he washes fast. scrubs harder than usual. uses the good body wash you left behind months ago because it’s still the only thing that cuts through the sweat and bourbon smell.

by the time he’s out, he’s toweling his hair dry, standing in front of the fogged-up mirror. he doesn’t look at himself for long, just pulls on a fresh t-shirt. nothing fancy. black and fitted. just enough to say he tried.

then he waits.

by the time she shows up, the bourbon’s hit his bloodstream and smoothed everything at the edges. she smells like sugar scrub and peach body spray, like a department store’s idea of intimacy.

her heels click loud against the hardwood. she smiles too wide when he opens the door. leans into him like they’ve done this before.

they haven’t, but he lets her in anyway.

they barely talk.

she touches his wrist while he pours her a drink. laughs at something he doesn’t remember saying. grazes her thigh against his when she sits down on the couch, waiting for him to take the lead.

he does. because it’s easier than thinking. because distraction is the only thing he can feel without flinching.

they don’t make it to the second drink.

her hands are cold when they slip under his hoodie. her nails are long and painted, dragging softly along his stomach as she pushes the fabric up.

she moans too loud. gasps like it’s scripted. calls him baby before he even touches her. kisses his neck like she’s trying to brand him.

he closes his eyes.

tries not to picture you. tries not to remember the weight of your hand against his jaw. the scratch of your nails when you tugged his hair. the way your breath used to hitch before whispering his name, low and sharp, like a warning you wanted him to ignore.

but he does. he always does.

even now. even with someone else on top of him, chasing something that doesn’t mean anything.

she’s nothing like you. and that’s the point.

he finishes fast. doesn’t kiss her after. doesn’t say much at all. just lays there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, letting her breath even out beside him. the room still smells like bourbon and peach body spray.

but underneath it, faint and stubborn, he swears he can still smell your perfume.

may 27, 2022

eagle beach, aruba

the end of your junior year at umiami had come, and it’d been four months since you and atsumu made it official.

he wanted to take you somewhere before your internship started, before the calls got shorter and the flights got fewer, before he couldn’t fly you out just because he missed the sound of your laugh.

the sky was painted in bruised pastels. your skin was warm from the sun. he walked over barefoot across the deck with two plastic cups in hand, condensation dripping down the sides.

he handed you yours without asking.

your favorite. extra ice. lime wedge floating at the top.

you took a sip, squinted, made a face. “too sweet,” you muttered, tongue poking out.

he grinned like he’d been waiting for it. “like you.”

you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it. it was like that, then—jokes that didn’t land but always hit. bickering that never burned. fighting sometimes, sure, but never to wound. always learning. always reaching.

this was back before either of you hid your phones from each other. before changed passwords and face-down devices. before face id on damn near every app possible. you used to play music from each other’s libraries. used to take photos on his camera roll like it was yours.

later that night, you stole his phone when he was drowsy with sun and rum, flopped back on the bed in nothing but swim trunks. you recorded a short video on the balcony, your cheeks flushed, his arm slung lazy across your waist, both of you grinning into the wind like you had all the time in the world.

you airdropped it to yourself. neither of you ever posted it. but he watched it every time he missed you.

and back then, that was every day.

january 28, 2024

kobe, japan

it’s the morning after, and the girl is gone.

he doesn’t remember her name. maybe he never asked.

the bedroom is still warm from her body, faintly humid with sweat and perfume. something floral, synthetic, cloying at the edges. his sheets are twisted. her lipstick left a mark on the inside of his collar. there’s a single earring on the nightstand he won’t bother returning.

his apartment smells like her. and something burnt. probably from the hallway—someone scorched a breakfast they shouldn’t have tried to make. he cracks the window open just enough to let the cold in. kobe’s winter air hits hard, sharp and clean, cutting through everything heavy.

he doesn’t put on a hoodie.

he stands there at the sink in boxers and nothing else, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, arms crossed against the chill, and when it’s done, he drinks it black. no sugar. no milk. no distractions.

then he opens your profile again.

you haven’t posted much oikawa-related since the soft launch story. still no tag. still no face. just that glint of oikawa’s watch, the candlelight, and then later, the bouquet.

he knows it’s obsessive to keep doing this. he checks anyway.

your tags are still active. your friends still posting.

he sees you in the background of a brunch selfie, blurry, sunlit, laughing at something off-camera. you’re angled toward the window, mimosa in hand, cheeks flushed like sleep didn’t touch you.

in another one, posted by the pottery studio near your building, you’re standing between two girls he vaguely recognizes, each of you holding a plate with bold, messy writing across them. the caption reads: wednesdays are for rage plates.

he zooms in.

your plate is covered in jagged marker, red and black scrawled across white ceramic. there’s a line he can’t make out. another that says my dumb emotional habits. and then, near the edge, a number—familiar. precise.

his birthday. the month. the day. the year.

you didn’t say his name. you didn’t have to.

you look good, happy, untouched, like he never existed. but that plate right there, the one built to smash, is living proof he did. and still does. somewhere inside you. somewhere deep and angry and unfinished.

he opens your messages again. thumb hovering over the screen.

his fingers type fast, like he’s afraid he’ll stop himself.

i miss you when i’m sober more than i miss you drunk.

he doesn’t send it. just stares at the blinking cursor. then closes the app.

the rest of the day passes like a dream with no plot.

he doesn’t go to the gym. still doesn’t return suna’s texts. doesn’t shower until the sun’s already gone down. he microwaves leftovers he doesn’t finish. opens the balcony door. stands barefoot out there for a full twenty minutes just watching traffic slide past seven stories down.

the apartment stays dim. lights off. just the tv flickering soundlessly through old replays and sports news.

it gets darker. colder. he doesn’t turn on a single light. doesn’t speak. just moves through the space like it doesn’t belong to him anymore.

and then, sometime after ten, the front door clicks.

a pair of slides shuffle inside. no knock. no announcement. just suna, already tossing his keys into the bowl by the door like this is his place too.

he doesn’t say anything right away. just shrugs off his jacket, toes off his shoes, and flops down onto the couch like he’s been here a hundred times before.

he’s half-asleep, scrolling something mindless, feet on the coffee table, hoodie too big and sleeves swallowed around his hands. bokuto made him come. said someone needed to do a “wellness check” on their golden boy before he drank himself into oblivion again or sent you something he couldn’t unsend.

atsumu’s on the floor. back leaned against the couch, drink in hand. same glass as last night. same bourbon.

he hasn’t said much in over ten minutes.

then, quiet. not dramatic. just real: “i think i loved her more than she loved me.”

suna doesn’t respond right away. just blinks slow at his screen. then sets his phone face-down.

“maybe she just loved you quieter.”

atsumu’s brow twitches. “or maybe she didn’t love me at all.”

“you’d have known.”

atsumu stares at the ceiling. the fan isn’t spinning. the air’s gone still again.

“she’s with someone else.”

suna’s voice doesn’t shift. “you’re with someone new every weekend.”

“not the same.”

“because you don’t want it to be.”

atsumu doesn’t answer.

february, 2024

the weeks that follow.

he takes a different girl to dinner every weekend.

sometimes it’s sushi in ginza, sleek and expensive, where the chef bows before handing over each roll like it’s sacred. sometimes it’s rooftop cocktails downtown, where the music is too loud and the women louder, laughing like they’ve never been hurt. once it was fondue, and he nearly gagged when the girl fed him a strawberry, eyes half-lidded like she was auditioning for porn.

he fucks them all the same, quick, rough, forgettable. his eyes barely open, his voice low, disinterested. he gives them enough to feel chosen, but never enough to mean it.

he doesn’t say your name. never speaks it.

but it lingers. always there.

underneath every gasp, behind every blink, hiding in the seconds between their laughter and his silence.

the worst part?

you’re not watching.

he keeps checking, hoping, and posting. thirst traps on his story, lifting his shirt in locker room interviews like he doesn’t know the camera’s on him. selfies in the gym mirror. captions with thirstbait drake lyrics and cryptic quotes he doesn’t even believe in.

he likes the photos of every fashion nova model with a waist trainer and an attitude. comments an eye emoji on girls’ stories he barely knows. tags the latest girl in his feed: a blonde with pouty lips and a matching puffer coat, in a mirror selfie, complete with an “if you know, you know” caption and a moody song lyric.

you didn’t flinch. no view. no like. no story response. nothing.

it’s like you’re not even looking. like you’ve already moved on. like he’s just some phase you deleted like an old playlist.

one night, late-february, suna says it out loud.

they’re out. the bar’s packed. the lights are warm and hazy, and whiskey clings to suna’s breath like sweat. he’s leaned close, drink in hand, watching atsumu refresh your page for the third time in an hour.

“bro,” he mutters, voice low, like it’s not even worth the breath. “why are you trying to make her jealous if she doesn’t even follow you anymore?”

atsumu downs his drink. doesn’t respond. just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

and checks again.

march 22, 2022

miami, fl

roses. hundreds of them.

lined across your apartment like a crime scene in a romance movie. bouquets spilling out of glass vases, petals scattered like blood drops across your marble countertops, the entry table, the windowsill, even the lip of the kitchen sink. the whole place smelled like them, heady, sweet, decadent. like he wanted you to drown in proof that he meant it.

you stood frozen in the doorway, hand flying up to your mouth, eyes wide and glassy. the AC hummed low in the background. your keys dropped from your fingers with a soft clink against the tile.

he watched you from the center of the room, nervous and proud and sheepish all at once, hands in the pockets of his sweats.

“you tryna propose or somethin’?” you asked after a second, voice light, teasing, already walking toward him. your smile was too wide to hide. you slipped your arms around his neck, leaned into the soft warmth of his hoodie like it was second nature.

he grinned, all teeth and warmth. kissed your forehead once. “nah. not yet.”

he cooked that night.

salmon and asparagus. overcooked slightly, edges too crisp, but you didn’t care. the effort made your chest ache. he kept checking the recipe on his phone, cursing under his breath every five seconds, muttering things like “what the fuck is blanching” and “why’s the lemon gotta go on last?”

his hair curled at the edges from the steam, forehead damp, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows. you sat on the counter barefoot, legs swinging, a glass of wine in your hand and your heart practically singing in your chest.

you teased him while he burned the garlic.

he flipped you off with the spatula. you kissed his cheek when he plated it anyway.

three hours later, drunk off two bottles of wine and the way he kept looking at you like you hung the stars yourself, you told him you loved him.

you don’t remember who said it first. you both kind of said it at the same time, words tumbling out, messy and a little too fast, like neither of you wanted to risk not being the first to admit it.

and after, when the laughter softened into something quieter, something tender, he just looked at you. didn’t speak for a second. like he was memorizing you, eyes shining in the low kitchen light, wine glass cradled in your hand, one bare foot tucked against the cabinet door.

then he stepped forward, slow. careful.

the heels of his socks brushed rose petals across the floor as he closed the space between you. he took the glass from your hand, set it gently on the counter behind you. didn’t break eye contact.

his fingers laced through yours, warm and calloused. his voice was soft.

“two months today,” he said. “two months of gettin’ to be your man. don’t think i’ve ever been happier in my life.”

your heart thudded somewhere behind your ribs, and you didn’t say anything. just kissed him.

slow. deep. like you meant it.

he kissed you back with his whole body. hands on your face, then your waist, then your thighs. he lifted you like it was instinct. like your weight was something he’d been built to carry.

the trail to the bedroom was a blur of petals underfoot, mouths parting only when breath demanded it. he laid you down gently on the bed, like setting something sacred in its rightful place.

he didn’t rush. didn’t strip you down like it was something owed.

he knelt.

ran his palms up the backs of your thighs and kissed the inside of your knee first. looked up at you like he already knew what you’d sound like falling apart.

“lemme take care of you tonight,” he whispered, voice low, hoarse with awe. “lemme show you how much i fuckin’ mean it.”

and he did.

he ate you like it was devotion. like he’d been starved and your body was the answer to every ache he’d ever had.

his mouth moved slow. practiced. patient.

tongue soft at first, just teasing, drawing gentle circles like he wanted to memorize the way your breath stuttered. his hands never stopped moving, thumbs pressing careful into your hips, fingers curling under your ass, guiding every shift, every roll of his mouth.

he kissed you down there like he loved you. because he did.

and when you moaned, loud, broken, fingers twisting in his curls, he groaned into your skin like it wrecked him.

like your pleasure belonged to him.

and when you came, thighs shaking around his ears, hips twitching into his mouth, he looked up like it was the only thing he ever wanted to see.

later, when you were laid out in bed, skin still buzzing, the sheets twisted around your legs and the soft click of the fan overhead, he turned toward you.

brushed your hair out of your face with slow fingers.

and said, quiet as anything—

“i could see you bein’ the mother of my kids.”

you smiled. sleepy. wrecked. warm all over.

“only if they got your eyes.”

he kissed your collarbone. pulled you close.

back then, your mom didn’t hate him yet. back then, you still sent him good morning texts. back then, you both still believed love could be enough.

and maybe, for a little while, it was.

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Their Reaction to You Goth Dancing

𓊆♱𓊇 Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach (I'll add more later if I do a part 2 this is just a late night thought :p)

Price

Price decided to treat the guys to a night out, a coin was flipped and you got the choice to pick where to go this time, and no one bat an eye when you chose a nightclub

But they didn't know what type of nightclub until they got there

"Didn't Halloween pass, already?" was John's reaction the moment they set foot inside and saw the amount of goths he's kidding, i hope.. ;(

He's not unfamiliar nor is it his first time seeing a goth but definitely not in clusters like this, he's never really asked you why you choose to dress like you do

He doesn't know whether the teased hair is intentional or if it's from how hard people are going at it on the dancefloor, and is the smudged eyeliner intentional?

Would take one look at you once you joined the dancefloor, down his drink in one gulp and turn the other way because what the hell was that jarring move you pulled?

Ghost

He judges you HARD

Like he's already had to deal with your eccentric and off-putting way of dressing when you're not on duty but why'd you have to go and drag him into it too?

That's scenario one, but I hc this guy has listened to gothic metal or death rock and he kind of just bops to the choice of music playing

Wouldn't join you but the common ground between you both is the music so he's cool with it

Soap

He's been drawn to you for your style and personality but had never witnessed you letting loose like this before

It's a first seeing you unwind and move your body in such strange ways to him, you're jumping and dancing and having fun in your own way but so is everyone else

He's stunned to say the least, people are moving their arms wildly like bats learning to take flight, stomping the ground which he doesn't know how they do with their five inch heels

He's seen women dance in high heels but never in these massive stompers and guys doing it too, but once the poor guy gets over his initial reaction and had a few drinks to loosen up, he's yelling for you to get it and outdance everyone, literally pull out the forbidden dance moves if you have to

Gaz

Trying real hard not to let his jaw drop to the floor, you're doing all that? While you're in thick boots and leather?!??

At first you were dancing to new wave and songs like that but once the classic bangers every goth knows came on you let loose and the place got wild real quick

You managed to lure him in and teach him a few moves that he didn't nail right away but flow is key :) and he managed to put together a simple, but beautifully executed dance that he was obsessed with

He actually had a ton of fun because he likes trying new things out and afterwards you two would goof off back at base dancing to songs, he looked forward to the next time now that he was prepared

Roach

Probably the only one hyping you up without questioning because he knows what's up

Bops along to iconic psychedelic rock and new wave bands from a safe spot he's taken over at the corner of the bar with his drink in hand

At some point you gesture for him to join you, but he's shy and hesitates because of how expressive the moves are, eventually he's persuaded when you go over and take him by his hands, bringing him to the dance floor

A few other bats notice and surround him, teaching him some common dance moves he can work and he ends up having tons of fun!

His favorite move is 'Pet the cat' fs