#I may need to figure something else out after this post

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

cont.

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[sainns]

PINING.

𝓢. ㅤㅤthings they do to show that they like you.

OT7ㅤ✶ ㅤ (⠀gnreader⠀) . . . friend!enhypen, pre relationship, this is a revamped post from when i first started my account, sunoo's the craziest one here for sure, a singular death joke, not proofread so pls ignore typos.ㅤ817 words

lee heeseung refuses to let you carry anything. he’s made it a habit of grabbing anything that you’re holding and carrying it himself. whether it be shopping bags, your purse, a stuffed animal that he won for you, or groceries, he will be carrying it all. sure, it may be a little hard carrying 15 different bags of groceries up to your apartment but he doesn't mind. even as you complain, saying that you feel bad that he has to carry everything when you can help, he'll just laugh you off, asking you to let him do this for you. you do a lot for him (unbeknownst to you) and this is the least he can do.

park jongseong asks for your opinion on almost everything he does. he'll ask you if he should buy this shirt or that one, watch looks better, what he should eat. it’s like he lost all ability make choices for himself after he gained feelings for you, only trusting your opinion. maybe it's because he wants to have things that you like, who knows. what everyone does know is that the contanst buzzing coming from your phone? jay. he's most definitely texting you about whatever it is he feigns needing help choosing, but he can't help it if your opinion is the only one that matters to him.

sim jaeyun loves to go shopping with you; he literally begs to be able go even if you tell him that you're just going to window shop. not to mention the fact that he is so serious about shopping; he’ll put his phone on do not disturb, giving you his full attention. when you ask him was store he wants to go to he'll shake his head, claming that this trip is for you and if he reall needs something then he can go on his own time. he always ends up buying your stuff for you, waving you off as he gives the cashier his money.

park sunghoon calls you every single night just so that he can fall asleep to your voice. in the beginning he asks you about your day, listening intently and asking follow up questions. he wants to hear your voice for as long as possible, especially when he went the whole day without talking to you. when you ask about his day, though, he gives you the most basic answer possible and moves the conversation back to you. and every morning, without fail, he claims that he didn't mean to fall asleep but your voice is way too soothing for your own good. you figure that he's not telling the full truth after you hear him say goodnight and he doesn't hang up the phone.

kim seonwoo takes more pictures of you than he does of himself. you swear when you caught a glipse of his gallery you saw an album named 'yn' that featured over seven thousand photos of you. which yes, you saw correctly, he has a very full folder full of pictutes of you. most of them aren't even good but he would rather die than delete the ten, nearly identical, photos of you laughing or the blurry video he got while you were ugly crying because of some movie. he also uses them to tease you—laughing when you tell him to delete it. yeah.. he's almost all out of storage, at this point he's going to buy a burner phone just for photos of you.

yang jungwon loves to texts you updates about his day. if you think jay texts you a lot, oh man, jungwon beats him by twenty miles. he'll tell you his plans who they're with, what he's planning on eating, the cute cat family he saw on the street (pictures included). this man tells you everything, every thought he has it feels like. honestly, he only bothers going out so that he has an excuse to text you, it makes him smile brightly at his phone when he sees your responses. when you start sending him updates about your day? he gets so happy, it's his favorite part of the day to hear from you now, nothing else could ever compare.

nishimura riki does not know what personal space is. he's always touching you in some way, even if it's subtle, like your shoulders pressing together when you're sitting on the couch, watching a movie. when you walk somewhere together, you have to push him away multiple times because he's practically on top of you with how close he is. when you're hanging out with friends, he tends to wrao an arm around your shoulder or lean his head against yours. your friends tease him for it, saying that he's practically apart of you now. he glares at them playfully, gripping your hand in his as he pulls you away (he just really wants to be alone with you).

[obsessiveloveistheonlylove]

Hey, I've read your last yandere Bruce, neglected fam reader and it gave me an idea. What if instead of the reader wasting all that money or luxury, she saved most of it in a closed account and when Bruce bought the apartment she made him sign it in her name as a plan to when the right time comes or if she needs to, she will sell the apartment and use all the money she saved to leave to start over in another country. Imagine Bruce finding out when she reaches the point where she put her apartment for sale, or better, actually selling it to a friend or someone they know and actually leaving.

Yan!batfam with neglected!sister reader leaving the state/country

Anon your mind is fucking golden! I also thought of the reader having the apartment signed in her name just because Bruce wanted her to feel comfortable but I love the layers this adds.

Hopefully these couple of hcs are good enough while I work on pt 2. Also if anyone else has any questions about any other scenarios or certain characters feel free to send them in I'll try to respond whenever I have time and I write for any gender reader.

Word count ; 1073

Unedited

___

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ bruce is not happy with this turn of events at all. He wasn't expecting nor did he sense that this was going to happen, you didn't post about it or even reference moving on any of your social media apps which he lovingly stalks watches over to make sure you are content with your life and also because he likes seeing you happy and enjoying all the things he got you. And it hurts him a little that you didn't even say something to him … he knows you don't owe him that, not when your relationship is still in a fragile state but he's trying.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ he only figures out after someone in the fam(most likely dick) broke in dropped by your apartment and likely scared one of your friends shitless.. obviously both parties are shocked but your friend more so as they don't know who the hell just broke into their house, dick is shocked when this random person claims that he's trespassing in their home. After that awkward situation dick immediately reports back to Bruce about this over the comms and with some digging from Tim they're able to find out that you had sold the house and the exact date that you had, approximately a month ago. That sends off alarm bells for the entire batfam, where are you now?! It takes an hour or so of searching to find out exactly where you moved and when they do they can't decide what to do with the information.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚Alfred is the voice of reason in this family, he discourages the batboys from immediately doing everything in their power to bring you home, he advocated for you to live wherever you choose and says that it's your life and that the family cannot choose for you. Alfred loves you dearly you are basically his child he views you the way he views Bruce. He may be a yandere but he's a selfless one he truly only has your best interest in mind. His words are like a slap of reality for some of the Batfam mainly Tim, Steph and Jason all three of then become a lot more hesitant to go through with their plans to bring you home on the other hand dick, bruce, and damian are adamant that you aren't safe unless they can be nearby.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Nobody can come to a decision the night they find out and so they decide to sleep on it until they can come to an agreement the manor will be tense for a week or two at most before they spring into action, they will all eventually cave to their selfish needs even if some feel guilty for doing it. Alfred will sigh disappointedly but ultimately allow them to go through with their plans he only hopes you can forgive him for not doing more

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you on the other hand will be left unaware to all that's going down you'd gotten a new phone and lived in a whole new state maybe even country! They couldn't bother you here. You were happier than you have been for a long time. Even if you missed your old friends you still tried to keep in touch over the phone.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ as for why you did this? It's likely the other batboys' faults, Bruce is annoying but he's not nearly as demanding of your time as the others, namely dick. Dick is insanely clingy once you're on his radar and he becomes aware of how much his neglect affected you mentally. The guilt for him was all consuming when he found out how much he hurt you and that he neglected you for quite literally no reason, you just didn't matter to him at the time. the thought now makes him sick, of course you matter, what the hell was his problem!! Dick would have constantly broke your boundaries by hugging and touching and cuddling you he feels like he needs to make it up to you by being a good big brother, even if that's not what you need anymore after all it's far too late you're already an adult but he refuses to see it that way you're still his baby sister. He inserts himself into your life constantly and even if he'll pay for things he'll only do so under the circumstances that the money be spent ‘together’ like sure he'll take you to that fancy restaurant but it's going to be made into a sister-brother bonding moment, like yeah he'll let you use his card to go shopping but only if he's going with you. Even if you don't use him for money he will still find ways to insert himself into your life. He's overwhelmingly intense and his behavior mixed with the other overbearing members in the batfam plus the added overwhelming feelings of having people who ignored you all your life suddenly want your time and attention is probably why you felt like you had to leave.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you won't be gone for more than a month or two before your dragged back to Gotham and back to your family, only this time you've got a metaphorical collar around your neck as now you're likely brought back to the manor always under surveillance and on the off chance you're still allowed to own your own apartment again just know it will be heavily bugged along with your phone courtesy of Tim even if he feels bad about invading your privacy he knows they need to see your texts to make sure you're not planning to leave Gotham again. Oh and now the bat members will each take turn patrolling your house and following you from the shadows to make sure you're safe.

___

All in all I'd say you'll have your fun for a little while but ultimately you'll just drive them deeper in their obsession and they will likely kidnap and bring you home.

[pomefioredove]

hello hello! i see that the headcanon requests are open, so i have arrived 🐺🐺 i'd like to request the housewardens + chenya, neige and ortho with a reader that's mute! i feel like this would be an interesting thing to go off of. feel free to write it as something reader gained after a certain event, or as an illness that they were born with. platonic would be great, but i think romantic would be absolutely adorable too (minus ortho obviously) so go wild, do whatever you want >:) if this is fine for you to write of course!! love your writing, youre my favourite blog on tumblr hehe (runs away)

thank you so much!! and ofc ofc. I'm writing this based off my own experiences with being semiverbal so if I get something wrong,,, that's on me 😔

summary: nonspeaking reader type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, che'nya, leona, azul, kalim, vil, neige, idia, ortho (platonic), malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

I think Riddle is more adaptive than others give him credit for

it's not like there's any rule about not speaking

(and if there was, he would make an exception for you. he's not completely unreasonable)

I can see him learning sign language with you

and if that's not your thing, he'll figure something else out

he's a fast learner, after all

and he wants to make you comfortable, too. not that he'd ever outright admit it...

(obvious favoritism)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Che'nya is always quick on his feet

or... on air?

anyway

that means that he isn't one to let the absence of conversation stop him from his usual mischief

and he does love charades...

it's almost like he can read your thoughts. or your... hands? expressions?

whenever someone is giving you a hard time, they miiight just end up talking back to a floating head

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona actually never really... brings it up

before he had the full story, he just figured you were shy around him

(which went straight to his head, of course)

so he was already used to it when he found out it's not something you can control

and... he treats you no different for it

he knows you're not stupid or rude just because you're not yapping all the time

and if anyone else gave you a hard time about it... they'd be answering to him

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

no worries with Azul

I mean, the guy can really do it all

sign language, pen and paper, text-to-speech, body language...

he's rather adaptable, and, trust me, being unable or unwilling to speak won't stop him

the offer to give you the voice of a beautiful singer is still on the table... but he can't blame you for not taking the deal

of course

in the meantime, you can come to him for anything and he'll help you out

on the house <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim's heart is in the right place

is he disappointed you won't be able to talk and sing and cheer with him? a little

you're used to the disappointment, unfortunately

but he doesn't give up so easily

or... at all

no singing? he's handing you an instrument

no talking? no problem, he knows you're still listening!

no hummin, shouting, cheering? he can make enough noise for the both of you

he makes sure you're included in everything

very sweet

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil has high expectations, but he isn't unreasonable

if you can't talk, you can't talk, and that's final

that doesn't excuse you from everything else in his strict regimen, though

what may be a weakness to others is a strength to him

you can improve yourself tenfold by focusing on what you can do rather than what you can't

writing, dancing, music...

however you choose to express yourself, he's very supportive

much like Kalim, he includes you in every conversation, every decision, every yes/no question

he's pretty great

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Neige! Neige is a sweetie

I like to think of Neige as someone who's actually quite timid in person, despite his career

it's probably your quietness that draws him to you in the first place

he is so very supportive

he's the kind of introvert to suddenly become extroverted when someone needs help

"excuse me, they asked for no pickles" type of guy

he'll hold your hand through everything if you need it, and remain by your side if you don't

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ortho and Idia are probably the best people to have on your side

Idia just feels so much more... comfortable around you, since he struggles with speaking, himself

he'll let you use his tablet if you need it to speak

...and then he'll get you one of your own, so he doesn't have a heart attack when you accidentally switch tabs

he'll even program a custom voice or two for you

Ortho is a walking translator for you

with a database full of information on body language and expression, he can determine your emotional state in a single glance

he's happy to help in any way he can, of course!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

at some point, Malleus needs a shirt that says "#1 Prefect Defender"

you haven't said a single word to him but if anything happened to you he would curse everyone in this room and then himself

(he means well, I promise)

he's never minded, nor questioned your silence

certain fae communicate through lights or movement rather than sound, so it isn't even anything strange to him

you fit right in at Diasomnia

and you're welcome to stay here for as long as you please

(hint hint)

[shellofhappiness]

The general dialogue between Eric and that AOL girl regarding his philosophy on love has always stood out to me. It's one of the very few moments of vulnerability we've been given / able to find on his character over the past twenty years.

Eric always had his guard up. We all mostly know this from his own writings, no one acts like how he portrayed himself naturally. But, also including the accounts given about him from other people in his life, important or not, before and after passing. Mostly commonly described as aggressive and irritable, yet closed-off and restrained.

Alongside that online exchange, the only other times I can think of were when he called out of work to be there for his sick dog, or the innocent adoration he held toward his older brother, alongside sincere respect for his mother, of course, Reb's "I wish I were a fucking sociopath" Tape, and (arguably) his undisclosed email to his childhood best friend.

He talked about love like he was an outsider. A still figure watching it & whatever shape it may take maneuver around him, but not having the ability to engage. Let alone even acknowledge the fact it could be something of his own as well if he reached his hand out to touch it, but that wasn't even a possibility for him at that moment. Feeling comfortable enough to bring it up, but never to address it directly. Mentioning what he believed, but never outright saying it, afraid to cross a boundary. Though, he was still very careful with his wording despite not feeling confident enough to state his opinion in full. Being just general enough so he didn't risk the girl disagreeing with his words because he didn't give her an opening to do so, but still baring just a bit of his self to her through his ego because it was just the two of them.

Everyone talks about the concept of "love" relating to the case in reference to DK, because it was something that openly consumed him in private, but in a way, I feel the same just might have applied to Eric as well. But, like many other things relating to him, he hid it all away inside of himself. To live is to be vulnerable, and the times Eric was, never ended in his favor. Hence why he conditioned himself to be so isolated from everyone else, emotionally independent.

When Eric did openly talk about his doctrine on love, it was that degenerate & exploitative journal passage in which he wrote in depth about the idea of forcing himself onto certain women in his life alongside gaudy band lyrics. Considering how hesitant he was to directly speak to another girl about love, even under the context they were both being open with each other, the passage was likely written out of some kind of complex frustration. To compensate for how he felt like such a stranger in the face of it, but remarkably knowledgeable when speaking objectively. He wasn't being honest with himself, but still desperately needed some kind of liberation as an attempt to stop whatever feeling of desire he harbored from further stirring inside him.

The passion that stems from hatred is something I'm sure we all know Eric was well acquainted with. I think the hate inside of him masked the love, being overshadowed and making it appear small. It was definitely there, but seldom did it get a voice to speak in comparison to the amount of steam he let out on a general basis.

Eric cared a lot. When you look past the ego he presented to the whole world, he wasn't an individual with ASPD by any stretch of the means. He wanted not to be independent, but his life made him feel that was the only option he could truly rely on with the social instability he faced growing up. He wanted to be seen. I'm sure many people have voiced this before, but it's truly heart-wrenching to think he was doing this big finale act with his best friend, maybe because he had his best friend there to do it with him, only to find out post-mortem that DK didn't hold him to the same high regard. Maybe close, but not at all on the exact same level.

Putting the fact aside both of them expressed fantasies of doing NBK with their own respective "dream girl," DK wanted other options for someone to go through with the date, other actual people in his life, but from Eric's point-of-view, it had to be Dylan. Dylan was one of the very few people in his life, the only one still present with him, that aided his desire not to be alone. To be seen as an individual. To be vulnerable. Under the impression Dylan felt the same way he did, or at least something similar ... and while I won't deny it was there, it just wasn't as significant to the other party.

"What one person calls true love (EH) can be just another cheap thrill to another (DK)."

I'd like to specify that my goal with this post isn't to send the message that they were "gay," nor point out any form of "romantic chemistry," but rather to emphasize how languished love was overall in Eric's life. Also, I think there's an absurdist humor that comes from the irony of him saying this with what we know would follow half at his hands (you know who the other half is).

They both loved each other as friends, without a doubt, but it's so tragic to think that Eric's closest bond, a connection of love so intimate yet unrelated to direct societal romance, which created a strength so abundant that it started a ripple effect worldwide that still persists to this very day, wasn't quite requited the way he thought it was. Just like every other published bond of his, in his sad little existence.

[endless-ineffabilities]

backhand stroke (18+)

tennis coach!Aemond x tennis player!reader

Rivals on and off the court, things come to a head between the two when Aemond crosses the line and sabotages the reader's relationship.

themes : challengers inspired, Art Donaldson is featured <3, a lot of cussing, smut!!! (minors dn fckin i), the reader and Aemond hate each other (but if they hate each other why are they fcking), reader may or may not be a cheating bastard, Aemond has a glass eye + he calls the reader ace

a/n : initially I was about to write a fic where Aemond and the reader are actual rivals themselves, but quickly remembered how tennis works 💀 so in this one, Aemond is a coach and reader is a player 🎾

word count : 8k ▪︎ masterlist

The Westeros Open is the biggest and most prestigious tennis tournament in the country. 

Anyone who wants to be someone in the sport aims to qualify for it. 

For you, it is everything. You have devoted your entire life to tennis. It started as something that stemmed from your parents' neglect. Rich folks who signed their young daughter up for extensive tennis lessons just so they can be free of her and galivant off to wherever. 

You had sat there, staring at your shiny, brand-new white tennis shoes. Holding your unused top-of-the-line racket. Hair kept away from your face with a headband that still smelled like the store. 

Mostly left alone by your family, you gathered your strength, and dragged your weak eight-year-old legs across the tennis court day in and day out. 

Through the years, you found yourself. You found home, and you gave everything you had to make sure you would never lose it.

As luck would have it, you found romance along the way in Art Donaldson, who became your coach after your previous one decided to quit. He used to be a player, until he fell out of love with the game, and chose to coach up and coming players instead. 

You had been wary of getting involved with him, but eventually you couldn’t resist. He turned out to be the perfect boyfriend - caring, sweet, attentive to your every need. He became your partner in both tennis and in life. Truly, you couldn’t want for anything else.

You shouldn’t. 

So why does it feel like there is something missing?

And why is that void one that only Aemond Targaryen can fill?

The gigantic poster propped up in the inner courtyard of the country club lets everyone know that your next qualifying match in the Westeros Open is against none other than Helaena Targaryen. 

Your image looms up to around twenty feet, with Helaena’s lithe figure on the other side. The perfectionist in you can’t help but scrutinise the details in your expression and your form. Was that really what you looked like mid-serve? You laugh dryly, feeling silly at your misdirected concern.

You like Helaena, and she’s always been cordial to you outside of your matches. The issue lies with her more brash and calculating brother and coach. 

Something - or rather someone - shuffles behind you. Close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on attention. 

"I wish I could say that you look good up there, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Think of the devil and he shall appear. You don't have to turn around to know who it is. 

Aemond fucking Targaryen. Once at his prime, known for his freely expressing his passion and rage on the court, earning him the title 'the bad boy of tennis'. It was this drive, this relentlessness, that propelled his game. Unfortunately, it also served to be his downfall. After a few years as the sport's #1 male player, his career came to an end after an off-court altercation with an opponent that took his eye.

Now he is the coach of one of your top rivals and upcoming match opponent, his sister Helaena. 

Which is why it should come as no surprise to you that he has made it his mission to get under your skin, with all his unwarranted flirty remarks, constant staring, and how he tirelessly interacts with everything you post on social media. 

It used to be tame, by his standards anyway, with things like, ‘You need to work on that backhand’ or ‘I’m guessing Donaldson doesn’t train you well enough.’

But then the messages took a different turn. You once posted a picture of you in a fancy, revealing gown when you attended the annual gala, and he responded with, ‘It’s easy to see that all your training has paid off, ace.’

You chocked it all up to playful aggression. He’s just trying to get you to lower your guard, and distract you. You knew better than to look too much into the apparent interest he gives you. 

He is notorious for being a playboy, after all. Dirty blonde hair perfectly tousled, designer tracksuits he wears with such snobbishness, a presence that can command an entire room. You’ve grown to heavily dislike the seemingly permanent smug sneer on his lips, and how he sometimes treats others like they’re nothing but gum stuck on the soles of his fancy tennis shoes.

A handsome rogue who possesses a lot of talent and who is aware of his status as a hot commodity can be dangerous indeed. If he can say that Helaena Targaryen’s best opponent is nothing but another notch on his bedpost, then he will never let that live down. 

More importantly, you are already spoken for. Aemond knows this - not that he cares - but whatever he thinks about your relationship doesn’t matter. 

“Aemond.” You don’t turn to face him, continuing to scrutinise the gigantic poster. “Is that the best you got?”

He shrugs, positioning himself right in your line of sight, clearly demanding more attention. “You don’t just look good. You look good enough to fucking eat, ace. Too bad about the shitty attitude.”

Hot then cold, nice then nasty. Aemond will never change. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I thought I told you not to call me that. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else training your sister? She’s gonna need it.”

He steps closer, invading your space. You look him directly in the eye like you’re squaring up with an opponent. This has always been your dynamic. Neither one backing down, neither one ever really dealing a blow. 

Just constant dizzying electricity. 

Sooner or later, it will all come to a head. Whether it will be your fault or his, the jury is still out on that. 

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” he patronises, his deep blue almost violet eye sparkling. On the opposite was his glass eye, only adding to his intimidating nature. He hadn’t opted for one that resembled his real eye, but rather a hazy white apparatus, making him appear ghoulish, almost ghostlike. Nestled in his left eye socket, framed by a faded maroon gash, it made him look every bit like the charismatic rogue of tennis that he is known to be. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere receiving instruction from Donaldson? Not that you’ll get much out of it.”

“Art and I are on top of our training, not that it’s any of your damn business. You should concern yourself with your sister’s game.” 

“If only that were actually true, ace, but unfortunately I believe that your sweet Art wastes too much of his fucking time being on top of you.”

“Fuck off, Targaryen,” you respond, trying to push the allure of his scent out of your mind. Pungent cologne and cigarette smoke, a blend that you’ve come to associate only with him. “Stay out of my business, and quit messaging me.”

“You like how we talk.”

“Trust me, I don’t.”

“Does Donaldson know?” Fully aware that Art has never had a liking for him, he knows that will hit a nerve. 

Your face falls, like you’ve been caught in the act. Even though you've done nothing wrong. Occasionally caving in and responding to Aemond’s messages surely isn’t crossing the line. What started out as a couple of offhand fuck offs from your end turned into actually sharing private jokes about the other matches and training and - heavens forbid - small talk about the goddamn weather. 

You’ve come to know that his favourite colour is green. Not the neon of a tennis ball, but a bluish-tinted pine. 

Not that it matters. 

Encounters such as this one also don’t mean anything. Never mind however much you find him attractive. Who wouldn’t? You have eyes, and you’re only human. Nothing more to it. 

Never mind how, some nights, in what can only be construed as momentary states of delirium, you have imagined him in Art’s place. 

Never mind just how much he gets under your skin, like no one else can, and how you can’t admit to yourself that you might actually like it.

Oh, you might actually be making yourself sick at all these thoughts. 

“There’s nothing for him to know.” You step to the side, indicating that you want to walk away. But he has you cornered and you both know it. 

He smirks, “Keep telling yourself that, ace. But you can’t deny - ” He steps close again. He suddenly tilts your face toward him with one hand, but you shake your head and his fingers lose their hold. “ - this. Us.”

Damn him. And damn the shiver that just ran up your spine. 

You stand still, entranced by the look he’s giving you. Trick or not, Aemond sure does have a way of looking at you as if he sees you for who you really are. Not the tennis prodigy. Not the public personality. You remain a shell of that broken kid that poured everything she had into this sport, much like he had, only to come out the other end still not whole, still searching for something inexplicably out of reach. And he sees just that - just you.

You feel like Art holds you up on a pedestal, not seeing the flaws that make you who you are. But you’ve always been happy to play the perfect girlfriend. 

Until Aemond. 

But he’s too much. Too forward, too brash, too intoxicating. You can never know what he’s going to do next. You can’t like him. You have to be certain that you don’t.

But then again… love and hate have always been two sides of the same coin.

He whispers, clearly pleased with the effect he has on you, “Match point, ace.”

Match point. You could have him. He could have you. He makes it evident that the next move is all yours. “Don’t go out of bounds, Targaryen,” you warn him lowly. 

“What if I want to?”

You have him. He has you.

And you… have Art. 

Clearing your throat, and your head, you finally step back. His head snaps up to follow you, disappointment evident on his face. 

“See you around, Targaryen.” You spin on your heel, walking away, immediately feeling lighter. Emptier, feeling like your body begs to drift closer to him, two equal magnets. 

“Ace,” he calls to you, walking after you when you don’t turn around. “Wait a second,” he reappears right in front of you, effectively halting your stride.

You grumble hastily, “God, you really have a space issue, don’t you, Aemond?”

“Meet me in the courtyard gardens,” he says, a new intensity lacing his voice, “tonight. After dinner. Or whenever you can. Just - ”

“No.”

“Come on, ace.” His tone is insistent, with no trace of his usual bravado and cockiness. “I think… I need to tell you something.”

Part of you wants to cave in, and just agree to whatever it is that he’s proposing, but that nagging voice in the back of your mind is adamant that it would not be right. What would Art think? But what if Aemond truly just wants to tell you something?

“So tell me now.”

His jaw clenches hard, and you can’t help but admire the taut edges of his face. “No, I want to do this, just you and me. When we’ll be alone - ”

“Aemond - ” you start to shake your head, trying hard to come up with a refusal that he will actually register. 

“Donaldson doesn’t need to know,” he almost pleads. “This is between you and me, ace. You just have to hear me out.”

You take a deep breath, unable to understand just what it is he means. “If it’s something I have to hide from my boyfriend, then it’s not gonna happen. You have to see just how messed up that is, Targaryen.”

Either he can’t hear you, or he just does not want to accept your response. “I’ll wait for you. Right around midnight then, ace? Should give you plenty of time to sneak out.”

Before you can say no, again, he hastily plants a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, in surprise and perhaps pleasure at the softness of his lips, and when you open them once more, he is no longer flooding your space. 

You spy him entering a set of glass doors, leaving you there stunned.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Aemond kicks at another pebble, the sound momentarily breaking the silence in the gardens.

He’d checked his watch just seconds before, the face of it spitting on what remains of his eagerness. 

Twelve fucking fifteen. 

Either you just got held up by your whiney rat-faced boyfriend, or you’re a no-show.

Aemond doesn’t know which one is worse. He did not know what he was expecting in the first place. Did he actually think that you would do as he says? You never were good at following orders, much less those from someone whom you likely view as something of a nuisance.

Is that really what you see him as? Isn’t there something more at play here?

Something that keeps Aemond up at night, when he can no longer deny that it is not because he dislikes you that you plague his thoughts, but because he admires you. He does admire you, he sees no shame in admitting that. 

As a tennis player. As a competitor. Anyone who feigns ignorance at your insane potential would just be lying to themselves. 

As a woman? A… partner? No. It has to be no, doesn’t it? You hate him, you make it clear now and again. You disagree with him, challenge his views, point out his flaws. Surely, he can’t be attracted to you in a way that commands his heart. You are beautiful, he doesn’t deny this, but so were the dozens of other girls he had run through. 

Each time he watches you perform your signature backhand stroke, with that sensual growl escaping your lips and the lewd grace with which your body bends, Aemond feels his sanity slipping away.

You drive him crazy, but he can't be crazy about you. 

The only reason he asked you to meet him, is because he wants to propose that he replace Art as your coach. Helaena has expressed that she wants to retire, and focus on some other creative pursuits. Something insignificant to Aemond, that he can’t remember what it was exactly. A pottery business? A fucking flower shop? He doesn’t care to know. 

It’s perfect, he thinks, because your game is superior anyway. It’s what first got his attention, and now he can take part in your process. He can direct you, shape you. He can do so much better than Art Donaldson, and he’s sure you know this too. 

Maybe then you might actually open up to him the way you opened up to Art. With your absence tonight, it dawns on him that he might actually have to resort to other measures. Did he seriously think he would be able to simply reason with you about this? 

He sits for another half-hour on a bench nestled among the rose bushes. Surrounded by flowers of deep scarlet, a maroon he distinctly remembers as being your favourite colour. He fools himself into believing that he’s using the time to craft a plan for what’s to come, and not that he’s wasting it on the hope that you might emerge from the tall hedges, out of breath and eyes glinting eager to find him. 

Well, you played your hand. Now he knows what he has to do.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You wake up groggy the following morning, having tossed and turned the entire night, thinking about Aemond.

Had he been out there, waiting for you? Your mind came up with the different possibilities of what he has to say. Or if he had nothing to say at all, and it was all just another ruse. 

You told yourself that you didn’t want to meet up with him, but you had an alibi prepared. One of your old tennis club mates agreed to cover for you and say that you were having drinks together, just in case Art ever checks up. 

But as you were about to deliver the excuse, Art had said something about you and him not getting to spend as much quality time anymore. The past few weeks have been occupied with nothing but tennis, and though it’s a shared activity that you both value, he wanted to stay in for the night with you. He ordered room service, downloaded two films that were on your watchlist, and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you eventually gave up on meeting Aemond. 

It can wait, whatever it is. 

Besides, isn’t this the right thing to do? Did you seriously consider having a midnight rendezvous with the guy who you claim to dislike the most? Someone who encourages you to keep secrets from your boyfriend? What good could possibly come out of that?

With a heaving sigh, you push all thoughts of last night from your mind. There are bigger things at hand. The biggest tennis tournament of the year, for one. 

You make your way to the dining hall of your hotel. Art had woken up before you, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek and explaining how he had to discuss some matters with your physical team. He wore the skin of a tennis coach as perfectly as that of a boyfriend. 

And here you are, regretting that you were unable to meet up with another man the previous night.

The art deco layout of the lobby extends into the spacious dining hall, the interior of the hotel filled with geometric patterns and rich jewel tones. You once bid Aemond guess what your favourite interior design was, and he got it in two tries, complete with a spiel of how it reflects your personality. Art, on the other hand, had been adamant that your favourite was minimalist. That was the first time you realised that his perspective of you was different from Aemond’s. 

You hadn’t yet reconciled with who is more accurate, lest it shine a light on something deeper. 

The hostess is cheerful and full of pep as she leads you to your table. You know it’s coming - she’ll ask you for a picture in just a moment, and you’re proven right when she reaches in her pocket and her phone materialises inch by inch. She seems shy to ask, ready to turn on her heel with a stiff smile if you refuse, so you do your best to be encouraging.

When the photo is taken and she finally lowers her phone, you spy someone out in the distance and you make it out to be none other than your boyfriend. Leaning by the outdoor terrace, appearing to be speaking to another person you can’t yet make out, their face obscured by the decorative shrubbery scattered across the area. 

You walk to the side to get a better view of who it is. That tall figure, clad in a black tracksuit… a familiar head of blonde hair… and the unmistakable cut of his jawline. Realisation sets in. Art is speaking to Aemond. 

Your stomach sinks, the thought of breakfast no longer enticing. Frozen in the middle of the dining hall, you begin to attract the attention of others. 

Aemond turns his head, perfectly timed for his gaze to meet yours. Like something out of a grim movie, your anxiety spikes as his smug smirk materialises in slow motion. 

If there ever were a match at hand between you two, that smirk makes it clear that he has won it. 

Art follows his gaze, also meeting yours, but without any trace of satisfaction. He looks at you accusingly. You shake your head at him, but you already know. 

This is not going to end well. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“Is it true?”

You had wordlessly followed Art back to your hotel suite, the air around you thick with dread and anticipation.

“What did Aemond say?” You stand in front of him as he calmly sits by the window, as if you’re on the trial stand. You just might be.

“Guess,” Art spits mockingly. “Why don’t you tell me? You seem to know him quite well.” You bristle at his tone. He’s never spoken to you like this before. 

“Whatever he told you, it’s not what it looks like, okay? You know Aemond. He likes to mess around with people, especially us.”

Art shakes his head in disbelief, “He even showed me some of your messages. Some of them you must have sent - what, at 3 or 4 in the fucking morning? When you’re lying next to me in bed? Not getting a lot of sleep apparently. It must be why you’re not on top of your game.”

He’s not playing fair, and you deserve this. 

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you say through gritted teeth, making the statement sound as firm as possible, because it’s not just Art you’re attempting to convince. You want to believe it too. 

“He’s said some things about me.”

“And I defended you.”

“Not well enough,” he shakes his head. “It sounded almost normal for you. Spewing bullshit to each other.”

“It’s just… it’s all just banter.” God, you sound so terrible. “Riling each other up to get into the mindset before matches.”

“All that… all that, I can kind of understand. It’s the other things. The intimate things that get on my nerves.”

“What - ” You can’t form the proper response to that. 

“I missed talking to you, he once said. To which you replied that you do too.”

“That’s nothing.”

“You said that he inspired you.”

“That’s… that… he’s a great talent,” you stammer, as the statements he throws worsen. “He always has been. Even you can’t deny that.”

The argument goes on for an uncomfortable length of time, with Art reminding you of things that you and Aemond had apparently messaged each other, and you trying to play them off as insignificant. 

Gradually, you convince Art that Aemond is just a thorn in your side. That Aemond was just overplaying the messages to get under his skin. That letting this break your relationship would be giving Aemond what he wants. 

But everything he said - the messages he brought back to the surface, the encounters that were brought up - made you realise the depth of your involvement with Aemond. 

You are fooling yourself, just as much as you are fooling Art.

He finally stands, heading towards the door. “I’ve spoken to our physical team. Meet us at the gym in 15.”

“Art.”

He halts, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You’re worried about what you’ll see in his face if he does.

“Are we okay?” you ask.

He turns to the side, and you catch a glimpse of the man you love, his once blithe demeanour reduced to a brief, forced smile. He nods once, and you sag in relief. When he is finally out the door, you collapse onto the bed and press your knuckles to your eyes. 

You feel it all at once. 

Anger. Frustration. That fear of inevitability coming to fruition. This was bound to happen and a part of you knew it was coming.

Aemond screwed you over, and it’s high time you put an end to everything.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The gardens. Midnight. 

The message had been sent. The last one you will ever send to Aemond Targaryen if things go as planned. 

You have it rehearsed and perfected in your mind - how you will give him a piece of your mind, how you will tell him off and tell him to fuck off for good. 

As long as you think of Art…  As long as you don’t lose yourself, then…

“You’re lucky I’m not standing you up, Ace. Not like what you did to me.” The bastard has appeared directly behind you, as per his custom, so close you can feel his breath on the nape of your neck. 

You immediately turn to face him, and he stands calmly in his signature black tracksuit, his lips curled in their usual manner. “I never agreed to meet you that night.”

His smile is derisive, the sight of it sharp and cruel under the moonlight. “I thought we had sort of a code of honour, you and I. That we’d never lie to each other. Never let the other person down.”

“Honour?” you say mockingly. “I call bullshit. Trying to ruin my relationship… is that part of it?”

He looks away, shaking his head at your accusation. “I only did what you don’t have the fucking guts to do. Your relationship with Donaldson was ruined the moment we…” He trails off, brows furrowing. His gaze meets yours, revealing the truth that sits underneath his mask of arrogance. One that only you are allowed to see. He appears to take on a different smile this time, softer and less pronounced. The curses you want to hurl get caught in your throat when he looks to your lips and hums faintly to himself, almost as if he’s forgotten that you are in the middle of an argument. 

You take a step back, and it shakes him out of his reverie. It shakes the both of you out of it. 

“Well? Let’s fucking hear it then.” You raise your arms in a gesture, egging him on. 

“Hear what?” he says, having the gall to be confused.

“What did you want to tell me that night? Tell me now, because you’ll never get the chance again.”

He straightens, getting his thoughts in order. He completely forgot about that issue, and talking is increasingly becoming the last thing he wants to do right now. He wants to put his lips to better use. Something more worthwhile. “Helaena’s retiring,” he finally decides on saying, “and I think I should be your coach.”

You’re dumbfounded for a moment, his proposition whirring in your head. It makes sense, it does. He just gets you. But then again… 

“That’s rich,” you reply. “Do you think I would ever give up Art? He’s always been my coach and he’s damn good at it.”

“You’re not compatible,” he counters, “in the court and out of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He doesn’t see you,” he affirms. He would never lie to you, and he isn’t about to start now. He repeats, “He doesn’t see you, but I do.”

His words strike true, and it feels as if he’s just pulled the rug from underneath you, and you’re falling, falling… 

Right into his arms. And the impact is jarring, because it’s real. 

“We can’t.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper, a reflection of your weakening restraint.

“Yes we can, ace.” He takes a step closer, and he lifts his hand as if on instinct, reaching for your face. But he’s frozen, unsure of how far he can toe the line that already lies fragile between you. “It should be you and me.”

Your eyes follow his movements, because you know you want him to give in and hold you. To touch your face. To kiss you.

And it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. 

“I have to go.” Your voice carries no emotion. You avert your gaze at the last second and catch the defeat that flashes across his face. It should come as a surprise that it pains you to see him like this, but then again, you see him as he sees you. You always have. Which renders your next words among the most painful to come out of your mouth. “We can’t do this anymore. Art already doesn’t trust me, and if this goes on, it’s only going to make things worse. I can’t talk to you - ” 

“No.” 

“- and I won’t be responding to anything- ”

“Stop fucking talking.” His anger is fledgling, rising to the surface. There is no way he will calmly accept these terms. “I said no, ace.”

“It’s… it’s the right thing to do,” you murmur, still unable to look at him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. We run in the same circles. But we can’t be… us.”

“Forget it,” he seethes, trying to catch your eyes, and growling low when you don’t relent. “Forget him, ace. Or do whatever the fuck you want. But not this, I’m not having this.”

You exhale, having gotten the worst of it out of your chest. It’s over now. But it’s not a relief that you feel. It’s remorse. 

“Goodbye, Aemond.” With that, you finally take him in once more, and one glance is enough to shatter your resolve. His heightened ill temper shines clearly across his distinguished features. Under the midnight moon, he resembles a fallen angel, long dark blonde lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His shadowy, glass eye strangely adding to the appeal. 

Beautiful. And just not yours. 

One last, lingering look - then you walk away. The silence is deafening, and you feel numb all over. Your knuckles are taut at your sides, fingernails digging in your palms to keep those pesky, errant tears at bay. You’ve suffered defeat before, but this is much worse, because it’s coming solely from your own hand. How easily you give him up, someone who was never yours, and how badly it stings. 

“No,” you hear him say again, and you pray he shuts up so you can keep walking. 

He doesn’t. He repeats the word - no - over and over like some mantra under his breath. One second you feel nothing. Nothing at all. But then the wind whooshes around you and you’re being spun around to face him. 

And then, his lips claim yours, and you feel everything. 

Sounds come rushing back to you. His ragged panting against your lips, the pads of his fingertips kneading the back of your head, the wet smacking of his mouth on your own. The empty pit in your stomach is filled with those clichéd butterflies. More so when one of his hands travels down to grasp your waist and press your body against his. 

“Aem - ” Your mind catches up to you, and you try to say his name to get him to pause, but he slides his tongue past your teeth. 

“Shut up and kiss me, ace.” He breaks free for but a second, then hungrily kisses you again. You let him. You give in completely.

“Mmm, Aemond.” Your hands reach up to cradle his face and he takes that as an opportunity to pull back and openly admire you.

“You’re my ace,” he professes, connecting his forehead to yours. “And I’m not fucking losing you.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You rush through the lobby of the hotel, hand in hand and giggling like schoolchildren as you duck your heads so as not to get recognised by the night concierge. 

With reckless abandon, your entwined bodies stumble into his suite, which just happens to be on the floor below yours. You once thought you would have to be inebriated beyond belief to surrender to a sin like this, and in a way you are. You’re high off of him - Aemond in his entirety, six feet of lean muscle, notorious foul-mouthed one-eyed libertine. 

“Fuck, ace.” He has his arms wrapped around you from behind, and he nips at your exposed neck. His touch roams and finds the mounds of your breasts, kneading mindlessly over your shirt. The sound that reverberates from his throat is carnal, and you feel it echo through your whole body. It drives you to press your ass against him, taking full notice of his hardness straining from his sweatpants. 

Feeling mischievous, you do it again, gripping his arms to anchor yourself while grinding against his cock. 

“Foul play,” he whispers against your neck, “you fucking minx.”

“There are no rules now.” You face him, running a finger along his jawline as you walk backward and he follows suit. Stopping at the edge of his bed, you strip out of your shirt, careful to keep your eyes locked on his the whole time. 

The movement is too slow for Aemond, and he desperately needs more. He pushes you onto the mattress and climbs on top of you. He slides your sweatpants off your legs, then lets his hand drag from your ankle to your inner thigh. He promptly undresses, graceless and in a rush, until all his clothes are left in a heap on the carpet. 

His cock stands on attention, taut and goddamn long. You feel an ache below that compels you to rub your legs together, but he beats you to it and slides your underwear right off. “I’ve always wanted to taste you,” he croons. “Bet you taste so sweet.”

You take your bra off and you’re finally left completely bare. He spreads your legs and positions himself in between. He uses one hand to squeeze your breast and the other to keep your legs propped wide open. 

His eye meets yours, before he settles in, lowering his head until he’s breathing cool air onto your pussy. “Match point, ace.” 

You have him. He has you. 

When Aemond’s tongue plunges deep into your throbbing core, swirling inside like he wants to consume you whole, you have to bite your tongue to hold back a scream.

He knows what he’s doing, of course he does, and he’s so fucking good.

“Yes - yes - keep going, baby, fuck -  ” you moan, words breathy and irregular. 

He sticks two fingers into your wetness, using it to spread you wider, leveraging his tongue ever deeper. In and out they go, faster than the fuck, fuck, fucks coming out of your mouth in blissful sputters. 

He suddenly stops, a guttural hmm echoing from his lips, and you look down to see his lips coated in a mixture of his spit and your pre cum. “Not so fast, ace,” he taunts. “You’ll come when I say.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, still widespread and exposed to him. “What, are you coaching me through it?” 

He hums in affirmative and leans in to kiss you, juices still dripping from his chin. 

“You gonna follow my orders, ace?” he asks, and your mind spirals at how utterly lewd it sounds. 

“Wouldn’t you like that, Targaryen?” You let out another moan, biting your lip when he hungrily sucks on your breast. “Let’s see what you got first.”

He smiles at your playful instigation. It’s always come natural, this riffing back and forth. But this midnight dalliance - he wants it to be honest. He needs you to realise how much he wants you. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He gets on his knees, a hand braced on each of your thighs, his hardened cock at the ready. 

“Ma’am?” you breathe, a laugh dying in your throat when you his tip prods at your entrance.

“I can be agreeable under the right circumstances, ace.” He torments you by pushing his cock in but an inch. 

“Fuck me, Aemond,” you cuss in frustration, then, literally, “Fuck me. Please.”

His eyes take you in, one darkened blue and one ghostly pale glass. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says. “You good for it, ace?” He nods once, referring to whether a condom is needed and you take the hint right away.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Perks of having a top-of-the-line physio team. They hook you up on other things too.” Your cocky-athlete way of stating that you are on the pill. 

The lights are dim in the room, but you clearly see the resolve settle on Aemond’s face. He parts his lips like he wants to say something more, and you tilt your head questioningly. 

He feels the need to make some sort of declaration. Something true. It doesn’t seem right to say those damned three words at this moment, no matter how much he means them. You could think he’s trying to trick you in order to get what he wants. A good lay and nothing else. So he doesn’t say anything and lets the silence speak for itself. If you know him as you claim to, then you’ll see. 

You’ll see just how much this means to him.

You nod, and it’s an unspoken plea. 

He thrusts his cock into you with such force, stretching your walls with a sudden and blinding ache, until he is buried to the hilt. He reaches and cradles your face with one hand, the other keeping your ankle propped by his shoulder. 

“Move, Aem.” You buck your hips against him, his cock squelching in and out again.

“Yeah, baby?” He complies with his hips in response. “That feel good?”

“Yes. God yes.”

A switch flicks inside of him, and he almost snarls through his teeth. “You feel so fucking good, ace. Your pussy takin’ me so well…” His hips buck faster, in abrupt snapping motions, burying his cock each damn time. He connects your legs together and turns you to your side, altering the position slightly. 

You look behind your shoulder and see that feral look etched on his face. His grip is tight on the flesh of your hips and the curve of your ass, having it raised slightly for his convenience. He smacks your behind with an open palm, and it elicits a lusty moan out of you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “So beautiful like this, dripping around my fucking cock, huh? My good girl.”

The noises you release as a result are unintelligible. You press your face against the pillow in sheer pleasure, muffling your sounds. 

“I wanna hear you, baby,” Aemond protests. With practised ease, he repositions you so your ass is propped high before him, your body bent forward as you have to lean on your forearms to keep from planting your face on the sheets. 

He doesn’t ease up on his relentless thrusting, and you’re left squirming and cock-drunk. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you’re blissed-out on what only Aemond can give you.

“Does he fuck you as good?” he spits in obvious distaste. “I don’t think so, baby. Can’t fuck this pussy like I do.” 

“N-no,” you whimper, without any trace of guilt. “Only you, Aem.”

“Hmm,” he simpers. “Come for me, ace. Be a good girl now. Come around my cock, yeah?”

“Mhhmm,” you pant, growing weaker and weaker at his statements, your walls tensing for that release you crave.

“You’re mine, ace. Mine.”

Your whimper comes out sudden and unrestrained as you let go, and feel your warm juices leaking down your thighs. The sounds of his cock growing noisy and sloppier. He releases not long after, with a few sharp spasms, decorating your insides with his cum. 

Marking someone who is not supposed to be his. 

But nothing else matters as he crumples against you and pulls you into his arms. If something is to be reconciled with, it won’t be for tonight.

With these things, regret always comes along with the sunrise.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“40 - 30.”

The crowd cheers at the umpire’s announcement. You can barely make out the faces morphing together into one homogeneous mob, but you’ve observed enough to know that Aemond isn’t among them. Rivulets of sweat drip down your face and you walk to the side as another break starts. 

Helaena nods at you from the opposite side of the court, and you respond with a terse smile.

She resembles him so much - the one you’ve been avoiding for the past three days. With that same distinct shade of blonde hair and deep blue eyes, but possessing an aura of tenderness about her. If Aemond wasn’t lying about her plan to retire, then it makes perfect sense. She seems too good for the sport, too pure, whereas you fit right into its cruel constraints.

What sort of person would have done what you did, some nights ago, and be able to walk with their head held high? You want to believe that you regret sleeping with Aemond, that you would reverse your actions, given the chance. But the pain that eats at you is that you might have fucked things up for good, abruptly leaving before he woke up that morning. 

It’s ironic - you may just get what you said you wanted. To end things. Never to be the same with him again. 

You slump in your seat, wiping at your face with a towel, pushing all thought of Aemond from your mind. 

From your periphery, you catch Helaena gesturing to you. She smiles, and you think that your emotions must show so clearly on your face that she feels bad for you. 

She nods, and tilts her head to the side, so that you follow her gaze. Standing courtside, partially hidden in the corner just behind the barriers, you see Aemond closely watching you. 

He came after all. You turn back to Helaena, unable to hide your surprise, and she sends another smile your way. She knows. Of course she does. 

With renewed excitement, the match continues. It only takes one more point, one final ace, and you emerge triumphant. The court fills with cheers and sounds of celebration. It is declared that you are advancing to the next round of the tournament. You meet Helaena in the middle and she firmly shakes your hand, exhibiting no sign of disappointment. 

“Congratulations! Very well played.” She drops her racket and grasps your hand with both of hers. She leans closer, and adds, “You know, I also consider it a win for myself, because my last ever match is against the girl my brother is in love with.”

You forget where you are, the revelation rendering everything else moot. The cheering crowds disappear, and it’s just you and Helaena as she dips her head comfortingly, assuring you that you heard her words true.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she lets go finally, with a cheerful, “go celebrate!”

You feel yourself being whisked away, cameras flashing from all sides. Art appears in front of you and he pulls you into an embrace. Several onlookers gush at the sight. You barely take notice of them, your eyes already drifting to where Aemond was standing. 

There he remains, casually leaning against the barriers. Some audience members realise that the great Aemond Targaryen stands among them, and one by one a small crowd forms around him, asking for pictures and autographs.

He continues to hold your gaze, his usual smirk making an appearance, ignoring a guy waving a camera at his face. You shake your head at the scene, a genuine laugh bubbling from your lips.

You nod to each other, as if acknowledging the absurdity of it all, and leave it at that. There’s a lot more to be said, for another time. Art wraps his arm around your waist, and Aemond takes it as his cue to look away, relenting to the eager fans surrounding him.

You direct your gaze to your boyfriend, immediately seeing the recognition in Art’s eyes. He’s seen everything. 

He doesn’t need to be as acutely perceptive as Helaena to realise the truth. That of the one-eyed rogue and his ace. You’ve been drifting from him for so long, that it was only a matter of time. 

He was your friend first, and he always will be. You’ve watched each other grow, through endless mistakes and challenges, and there’s a fire in you he cannot match. 

But Aemond can. He knows this now. 

He extends a hand out to you, one which you accept with poorly masked caution. He understands how woeful it must be, to tear yourself apart from being in love with someone else. The shame and uncertainty that must entail. 

For both your sakes, he decides that he has to be the bigger person and do the right thing. 

“What do you say?” Art offers to you. “Post match treat?” he asks, referring to your tradition of sharing a large strawberry sundae after games. 

“Okay.” Your smile is sweet and unguarded, and it reminds him of when you first met, nearly six years ago. That day, he knew he had made a lifelong friend. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“I wish I could say I’m happy to see you here, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Aemond swivels toward the sound of your voice, cigarette smoke billowing from his lips. 

“Vile habit, Targaryen.” You wrinkle your nose, and he just shakes his head and crushes the butt of his cigarette under his shoe.

“Yeah, well.” He merely shrugs. He was dead set on quitting, but something came up the past couple of days, causing his anxiety to reach new heights. When you ignored him after the night you shared, he can’t fault himself for reaching for depraved solace in nicotine. But no substance would ever be enough to erase the precious memory of watching you come undone. 

“Not happy to see me, ace?” he refers back to your greeting, not bothering to hide the hurt he feels. 

You walk closer to him, trying to hold back a smile. “Well, I lied. But it’s not like I haven’t lied before.” You stop when you’re right in front of him, the remnants of his smoke making you feel woozy. “I also lied when I said that we can’t keep being us anymore. When I said goodbye.”

“Hmm,” his lips curl at your confession. “Judging by how wildly you fucked me after you said that, I could already tell.”

You roll your eyes, but you already feel so much better, like things are falling right back into place. All it took was some teasing from the apparently callous, sharp-tongued, ambitious-to-a-fault boy standing before you. 

A boy who revealed the true depths of his compassion only to you. He let you thaw out his cold heart from its confines and declared it yours. 

“Something more to say, ace?” he asks.

“You first.”

“Are you kidding? Why don’t you play this game with your boyfriend?”

You share a lingering look, effectively answering his question. The unabashed shit-eating smile that breaks out on his face is enough to tell you just how he feels. 

“Don’t gloat,” you warn him, but he’s already pulled you flush against him with both arms. “I also need a new coach.”

“Mhmm,” he nods, not really in response to your statement. “Save that for later, ace. Please shut the hell up and kiss me.”

He can’t help but smile through kisses, his lips chasing yours when you make an effort to pull away and say something more. 

“Aemond, will you - ”

“Fuckin’ - ” a cuss slips from him when you manage to break apart, depriving him of your lips. He answers impatiently, “Yes of course, I’ll be your coach, ace. Of course. Happy? I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

Before he leans in once more, you say, “Don’t you dare fuck this up, Targaryen.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

You lean back in mild surprise.

He laughs, “I mean - ace - or my love. Either one applies, really.”

"I... I prefer ace," you say weakly.

"Now, now, my love. I thought we promised not to lie to each other?"

taglist (all who commented on this post - surprise double feature incoming!) : @odeioemail @sapphossongbird @toodlesxcuddles @sinistersnakey9419 @fan-goddess @jhroseok @diannnsss @dixie-elocin @tostadasdetinga @1-800shootmeplease @goldyfishsstuff @pineappleicelostmary @raging-panda

Should you wish to be added to the Aemond (or Daemon) taglist, please comment on this post!

[totallybakedcake]

Boyfriend headcanons kaiju no 8 boys

Reno

Whenever you both are outside training or near anyone, he does nothing more affectionate than holding your hand at most, but when you both are at home, he does not let go of you. Back hugging you and snuggling into you. It's his favorite thing to do.

He loves to be the little spoon while cuddling. He always wants to be in your embrace while sleeping, or else he cannot sleep all night. "Name, can we please cuddle? I had a rough day." He says in such an adorable voice that how could you deny him?

He is a great cook and always makes you mouth-watering dishes to eat all day. He just loves seeing you enjoy his dishes and eat them so cutely.

He loves at-home dates. He just loves watching any movies, shows, or anime you want to watch as he cuddles you. When you both had your anniversary and you were in the mood for something fancy, he decorated the living room with flowers, teddy bears, chocolates, and gifts to surprise you. 

Hoshina

He absolutely loves it when you pamper him with all your affection. Cupping his face. Giving him onslaught kisses, burying your head in his neck. Whenever he thinks about that, His day becomes one of the best.

Hoshina is an overly protective boyfriend. The moment he comes home, he checks your body for any wounds. Whenever he even sees you interact with one of the juniors, he makes sure the both of you don't talk for more than 3 minutes, or else the game is over. He makes sure you feel safe and protective.

Hoshina loves giving you a flower and chocolate every day. He always has a bundle of chocolates with him and goes to a local flower shop to get you any cute flower.

He loves picnic dates and afternoon dates. He loves to take you to a quiet park. Lay down a blanket and rest in your lap as you and him talk for hours and hours. Picnic dates are usually in the morning, as he likes to take you out on brunches too. 

Kafka

He is the most affectionate boyfriend. He gives you many warm hugs every day. He loves to kiss your temple as you relax on top of him.

He loves hearing you talk. Your voice is just so comforting. He brings you to his lap and burys his face in your neck as you talk about anything.

He does not show his jealous side, as he knows you are loyal to him, but one thing he makes sure of is that you have a healthy routine. If he does not know that you have eaten well, slept well, and are drinking plenty of water, he has to check up on you because his mind keeps thinking about you.

Even though he does not look like it. Kafka is a fancy man. He takes you out to fancy restaurants to eat at on dates. He always has a private reservation ready for you and him. After all, your happiness is Kafka's happiness.

Gen

Gen has made you obsessed with gaming too. After all, games are addicting. He got you all kinds of gaming consoles and game figures to play with him.

A lot, meaning everyone asks you. Why choose Gen? An irresponsible captain who has such an attitude and is careless, but what they haven't seen is Gen's soft side. He makes sure you are okay. He cannot focus on anything unless you are safe. Once on a Kaiju mission when you got injured. Gen stayed up all night. Not touching his games or electronics once, as he needed to take care of you and make sure you were safe. Not letting you go on a mission unless you are recovered.

Even if he is loyal. He is the most jealous person ever. He knows your beauty and your aura, which makes people gravitate towards you. So, he makes sure to have you near him at all times, not letting you even talk to a guy in peace.

He loves arcade dates and karaoke dates, but if you don't want to go there, He takes you to amusement parks and water parks. Gen loves an adventure.

Hey yall. First ever post on tumblr so the writing may be tacky and awkward cause I wrote this in the middle of the night but I couldn't stop myself from writing for kaiju no 8 after finishing the whole manga in 4 days.

Have a great day!

[shaunamilfman]

after midnight

pairing: jackieshauna x reader summary: You get a little too drunk at a party and end up kissing Jackie Taylor, who you mistook for someone else. Just to make sure that Shauna isn't too mad at you, you kiss her too. note: yeah, based off that twitter post.

You focus all of your attention on the ceiling fan, watching as the blades blur together in an endless loop. You’re strangely mesmerized by the action, letting yourself be drawn into it in the hopes it’ll distract you from your pounding headache or the anxious feeling in your chest. The sound of Nat clattering around in the kitchen breaks your concentration, slowly drawing your attention back to reality.

With a pained groan, you finally drag yourself out of bed, stumbling to your bathroom knowing that at least one of the things bothering you had a simple solution. You blindly reach into the medicine cabinet, briefly glancing at the bottle before dry swallowing the pills that will be your salvation from your headache. 

You lean against the sink with a sigh of relief, looking at yourself in the mirror before quickly looking away. God, you looked like shit. 

A sudden realization dawns on you, a sinking feeling filling your stomach as you slowly look back at your reflection. You turn your head to the side, your eyes widening as you catch sight of the unmistakable traces of lipstick along your neck.

You fumble around for a rag, drawing Nat’s attention from the kitchen as you knock a few bottles off the counter.

“Hey?” she calls out, unaware of your turmoil as you scrub at your neck to get the mark off.

“Hey,” you answer, hesitant and unsure as you take one last look in the mirror before joining her in the kitchen.

She grins as she catches sight of you, a quick flick of her eyes up and down your disheveled form before she slides a cup of coffee across the counter towards you without a word. You’re quick to grab it, almost downing it in your haste to get something, anything, in your stomach. 

The memory of last night hangs over you like a fog, each moment shrouded in uncertainty and a lingering feeling that you’d fucked something up. If only you could remember it. You’d woken up with a bitter taste on your tongue, serving as a stark reminder of your excess from the night before. You knew better than to drink like that, knew it always got you in trouble, but you figured you just needed a little courage and then… 

Then everything fell apart.

You were surprised to find yourself still in one piece this morning, so you supposed it hadn’t been a complete disaster. The text you had woken up to did a lot to assuage your nerves, but it was the lipstick stain on your neck that had you sure that the night had actually gone well. You weren’t quite sure how you pulled it off, but you quickly decided a win was a win. 

Now your problem was just piecing together how the night ended.

“So?” Nat prompts, drawing your attention as you warm your hands on the quickly cooling cup. “How did it go?”

“Funny you ask that, actually,” you begin, the words tumbling out in a rush as you brace yourself for her reaction.

Nat groans, propping her head up on her hands as she looks you over. “What's that mean?” She sounds interested despite herself. 

“So I may or may not be dating Jackie and Shauna now.”

She's quiet for a long moment, her jaw dropped as she processes the news. “What the fuck? How?” she finally manages to sputter, her voice tinged with incredulity.

“So I got, like, really drunk last night–” 

“I remember,” Nat says wryly. 

“Right. Well, you know how me and that girl from my math class have had this thing going on–” 

“I'm not seeing what this has to do with Jackie and Shauna.”

“If you would just let me finish…”

…

You finish what's left in your cup before leaving it on the table, looking around for her familiar jacket before you find her. 

Bingo. You spot her off further in, her denim jacket and blonde hair catching the dim light. It seemed a little darker than usual, honestly, but you figured it was just the light. You take a deep breath and try to steady your shaking hands before just stuffing them in your pockets. Now or never.

This wasn’t the most well thought out idea, you knew that, but it was definitely the best one you had. Toss a few drinks back and get enough courage to finally kiss Jenny from your math class. Easy enough in theory, right? She told you to come find her at the party, practically insisted on it really, but you were still so fucking nervous at the thought of it. The thought of her smile, and the way she always looked at you in class, gave you just enough courage to push through the crowd to find her.

You call out her name as you weave through throngs of partygoers, but the music plays so loud you’re not sure if she can even hear you or not. As you reach her, you take a deep breath before putting your hand on her shoulder and spinning her around. Was she a little shorter than usual? Whatever. Before you can second guess yourself, you lean forward and kiss her.

She makes a squeaking noise as you do, her hands slapping against your shoulders as she pushes you away. You stumble backward and nearly fall on your ass, a little offended as you look at her. 

Jackie stares up at you with smeared lipstick and wide-eyes as the gravity of the situation slowly dawns on you. Oh God, that was Jackie Taylor. You just kissed Jackie Taylor and Shauna Shipman was going to kill you. You were too young to die.

That definitely wasn’t Jenny. You’d definitely had one too many if you thought that Jackie looked anything like the girl from your math class.

“What the fuck?” Shauna spits, her jaw clenched and her hands balled up in a fist. She grabs a fist full of your shirt, pulling you towards her as she gets up in your face. You can smell the alcohol on her breath as she gets near, a mix of malibu and rage.

You try to stutter out an apology, but the words keep catching in your throat. It feels like your tongue just won’t cooperate with you, leaving you defenseless in your time of need. Her grip on your shirt tightens, her knuckles turning white as she gives you the meanest look you’ve ever seen another person make that wasn’t a TV serial killer.

“Shauna–” Jackie tries, stepping forward and putting a hand on her arm, but Shauna’s too mad to even entertain her.

“Did you seriously just do that in front of me?” Shauna’s so mad she can barely speak, the disbelief on her face saying more than words ever could. Her eyes are so intense, a fire burning behind them that makes you wish you could disappear.

“You’re unbelievable.” Shauna’s voice is low and dangerous, and you can feel the heat of her anger radiating off her. You can’t think of any way to get out of this situation without getting burned.

Unless…

You make a split second decision as you lunge forward at Shauna. This was a fucking disaster, but man would you have one hell of a story if you could live to tell it.

… 

“... and that's when I realized that I just kissed Jackie Taylor.”

“Holy shit, dude!” Nat laughs, her expression an equal mix of pride and amusement. 

“God. I know,” you groan, burying your head in your hands as you flush in embarrassment. 

“So what happened next?”

“So Shauna's got a fistful of my shirt, right? I'm realizing that, holy shit, she's about to beat my ass. So I do the only thing I can do.”

“What's that?

“Well…” 

… 

You lunge forward and kiss Shauna too, catching her by surprise. She’s frozen solid as you press your lips together, and for an instant you think she’s just going to punch you anyway. Shauna’s hand releases your shirt in surprise, her hands flailing for a moment before reaching up and resting on the side of your head. 

You’d read in a Wikipedia article once during a time of late-night procrastinating that it was virtually impossible for a human to snap someone else’s neck, but if anyone was capable of that, it would definitely be Shauna Shipman. Much to your surprise, you don’t end up dead on the floor; instead, her surprisingly soft hands cup your face with more gentleness than you thought she was capable of.

It’s nothing like the quick kiss you’d shared with Jackie; she’s aggressive and intense. Every movement is met with a swift reaction, as if she takes it as a challenge. Her lips are soft and taste like strawberry lip-gloss and you idly wonder whether it belonged to her or Jackie originally.

She bites at your lip hard as the kiss ends, enough that you’re sure she’s broken the skin. You can feel the sting of it long after she’s backed away, sharing a look with Jackie that you’re too much in shock to pay attention to. You’re left reeling, trying to process the rapid turn of events even though you’d been mostly responsible for them.

You manage to sneak a glance at Shauna, figuring that at least you would see it coming when she inevitably broke your nose. She gives you a dark look, and it’s hard to tell whether she’s flustered or angry.

“Shauna,” Jackie chides. “You don’t have to be so rough with her. She’s not going anywhere.” 

Shauna’s tense posture relaxes slightly at Jackie’s words, but not fully. They seem to have a conversation with nothing but their expressions, something that you weren’t fully privy to. 

Without a word spoken to you, Jackie steps forward and kisses you again. It’s better this time, more deliberate than the quick peck you’d managed before. It felt reassuring, a tenderness that your kiss with Shauna was sorely lacking. Her arms come up to rest behind your shoulders, pulling you chest-to-chest as she kisses you so gently you almost want to cry.

You can practically feel the weight of Shauna’s eyes on you, but it doesn’t seem nearly as heavy as it did before: less threatening, and more curiosity. Her gaze is unwavering as she assesses the situation, stepping closer toward you and leaving you caught between the two of them as your mind races.

Jackie breaks the kiss slowly, giggling as she has to press a hand against your shoulder to stop you from trying to chase after her. She’s close enough that your breath is mingling together, pulling just far away enough to speak as she gives Shauna a knowing look. “See? It doesn’t have to be a fight every time.”

“She’s okay, isn’t she?” Shauna asks, the question posed more as a challenge than any real attempt at concern. Her eyes search yours, trying to find out what you’re thinking without having to actually ask. You nod slightly, giving her the permission she seems to seek. She’s just as formidable as ever, but this time her approach is slower. More deliberate.

“Yeah,” you mutter simply, nodding dumbly as Jackie tuts and pulls your attention back on her with a single finger on your chin.

Shauna huffs, finally closing the distance between you as she presses up against your back. “Good,” she whispers, her lips brushing your ear as she speaks.

Jackie rests her hand behind your neck as she pulls you into another kiss, somehow more demanding than the last. You can’t help but melt into it, immediately responding to the touch. Shauna laughs softly behind you, pressing a kiss against Jackie’s fingers before she finds her way to the side of your neck.

The two of them together are intense, overwhelming in a way that leaves you utterly breathless and lagging a half-second behind. It’s almost too much, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away for anything.

Shauna bites down gently, just enough to leave a mark. You gasp, the sound swallowed by Jackie’s lips. 

“Relax,” Jackie murmurs.

Then everything after that is a blur.

… 

“... I kissed Shauna too.”

Nat laughs so hard she nearly falls out of her chair. She manages to get out a few words in between peels of near hysterical laughter. “You kissed Shauna? Are you insane?” 

“Honestly, probably. I certainly felt like it at the time, Nat. But here’s the crazy part: she freezes, and for a second it’s like time stops, but then she kisses me back!”

“No fucking way Shauna Shipman kissed you.”

“Look, I know! That’s what I was thinking too,” You snicker, shaking your head. “So there I am, kissing Shauna and waiting for her to come to my senses with Jackie’s lipstick still on my lips. But then I pull back and see Jackie standing there just staring with this look of… I don’t know, I can’t even name it.”

“And?”

“So, Jackie says something to Shauna that I couldn’t quite make out and they just kind of nodded and before I knew it, Jackie was all over me too.”

Nat’s jaw drops as she leans forward to look at you. “Jackie too?”

“Jackie too,” you confirm. “Yeah, but it gets weirder. See, Jackie pulls away to look at Shauna again and there’s this moment where I’m like ‘Well, now they’re going to kill me together.’ But then they both just kind of smile at me?”

Nat breathes out slowly, eyes wide with shock. “What does that even mean?”

“I have no idea. I know something must have happened after that, but it’s all blurry after that. All the booze caught up to me.”

“What makes you think you’re dating them, then? It seems like you just got a lucky break that Shauna wasn’t close enough to a knife to stab your dumb ass.”

“See, that’s what I would think to,” you say, pulling out your phone as you scroll through your messages. “But I woke up this morning to a text in a group chat all like ‘hope you get home safe, babe.’” 

You hold the phone up for Nat to see, and she quickly snatches it from you as she looks through it. Her eyes scan the screen, her disbelief slowly turning into astonishment.

“Holy shit,” she mutters, slowly scrolling through the chat. “They both texted you. Jackie even sent you a selfie of her and Shauna together with a ‘we missed you at breakfast’ caption.”

“What?” You ask, leaning forward to read over Nat’s shoulder. That one was new– you must’ve gotten it while you were talking to Nat.

“I don’t even remember leaving?” You mutter.

“This is unreal,” Nat says, handing you your phone back as she lazes back in the chair. “You better figure your shit out before Jackie gets her feelings hurt.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “No kidding.”

You bite your lip before quietly admitting, “I kind of like it.”

Nat snorts, shaking her head slowly.

[mandoalorian]

save a horse, ride a cowboy

pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

masterlist

warnings: EXPLICIT, no minors. m!masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism to some extent, riding, unprotected p in v. both so so touch starved. joel has a lot to teach the reader.

notes: 1000 notes on my last post— thank you. I haven’t written in a long time and get quite anxious to post new fics, but when the response is that great, how could I not? You make me feel way more confident with my writing and encourage me to post more often. I hope to soon get to a place where I can start accepting requests again and writing what you want me to.

Joel didn’t like you— that much was clear. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since daybreak, when he left Tess at the QZ to deal with ‘unfinished business’ and promised her to deliver you to the outskirts of Boston without Fedra knowing. It was a difficult journey with the soldiers scouting the area on every corner, but after around six hours of travelling on foot, you and Joel had reached the border of Cornwall, Canada, which is exactly where you needed to be.

Unbeknownst to Joel, you wanted to be in Canada because that’s where your parents were. Or so, where you last heard they were. You’d do anything to reunite with them and make sure they were safe but you weren’t exactly good with a gun and you weren’t a particularly fast runner either. You needed someone like Joel to smuggle you out of the Quarantine Zone. He was your protector.

“You haven’t said a word to me all day,” you acknowledged when you couldn’t sleep that night. You lay next to Joel in your own sleeping bag, framed by a roaring fire and underneath tall, forested shelter. “Why?”

Joel huffed out a sigh and rolled over onto his back, now looking up at the starry night sky.

He didn’t reply.

You gave him a few minutes and tried to gather your thoughts, hoping he’d eventually cave and tell you why he’d hated you all this time. Had you done something wrong? You didn’t think so. Hell, you’d only met him earlier in the day. You’d hardly had enough of an influence on him to hate you. You liked to think of yourself as big and strong and apathetic in regards to people’s opinion of you. In the world that you lived in, you couldn’t afford to give a damn. And yet, you did. You couldn’t help it, it was just who you were. You got anxious about it if you thought about it too long and so you would desperately try and find a distraction or think of something else to focus on. The trees— the stars— the fire— Joel.

He was the epitome of ‘grumpy old man’. You briefly wondered if he was this grumpy before the apocalypse. Why was he so highly strung? Sure, life wasn’t exactly good or easy for him— but it wasn’t good or easy for anyone.

“I didn’t tell you why I wanted to go to Canada,” you said slowly, figuring that if you could open up to the man, then maybe he could at least offer you a few words back. “My parents are there. I think they are anyway. My father sent a letter over to the QZ months ago but I only just got it on Tuesday. I don’t know if they’re still there but I need to check. My mom is sick and I just… need to be with them… and I couldn’t go alone. I wouldn’t last two seconds out there with infected. So I guess, what I’m trying to say is, tha—“

“Okay.” Joel cut you off abruptly. He didn’t want your ‘thank you’s’ or your tokens of gratitude. He was doing a job and he was only here to get paid.

“Where are you from?” you asked him quietly. He shuffled but didn’t reply, and so you were prompted to follow on further. “You got an accent. Southern, there’s no doubting that. Tennessee…—?”

“Texas.” Joel corrected and you smiled to yourself. He may have been a man of few words but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let you think he was from Tennessee.

“Texas huh?” you beamed brightly. Joel didn’t move his head, but he looked over to you and noticed your grin. “So you’re like, a cowboy.”

You giggled playfully and nudged his arm, but he only grunted and closed his eyes.

“You ever ride a horse?” you asked him.

“You’re annoying,” Joel sighed, rubbing his temples, but he supposed that— if he had to be honest with himself— he was somewhat amused by your plentiful questions. “But yeah. I’ve rode a horse.”

“I always wanted to ride a horse, but I don’t think I’d be any good at it,” you admitted sheepishly. “No co-ordination.”

“It’s all in the hips.” Joel explained and his interest in horses took you by surprise. This was the most he talked all day.

You pursed your lips together fighting back another smile. There was no denying the rush of blood that flushed to your cheeks as you felt them heat up over the thought of the Cowboy riding his horse. But then you remembered how he’d also just expressed his irritation with you and your abundance of pointless questions and you felt your heart drop in your chest slightly. A pang of guilt.

You told yourself that it was okay— no big deal— and it didn’t matter if he found you annoying. No, it didn’t matter that the extremely attractive Texan man who hadn’t uttered a single word to you all day, found you annoying.

You’d been so lonely recently. So lonely. You’d kill for a friend. A partner. Someone. And perhaps it was your fault for getting your hopes up when you met Joel. You figured that maybe you could finally have someone in your life who liked you back for you, and didn’t want to use you or hurt you in some kind of unexpected way.

“I— I don’t mean to be annoying, y’know. I just— I’m sorry,” you murmured, rolling over onto your side and facing the other way from Joel. “Uhm— good night.”

Joel wasn’t a heartless monster. He wasn’t as cold and calculating as he let off to be, but he sure as hell wasn’t innocent and pure-of-heart either. He was a broken shell of a man simply trying to get by, and the way he saw it, he couldn’t afford the time or effort to make friendships or have partners or even anything more than an acquaintance. It just wasn’t on his radar.

And although he was certainly taken aback with how beautiful you were, he just couldn’t bring himself to do anything he wouldn’t do with any other piece of cargo. This was a delivery, after all. A smuggle run. And he had to be professional about it.

But you were so— so beautiful. During the hours of hiking you and Joel did through the fields and forests, he often lagged behind you and consciously allowed you to take the lead when he thought it was safe to do so. Really though, he just liked to take a few seconds to admire you when you weren’t looking. You were funny and smart and although you couldn’t aim a gun to save your life, you might’ve been able to charm a Clicker away from you if you tried hard enough.

Joel enjoyed listening to you babble on, despite displaying no signs or signals to show that he had any interest in you. He couldn’t do that because he didn’t want to lead you on or give you the wrong impression. He really did like you, but if he dared to open his mouth, Joel was certain he’d slip up and say the wrong thing or embarrass himself. And so to him, it was better to not say anything at all. However, his heart would warm when you would get bored along the way and start humming— and eventually singing. You were in no way melidous, but still, you weren’t trying to be. Joel wondered what it would be like in another universe where your lives weren’t constantly at stake. Maybe then he’d grow the courage to actually have a decent conversation with you.

But this wasn’t another universe. This was reality and Joel had lost all hope in humankind a long time ago. Joel allowed himself to get lost in his own thoughts for a long time and by the time he’d snapped out of it, you were already fast asleep next to him, emitting light snores. He watched you, watched as your chest rose and fell with every breath. You looked so peaceful.

Truth was, Joel wasn’t entirely sure he could fall asleep here next to you. There was no way of telling if this forest was safe. Certainly he found it difficult to imagine there’d be signs of infected around but people? That was certainly plausible. Making sure his rifle was close enough to grab in case of an emergency, Joel took another glance towards you.

So goddamn pretty.

Joel didn’t know when, but at some point in the night, he’d gotten hard. Probably because he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off you all night. He felt like such a creep for watching you sleep, but even under the pearly white stars and the sunset orange embers bouncing from the campfire, you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever saw. And he wanted you.

Now, Joel probably wasn’t as touch-starved as you were, but still, it had been a helluva long time since he last got laid. Without drawing his gaze away from you, he reached his hand down into his sleeping bag and dipped it into his boxer shorts began to pump at his already throbbing manhood. His eyes snapped shut at the shock of the thrill which raced through his body. There was something so erotic about doing this outside, with you laying next to him, unbeknownst to it all. Stifling a groan, with his free hand Joel gathered the material of his sleeping bag and squeezed it with pleasure.

The coarseness, roughness, of his hands was never ideal, but he had no trouble imagining the softness of yours. Your hands were a lot smaller than his, and your fingers were a lot thinner, and as he stroked his cock, his toes curled at the thought of you in between his legs, playing with him.

He hissed your name through his teeth as he begin to feel a knot tie in his lower stomach, indicating that he was close. God, he’d only been at himself for a few minutes and he was going crazy for you. You stirred slightly at the mention of your name but Joel wasn’t paying attention anymore. Now his eyes were shut and his entire body was tensed up as his hand movements became faster. He guessed it wouldn’t be so bad if he finished quick because the longer he touched himself, the more chance you’d wake up and discover him.

But for some reason, that only stirred Joel on even more. Of course, he wasn’t trying to wake you up, but there came a point where he was so enveloped in his own lustfilled thoughts, he didn’t even notice you whisper his name softly through the night.

“Joel?”

Briefly, Joel registered the sound of your voice but he thought nothing of it. So deep in thought— he was close. He moaned your name back.

You stilled, your eyes widening when your gaze dropped to his crotch and you noticed the movements of his hands underneath the thin material of the sleeping bag.

“Oh… Joel.” you mumbled, feeling your pussy clench around nothing as you nimbly slipped out of your sleeping bag and quietly crawled over to him.

He still hadn’t noticed you, but between the tinnitus in his right ear and being so lost in his own thoughts, you couldn’t blame him. On your knees and by his side, you placed the palm of your hand on his chest and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, alerting him immediately.

His movements stopped and his eyes snapped open in horror, only to be met by your wide smirk.

“Hey cowboy,” you teased, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

“Shit.” Joel cursed, looking away from you. “I— you shouldn’t have saw me— I’m—“

You hushed him by placing a soft, chase kiss upon his lips. Joel froze and softened under you, completely feeling at ease under your touch. It has been years since he had been kissed. You hovered over him, finding his gaze in the dark before pressing a harder, more intimate kiss to his lips. Joel moaned underneath you and brought out his hand from under the sleeping bag, releasing his cock and bringing it to cradle the back of your head.

“Let’s get you out of here,” you giggled, unzipping Joel’s sleeping bag and bringing yours next to his, giving you both some kind of barrier between the grassy ground.

Joel’s belt was already undone and the zipper of his jeans pulled down.

Still beaming, you straddled Joel, positioning yourself over his lap and continued unbuttoning his shirt before before peeling it off his torso and discarding it into the corner.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Joel asked softly and his tone of voice took you by surprise.

“If I didn’t want to be doing this, I wouldn’t be grinding on you already, cowboy,” you giggled, thrusting your hips over the material of his jeans and getting a feel for his bulge.

Joel swallowed and nodded his head in agreement. Hastily, he brought his hands to your waist and guided you over his hips. You tossed back your head and let out a moan.

“Oh, I need you.” you whimpered, bringing Joel’s hands to your breasts and letting him feel the hard pebbles of your nipples under your t-shirt.

Growing impatient, Joel tugged on your shirt and you let him pull it off your body. He then smoothly unclipped your bra and let it fall off, before using his large, rough hands to cup and fondle your breasts.

“Joel,” you gasped, pushing back onto his legs and taking the hem off his jeans in your grip. “I need you,” you repeated. “Need you inside of me.”

Joel choked out a wanton groan at your words and nodded his head again. You took his signal as confirmation that he wanted this too, and tugged down his denim along with his underwear.

You removed your own pants and then sunk down ontop of him, sighing an air of relief when you felt the skin on skin contact. Joel adjusted himself and gave you a questioning look.

“I’m ready.” you whispered and leaned down, pressing your chest against Joel’s. Joel pushed himself inside of you and you tensed up, digging your nails into his shoulders as you adjusted to him. He was so big and thick, and yet he felt like he fit inside you perfectly. Like he was made for you.

Joel slowly thrusted upwards and into you, stretching you out. When you felt comfortable enough, you sat upright and rested your hands on his tummy.

“Show me how to ride, cowboy,” You urged. “You said earlier, it’s all in the hips? Show me.”

Joel looked up at you with wide eyes and extended his arms around you. He held onto you, and you felt like putty under his grip.

“Show me what you got, girl.” The handsome man demanded, his voice having dropped an octave.

You began to roll your hips over him, and Joel squeezed his eyes shut. “That feel good for you?” you taunted, letting a giggle escape your lips. Joel wordlessly nodded.

“Try— try circle your hips.” Joel requested, and immediately you changed your movements. You’d do anything to please him. You felt yourself get increasingly wet, making it easier and more comfortable to move freely. “That’s good.” he praised under his breaths.

“This is how you ride?” you enquired, raising an eyebrow as you continued to circle your hips.

“This is how you learn,” Joel corrected. “It’s all a process, baby girl. You go straight into the ridin’, you’ll get hurt.”

Joel leaned forward and pressed himself into you, the curve of his cock hitting you in just the right spot, You held onto him, gripping onto the broad of his back and this time, Joel kissed you. He yearned for your lips— for your affection. He dragged his tongue along your collarbone and planted sloppy kisses up your neck, along your jaw, and finally to your mouth. He slid his tongue along your lower lip, begging for entry, which you quickly granted him, and started to make out with you.

“Joel,” you whispered against his lips, and he pulled off you, allowing you to speak. “I need more.”

“Think you’re ready for your next lesson?” he quizzed, pressing his nose against yours.

“Mhm.” you replied. “Teach me.”

Joel leaned back again and brought his hands down to your hips. “I want you to bounce on my cock sweet girl, show me what you can do.”

You grinned with excitement and began to move yourself up and down, grinding on his cock so you could feel every ridge and vein against your walls.

You felt yourself clench around him, indicating that you were close.

“Shit, like this I won’t last long.” Joel admitted bashfully, his cheeks flushing pink.

“Me neither,” you replied, and began to speed up your movements. “Joel— please. Please cum inside of me.”

Joel panted, bringing his hands up to massage your tits. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, oh— please.” you begged him. “Please cowboy.”

With those two words, Joel spurted ropes of his warm seed inside of you, painting your walls a milky white. Feeling him fill you, you clenched one last time around his cock and let a blinding hot light envelope you as you rode out your own high.

You rolled off the man and laid next to him, catching your breath. “How was that? Did I pass the test?” you nudged him playfully.

Joel let out a laugh and you felt your heart flutter at the sound of him displaying genuine happiness. “You passed the test,” he chuckled. “But— there’s still plenty more for you to learn.”

“Well,” you shrugged. “You do make a pretty good teacher.”

Joel wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his chest. “Sun will rise in a few hours, you should go back to sleep.” he hummed into your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You closed your eyes, still in sheer bliss, and smiled.

You couldn’t believe that just a few hours earlier, you were so sure that Joel hated you.

You’d never been so wrong.

——— Taglist: ———

(I’m working on rebuilding a brand new taglist ever since returning to Tumblr. Let me know if you want to be added!)

@pedrosprincess

[byoldervine]

How To Always Have Writing Ideas…

For A New Story:

1. Keep a list. Any time you have one of those sudden bursts of inspiration in the middle of writing a separate story, don’t quit your current WIP or pretend you’ll ‘just remember it’, put it into a separate list. You can always go back to this later on

2. Writing prompts. Look them up, use random word generators, pick a random object you can see, whatever helps you come up with any idea at all. Write a few paragraphs. Can it evolve from there?

3. People watch. Go to a public place and make up backstories for the strangers you come across. That man in the hat is using it to hide his elf ears. That woman with the bright pink hair didn’t dye it, she’s secretly the main character of an anime trying to dodge all the tropes and cliches. That toddler is actually a guardian angel reincarnated to watch over their new baby sibling. What brings them to this place? Where did they come from? Where are they going next?

To Continue An Existing Story:

1. Act it out. Say the words aloud, act out what your characters are doing, get props or people to act off of if you need to. See what feels like the most natural progression of the moment

2. Coffee shop AU, or other substitutional one-shot. Good for establishing dynamics between two or more characters, or even just working out a lone character’s day-to-day. Just write a few paragraphs about your characters entering a coffee shop or similar appropriate establishment/ordinary location. What do they do? What do they order to eat/drink? What do they say to each other? How do they treat the staff and other customers? If all else fails, write what they do after they leave, as if it were an ordinary day for them

3. Rubber duck it. This is something programmers use to work out where they went wrong in their code, but I’ve found it can work for figuring out story stuff as well. What you do is get a rubber duck, or any other object of focus, and start explaining your problem to it out loud. In this case you can read your chapter to the duck, or even give it the full run-down of the plot so far. Warning; side effects may include getting frustrated that the problem was right in front of you and subsequently throwing the duck

For Both:

1. Writing graveyards. I talked a bit about them in a previous post, but writing graveyards are basically just the folder you store your deleted scenes in instead of yeeting them into the void. Reread those, see if they have anything you can recontextualise or repurpose

2. Combine ideas. My WIP Byoldervine is a combination of two separate plots I had that I realised I’d be able to combine - twice. I first realised I could put together my ‘angel and demon heroes protecting humans from a war between heaven and hell’ story and my ‘quest through the fantasy realm to find the ingredients to a cure for a dying god’ story into the same universe as two sides of the same story as a duology. Then I realised I could just remove a few characters, tweak a few plot points and mash them completely together into one book. Combining them works wonders and minimises worldbuilding

3. Go out with friends or family. I guarantee that the one time you’ll be flooded with inspiration is when you don’t have an opportunity to write it down

[eddiediaaz]

hi guys, i am kind of ashamed and embarrassed to have to do this, but i figured it can't hurt to ask. basically i am really struggling right now (i know a lot of us are). i need financial help, so i set up a ko-fi page ☕

any kind of help would be so appreciated and i am so grateful for anyone taking the time to read this little post.

long story short: because of situations completely out of my control, i lost my job in vfx after almost 8 years and i am now forced to switch careers. i'm going back to school and can't find a part time job even tho i have been working non stop for 15 years. financial aid will only cover my rent, so i absolutely need to work 20 to 30 hours a week to cover the rest of my living expenses, but it's really hard to find a job. i am also currently over 10k cad in debt from my film school loans and credit cards.

signal boost would be appreciated, if you can 💕

my situation in more details under the cut for those who are curious

i was working in the vfx industry as a 2D compositor since 2016 (i have worked on over 40 films and tv shows), but in december of 2023 i lost my job due to the hollywood strikes (as expected, and as it should—i fully support the strikes). this was supposed to be temporary for a couple months where i could get unemployment benefits (only 45% of my usual salary though). unfortunately, on may 31st 2024, my government announced that they are significantly cutting the funding & tax credits for the vfx industry where i live. what does this mean? mass lay offs. thousands of canadians and other people in the world working in the industry are losing their career, including me. there will only be about 20% vfx jobs left where i live by 2025. vfx shops and production houses have already started to close doors here. i'm still mourning this career i have been working in for 8 years and loved, even tho it's been difficult and demanding at times (lots of overtime), but there are just no jobs right now (unless you are a senior vfx artist with decades of experience) and the future will only get more bleak. i could move abroad and follow the industry that is already moving somewhere else, but i don't want to do that on my own (i am already super lonely as it is!!) and i can't afford it.

my unemployment benefits will run out by the last week of september. in 4 weeks. i've been sending resumes everywhere, both online and in person, but i am just not getting anything in return. even tho i have over 15 years of experience working in various jobs and i have never been fired from anywhere. even tho my resume and cover letters are solid because they have been approved my professional counselors (a free service for people under 35 where i live). so much for they're hiring everywhere...

since my vfx compositing skills are very niche and not really applicable to much else, i decided to go back to school, taking college classes in the admin and excecutive assistant fields, since it's something that i think would be good for me and there are lots of jobs for that here. i will be getting some financial aid, but it's nowhere near enough to survive. it will only cover my rent, and that's because my rent is super cheap for my city. my college classes start on september 30 and i am excited for it, but also very stressed because i still don't have a part time job.

i've been living on my own with a small salary for over 10 years now, but it truly is the first time that i'm struggling this hard. i honestly don't have anything worth selling except some taylor swift perfumes, which i sold this week. i also have over 6k of credit debt and another 4.5k of school loans left to pay. at the bare minimum i will need about $1.000 CAD/month to cover my other bills and expenses after rent, hence why the need for a job ASAP. i am desperate and my mental health has been a huge mess. this is why i decided to open my ko-fi accounts. not that i'm expecting much, but anything can help, i think.

i don't have much to offer in exchange, except gifs? i'm wondering if (cheap, low price) gif commissions are a thing? i have no idea know, but i set up a poll on my ko-fi page to see if anyone would be interested.

thank you for reading if you've made it here, it's appreciated 💖

[sellasstories]

CLOSE (II)

word count: 4.9k

pairing: paige bueckers x azzi fudd

⚠️warnings⚠️:

slightly explicit themes, light angst, swearing

prompts:

what happens when two best friends with strong, undefined feelings quarantine together (part 2: paige)

in other words, the pazzi covid fic

Azzi gazes at the girl beside her, taking in Paige’s long lashes and the way the sun streaming in from the window is practically making the blonde glow.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Azzi says softly, leaning in and placing a hand on Paige’s arm. She realizes too late that she doesn’t know if her best friend is awake yet.

“Fuck, Az, not so loud,” groans Paige, not bothering to open her eyes.

Azzi jerks her head back in disgust. “Your breath smells awful!” She ignores the other part of herself that fixated on how the words sounded coming out of her best friend’s mouth. “Sorry, I just need to know what you did with the bottle,” she whispers, a hint of anxiety piercing her voice.

Paige only gets closer. Seemingly unbothered by Azzi’s concern, she buries her face in the dark-haired girl’s neck. “It’s hidden, we’re good.”

After the night she’s had, the feeling of Paige’s lips on her neck (which, she quickly realizes, has never happened before) is entirely too much for Azzi to deal with.

“Paige, tell me.”

“Closet. Hamper, under clothes.” Her head falls back onto the pillow and it seems like the blonde falls asleep almost instantly.

Azzi bites her bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. And since she already seems to be in her own personal hell, she admits to herself that Paige may have had a hand in (or entirely been the cause of) the sudden swooping sensation in her stomach.

Looking around for her phone, Azzi takes two photos. The first shows the curtain of blonde hair doing little to hide all the points of contact between Paige’s face and Azzi’s neck. The second shows the pale hand nearly digging into Azzi’s exposed side, the pushed up hoodie (she’d always recognize it as Paige’s) making it look even more suggestive.

She knows it’s a bad idea, maybe even a terrible one, but she tells herself that she’s going to use them for something productive, like sending them to Imani (whoever she is) and telling her to back off. It doesn’t even sound convincing to her. She’s fucking ridiculous.

Reluctantly, Azzi pulls herself out of her best friend’s tight embrace, only managing to do so as the blonde appears to have completely knocked out again. She gives her head a firm shake but instantly regrets it as she feels her headache worsen.

Sighing, she stands up and makes her way to the bathroom. Soothed by the familiar morning routines of washing her face and brushing her teeth (the bitter aftertaste in her mouth taking a while to go away), Azzi is able to look at her reflection without wanting to scream.

Making fun of herself has always been her best defence mechanism, so she does a stupid pose in the mirror and takes a stupid photo of herself in Paige’s hoodie and posts a stupid ‘Who wore it better?’ poll on her private story. She’s been sitting on the counter brainstorming what to do with the bottle for less than three minutes when a FaceTime from Colleen covers her phone screen.

Azzi is quick to answer, not even getting a greeting in before her friend blurts out, “So what’s up with you and Paige?”

Eyes widening, Azzi hops off the counter to find headphones, frantically mashing the volume button down before Colleen can say anything else.

“What are you even talking about?” She whispers once she’s settled back in the bathroom.

The other girl shrugs. “Did something happen between you two?”

Azzi still doesn’t get it. “Like, a fight? We’re fine, I promise. Why are you asking, though? Did Paige say something to you?” She hopes her voice doesn’t sound as paranoid as she feels. It’s been a long 24 hours.

“Your story? It looks a bit… y’know,” Colleen smirks. “I figured it was only a matter of time, but I didn’t think you’d post it like that. I have to say, though, I thought Paige would be the type to leave hickies. Unless they’re just somewhere el-”

“SHUT UP!” Azzi shrieks, immediately slapping her hand over her mouth. “How are you getting all of this from a photo? We’ve never even kissed!”

Colleen has the decency to look slightly apologetic. “Sorry, I guess you wouldn’t see it that way. Look at the photo again, Az. Try to understand, because I promise I’m not the only one.”

“Fine.” Azzi clicks on her story. Shit. Her hair is messy, her tongue is out in what she realizes now looks like a smug smile, and Paige’s hoodie is hanging off her in a way that makes it look like she’s not wearing anything else. Colleen is totally right.

“Oh, my god.” Her reaction is so genuine that Colleen finally drops the teasing.

“You really didn’t know, huh? Look, forget I said anything, but you might wanna think about taking it down if you’re worried about what people could say.” There’s an awkward silence as Azzi sits with her head in her hands.

Suddenly, she raises her head, eyes narrowed accusingly. “Care to explain what the fuck ‘a matter of time’ is supposed to mean? Does everyone know something I don’t?”

Colleen fails to suppress a giggle as she raises her hands in the air. “I was never gonna assume anything, but I figured you two wouldn’t be able to spend that much time together without… figuring it out. Apparently,” she rolls her eyes, “I was wrong.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re seeing, but I can’t deal with this right now,” Azzi squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “I’m so hungover, and I still have to deal with P and my parents.”

“You’re WHAT?!” Colleen’s screech of disbelief nearly sends Azzi falling off the counter a second time. “You don’t even drink… what the hell happened last night?!” It’s really more of a statement than a question, and Azzi has no choice but to explain.

Briefly, she considers telling Colleen everything, but she’s given up enough secrets recently, and it hasn’t gotten her anywhere good. The other girl believes her when she claims to have forgotten a large part of the night, and the story is apparently more interesting than the original subject of the call, of which Azzi is very grateful.

Miraculously, Paige is still asleep when Azzi hangs up the call and goes back into the blonde’s bedroom. She really needs to focus on making sure that she doesn’t get in a massive amount of trouble, but she can’t stop her eyes from continually drifting to her best friend’s sleeping form.

Telling herself that she and Paige can come up with a lie if worst comes to worst, she finally allows herself to do what Paige definitely can’t help her with — process the previous night. The cold wall against her back grounds her as she sifts through her feelings.

In hindsight, her best friend being queer isn’t all that surprising (Azzi does have eyes, after all), and really neither is Paige liking a girl. Even when it comes to Paige, Azzi tries to be logical and reasonable, but she’s only human. She can’t help but imagine all the girls that must be throwing themselves at the blonde (her brain conveniently chooses to ignore the fact that she doesn’t even know if Paige is out), and the jealousy sits heavily in her stomach.

Paige must be used to it, then, and according to Colleen, it looked like Azzi was one of the aforementioned girls. She cringes internally. Was it really that obvious? The problem is, though, that it must look like Paige has been reciprocating this hypothetical, unintentional flirting in some way. Azzi can’t think of any other reason for what Colleen had told her, and her friend had been very clear about it being something with both of them. She thinks about the way Paige held her while she cried, and she thinks that she might understand.

Azzi can’t tell if her head hurts from the hangover or the absurd mental gymnastics she’s undertaking, and she hasn’t even considered the dream yet. Wanting Paige is nothing new for her, but she’d broken too many of her own rules the previous night. She’s never messed up with Paige like that before, and she worries that it’s only going to get worse.

As her thoughts drift back to her conversation with Colleen, Azzi realizes that she never actually deleted the photo on her story. Maybe it speaks to how far she’s fallen, but it fills Azzi with a sick sense of pride as she looks at it with new perspective. Maybe she wants people to see this- maybe she wants Paige to see this, wants to know how her best friend would react.

Shutting her phone off, Azzi feels like she’s just made a pivotal choice, one she knows she wouldn’t have made a few months ago before Paige was living with her, and she’s going to have to make another purposeful concession to keep her sanity. Rationalizing once again, Azzi reasons that flirting with Paige just a bit wouldn’t be all that bad. The older girl might just be oblivious if Colleen is to be believed and they already have that outward dynamic.

Maybe her sudden feeling of giddiness is preventing her from seeing the obvious flaws of the idea, but the more she thinks about it, the more Azzi likes it. While there’s no guarantee that it will make her life any easier, it’s something that she can control, and she hasn’t felt in control of anything when it comes to Paige for years now.

By the time Paige wakes up, Azzi has two plans: the first one being another secret that she’s going to have to keep, and the second being something that she immediately goes to share with the other girl.

Paige is groggy and hungover, but somehow she gets past the rambling and mild panic in Azzi’s voice to understand what she needs to do. They’re able to sneak craft supplies onto the back deck, and Paige even manages to keep a straight face when she runs into Jose with the bottle under her hoodie.

She nods dutifully as Azzi explains the smashed bottle to her parents as a simple accident while trying to do a TikTok trend, and the girls escape with nothing more than a request to ask before taking anything else after promising to clean up the mess.

“You’re scary good at that,” Paige remarks as they’re squatting on the deck with dust pans in hand.

“At what? Lying?” Azzi asks absently. Smiling brightly, she picks up a big piece of glass and makes a heart out pink and purple glitter on it. The gesture makes Paige melt.

“No, at solving problems. You’re incredible, Az.”

The dark haired girl gives her a look. “Is this what you’re like hungover? All sappy and shit?” Her judgemental tone is offset by the fact that she’s currently making a second heart on another piece of glass.

“I’m like this all the time, what do you mean?” Paige pouts. “I know you love it anyway.”

“Mmm,” Azzi’s busy adding the finishing touches to her masterpieces. She carefully places them on the table before turning back to Paige.

Their gazes cross briefly and Azzi thinks maybe she sees something that looks like love. As she goes back to sweeping up the glass, she has to physically shake her head as she tells herself to get it together. She figures she must still be drunk or something.

But Azzi isn’t seeing things. Paige is lucky that the younger girl is distracted, because the lovestruck gaze that she’s failing to hide is the least of her worries. Since she woke up, there’s been a feeling that she just can’t shake, and she’s run out of explanations of what it could be.

Except for one, that is. Waking up tangled in Azzi’s arms this morning had felt different, and so, so right. Paige wouldn’t hesitate to say that Azzi was the person she was the most comfortable with, but never before had she considered the feeling that they belonged together.

That feeling had only intensified when Paige had accidentally brushed her lips against her best friend’s neck and then compounded it by holding Azzi’s side like she belonged to her.

Sure, that would’ve looked really bad. But what felt worse — not worse exactly, just… new and kind of scary — was when Paige, still drifting in and out of consciousness, heard Azzi’s anxious demands and found them only endearing.

Not long ago, she would’ve found herself getting annoyed, but even with the stress of covering their tracks pushing Azzi into her controlling state, the fondness in Paige’s heart still hasn’t dissipated. Does this mean Paige… has a crush on her best friend?

There, outside on the deck, Paige metaphorically gives Azzi her heart as the younger girl gives Paige a physical one. Paige thinks the broken glass that is the medium of Azzi’s creation makes a pretty good metaphor for her perception of their friendship. Shattered, splintered, permanently altered.

Trying not to say anything too sappy (or too insane for that matter, she has no idea how she came up with the broken glass thing), Paige elects to admire the methodical way that Azzi is now checking for missed pieces of glass.

When they finally go back inside, the first thing Paige does is place the glass heart on her night table so she can look at it every day. The second thing she does is open Snapchat, which is apparently a terrible decision. As soon as she clicks on Azzi’s story, that weird feeling is back, but it’s less surprising.

Azzi wears Paige’s clothes all the time, but she doesn’t normally draw attention to that fact the way this story so clearly is. Has the dark-haired girl always looked so good in Paige’s hoodies? Probably. Somehow, Paige had just been blind to it. She wishes desperately that it was still the case, because it would definitely be weird to ask her best friend to share clothes more often.

Groaning, Paige throws her phone onto the bed before flopping facedown after it.

“Whatcha doing, Paigey?” says Azzi in a singsong voice from the doorway.

Paige rolls over, not bothering to open her eyes. “I’m sleeping- or at least I was,” she says exasperatedly.

“Can I join you?” Azzi’s sounds seductive in Paige’s ears, and she has to open her eyes to confirm it’s just in her imagination. Fuck.

Azzi’s still wearing her sweater, and there’s definitely a slight smirk on her face as she stands with her arms crossed and her head tilted to the side.

“You look good in my sweater,” Paige mumbles sleepily. Shit, shit, shit. There’s no way she just said that out loud. Throwing her arm over her face to hide her blush, Paige misses Azzi’s smile widening.

“I know I do,” Azzi is closer now. She traces a finger down Paige’s bicep. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Just come here,” Paige whines. She moves her arm so Azzi can rest her head on it. At the younger girl’s sigh of contentment, Paige has to squeeze her eyes shut. She is so, so fucked.

•••••

‘Fucked’ is maybe an understatement. Paige doesn’t know what to do anymore. She really wishes she was able to keep her thoughts locked away. She knows Azzi would be able to.

At first, they’d been manageable and fairly harmless. She’d just catch herself staring at Azzi here and there and find that she had the urge to ask the other girl if she knew how beautiful she was. Sure, she’d noticed that Azzi was pretty before, but she hadn’t had time to really appreciate how her features complemented each other so well. Friends look at each other like that, right? Paige wasn't totally sure, but she’d sort of been able to convince herself that they did, backtracking on her earlier realization. That had worked for all of a few hours. Then she was right back to where she started, looking at Azzi like she wanted them to be something more than best friends.

Now that a few days had passed, it seemed that Azzi coming out to her had been both a blessing and a curse. Fortunately, it had allowed Paige to come out with much less stress. She was never planning on keeping it from the younger girl (she didn’t think that was something she was even able to do), but she had never found what felt like the right time and it had been weighing heavily on her. She really didn’t think they could get any closer, but since the mutual confession, their bond felt even deeper.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have unlocked something in her subconscious mind. And that was the problem — not when she realized that Azzi was pretty, but when she realized that Azzi was hot. Like, really hot, so hot that she regularly got Paige worked up. The blonde would toss and turn in bed, thighs squeezed together, as she tried to push away some of the crazier thoughts, reminding herself that they were about her really hot best friend, not some random crush.

Knowing that Azzi liked girls had apparently given Paige’s brain new material and explicit permission to use it. Even though she was quick to dismiss the thoughts as soon as they popped into her head, she was bombarded by images of Azzi in various states of undress, doing things with her that girls who like other girls do. While they did make her feel a bit guilty, she wasn’t going to lie to herself and pretend that she didn’t also enjoy them. She also wasn’t going to pretend that, on the rare nights where Azzi wasn’t wrapped around her, her hand wouldn’t dip below her waistband as she allowed herself to briefly indulge in her newfound forbidden desires.

There is also a second (and admittedly more complicated) problem: Paige isn’t just attracted to Azzi, she’s pretty sure she’s in love with her. Like, the full-blown ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’ kind of love. She’d been drawn to the dark-haired girl since the day they met, and the more she actually thinks about it, the more she realizes that there was probably never a time where she wasn’t in love with Azzi. She goes back and forth between cringing at her own obliviousness and thanking the Lord for not making her have to live with it for all these years. She can’t imagine grappling with these feelings at the age of fifteen when even looking back at the mess of interactions from her short time at the Fudd’s is enough to give her a headache.

Even if this whole love thing is new, Paige would still consider herself something of an Azzi expert, or at least an expert on the way that Azzi acts around her. And she’s sure that it’s not the same as it was last week, or ever, for that matter. Because in all their years of friendship, Azzi has never whispered in Paige’s ear so close that her lips ghost across her skin, never ran her hands across Paige’s upper thighs, and certainly never looked at Paige with those eyes. And at the family dinner table, no less.

Well, she’s at least somewhat sure. Technically, Paige realizes she can’t be completely sure because she wasn’t exactly looking for it before. Maybe it was there all along and she was just oblivious. Or worse, maybe Azzi isn’t even doing anything and Paige is making it all up to serve her own interests.

But whether or not it’s in her head, it’s absolutely torturous. Nighttime fantasies aside, Paige wants it to mean something when she holds her best friend at night. She wants Azzi to know that the forehead kisses (a new habit she’s picked up) and words of affection whispered in the dark are a million little confessions, all uttered in place of one that she will never dare voice out loud.

She never imagined the thought crossing her mind, but sometimes Paige wants all of this to be over, almost needs to get away from Azzi for both of their sakes. But then her best friend will flash a smile in Paige’s direction and everything else melts away. Because Azzi has Paige wrapped around her finger, and Paige is hardly fighting it anymore.

•••••

Paige has seen Azzi in a bathing suit before, but not since she’s… figured some things out. When the dark-haired girl runs out of the house in a simple black bikini, Paige doesn’t even know where to look. There are so many places that she wants to but basically nowhere that she thinks would be appropriate at this point, so she settles for the safest option of locking eyes with Azzi. That turns out to be a mistake, because of course Azzi’s looking at her like that, and Paige wants to go back inside to hide from her.

Being unable to make eye contact with her best friend, Paige’s gaze inevitably shifts downwards. The blonde has enough self-awareness to realize that the look on her face as her eyes snag on Azzi’s lips and collarbones is something she never wants the other members of the household to see. She schools her features into neutrality as she turns around, confusion quickly clouding them when she sees only Tim at the grill.

“Where are Katie and the boys at?” she asks.

A brief smile ghosts across Tim’s face. “Inside, I guess,” he shrugs dismissively. “They’ll be out soon, I’m sure they’re getting dish soap or something.”

Paige doesn’t have long to ponder his evasive answer before Azzi is calling her over.

“Come help me with these staples!”

The DIY slip-n-slide was another idea they’d seen on Tiktok, and when the forecast predicted a particularly hot and sunny day, it seemed like the perfect time to try it.

Paige and Azzi are securing the last corner of the plastic sheet when they’re finally joined by Azzi’s mom and brothers. Only Katie is holding a bottle of dish soap, which Paige registers as somewhat suspicious, but she’s quickly distracted by Tim’s call to come eat.

—

They try the slip-n-slide after lunch. After much bickering, Azzi gets to be the first to go. She slides gracefully on her stomach, laughing joyfully the whole time, before jumping to her feet and turning to Paige with a huge grin on her face.

Paige would be the first to tell anyone how much she loves Azzi’s smile, but she barely registers it this time as her eyes latch onto a water droplet on Azzi’s shoulder and her earlier attempts not to look are all for nothing. Almost hypnotically, her eyes follow the trail of water past her best friend’s collarbones, between the valley of her breasts, and across her abs before it soaks into her bikini bottoms. Paige fully takes in the warm brown skin glistening with soapy water and it’s just so much. All Paige wants to do is touch, anywhere she can. She’s imagining running her hands down her best friend’s body in very inappropriate ways when Jon’s voice next to her snaps her back into the present.

“Hello, Earth to Paige?” he yells, practically screaming in her ear. Face burning, the blonde’s eyes snap away just in time to watch Azzi’s youngest brother turn the hose on her.

“Oooh, you’re so dead for that!” she shrieks, chasing after him.

It soon becomes apparent what Katie and the boys were doing when Jose comes running out of the house with a huge bucket of water balloons. He starts chucking them at Paige and Jon, who are wrestling in the grass, and soon the whole family is having a water balloon fight.

Paige and Azzi try to seek shelter behind a table, but it turns out to be a bad decision as the rest of the Fudds gang up on them. With their supply dwindling, both girls jump up and run across the yard, dodging many balloons but still getting soaked.

“Please, spare us,” Paige cries as she ducks behind Azzi. “You wouldn’t hurt your sweet sister, would you?”

Jon and Jose consider it for about three seconds. “Fuck family, this is war!” Jon shouts, earning a cheer from Jose and poorly masked laughter from Tim and Katie. The onslaught continues, with Paige still trying to use Azzi as a human shield.

If Paige’s hands slide when she puts them on Azzi’s sides to reposition her, surely it’s just because of the soapy water. If they brush across Azzi’s abs as she turns around to push the older girl away, Paige’s breath certainly doesn’t catch in her throat. And when the girls lose the water balloon fight, it’s definitely because it was basically two against four and not because Paige was horribly, atrociously distracted.

—

“Today was really fun,” Azzi muses as they lie in her bed that night.

“Easy for you to say when you didn’t get a sunburn,” Paige winces at the slight sting as her back rubs against the sheets.

“That’s because I’m better than you,” Azzi shrugs like it’s obvious. “Don’t worry, I still think you look cute… even if it means you won’t let me cuddle you tonight.” She yawns and rolls over.

Paige freezes. What the fuck? Her brain is telling her that there’s no way she heard Azzi right, but with the way her best friend has been acting, it almost makes sense.

Shaking her head, Paige shifts around before deciding that the least painful sleeping position is flat on her back. When Azzi slinks her way into Paige’s arms, the older girl grits her teeth against the pain, never once considering pushing the dark-haired girl away to ease her discomfort.

—

Paige is in a desert. Her burnt skin stings under the sun and the hot sand scorches her feet as she stumbles desperately towards a jagged mountain, the only landmark for miles. She’s disappointed to discover that it offers no shade, but hope blossoms as she circles it.

The back of the mountain is an imposing rock face, but all thoughts of trying to climb it are dispelled when a small dark line running down it catches Paige’s eye. She draws closer and is relieved to find that it’s a trickle of water descending from the top of the mountain hundreds of feet above her. The rivulet is scarcely wider than one of Paige’s fingers, but she desperately presses her tongue to the rock, needing to get as much as she can in case it runs out.

The first drop of water invigorates her. It tastes like dreams and desires and a million other things all at once, and soon Paige doesn’t think she could stop lapping it up if she tried. The water drips down her chin and she welcomes the sensation. The trickle grows into a stream and still Paige keeps drinking, closing her eyes as it washes over her like a baptism.

Paige’s senses are flooded by vanilla and jasmine and she has only one thought. Azzi. When her tongue brushes against the rock face again, it’s not the rough feeling she’d gotten used to, causing Paige to open her eyes in shock. She’s on her stomach on what appears to be a flat rock in the middle of an oasis.

But Paige barely has time to take in her surroundings because right under her is the source of her desires. Azzi has an arm thrown carelessly over her eyes, legs spread so that Paige can lie between them, her head inches above the other girl’s smooth, toned stomach. Paige realizes what she’d felt on her tongue and dips her head down, experimentally tracing the path of a water droplet up Azzi’s stomach. She swallows thickly, revelling once more in the heavenly taste of it.

“Why’d you stop?” Paige’s head snaps up. They make eye contact for the first time, Azzi’s relaxed body language juxtaposed by the lust darkening her deep brown eyes.

Paige realizes that Azzi’s wearing the black bikini top she loves, but as her arm brushes the dark-haired girl’s bare hip bone, she’s not brave enough to look down.

“It’s just us here,” Azzi purrs. She arches her back slightly so she can reach the knot holding her top on. “Just you and me.” Azzi fixes Paige with an intense stare, not once breaking eye contact as she begins to pull her top off.

Azzi’s scent is intoxicating, clouding Paige’s senses and leaving her almost in a trance. “You know what I want, baby.” She licks her lips.

Paige doesn’t know if it’s the pet name or the sultry tone of Azzi’s voice, but her head is starting to feel fuzzy.

“I- I do,” she says almost reverently.

“Good girl,” Azzi murmurs. “Think you can do that for me, then?”

And Paige finds herself nodding eagerly, letting soft hands tangle in her hair as Azzi gently pushes her head down.

—

Paige wakes up absolutely parched. She tries not to be disappointed when the water she gulps down tastes nothing like the elixir from her dream. There’s only one thing that she thinks could possibly taste that good, and it’s the one thing she can’t possibly have.

[irisintheafterglow]

heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: sabrina carpenter - "please please please"

summary: a school assignment leads you to team bofurin. a chance meeting in the cafe leads you to umemiya. where else will furin high lead you over the course of 5 days?

wc: 7.5k (lord have mercy)

cw/tags: umemiya hajime x gn journalist!reader, strangers to lovers, swearing/explicit language, brief canon-typical violence, blood, and peril, angst/fluff and injury hurt/comfort, ume's a gentleman but that gets tested lol

note: friends this is the longest thing i have ever posted here and i was really debating not posting it because i didn't like how it was turning out, but then i just pushed through the rest of it...and it became 7 thousand words.....ANYWAY really hope you enjoy !

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <33

— Day 1 of 5: “Please, please, please // Don’t prove I’m right” 

A glass bottle shatters on the sidewalk below you, shadowy figures scattering into dark alleyways like rats. You grimace at their sadistic laughter and silently thank your host for not living on the ground-level. The sound of a shaking spray paint can echoes in the empty street and you watch a messy hot pink insignia appear as it's drawn on a shop window. Damn. This was going to be a long five days. 

“Wait, you want me to do what?” 

“You’ll be staying with a high school friend of mine who owns a store in the area,” your journalism teacher continues, quickly scanning over a student’s document and grading it without blinking. She swipes to the next document, mechanically repeating the same process of grading it and moving on. She doesn’t stop to see the shock on your face.

“Ma’am, I don’t know–”

“You’ll be fine, just stick to the populated areas and don’t go out at night. If you want to, you could even befriend some of those Furin kids,” she says as she absentmindedly clicks away at her keyboard. “It’ll be good for you to report on something other than the mathletes team, for once.” At least the mathletes are safe, you think to yourself. A little awkward, but nowhere near the delinquents at Furin.

“Hold on, may I ask why I’m the one doing this?” You wring your hands nervously, glancing at the afternoon sun sinking outside the classroom window. “I don’t understand why you’re asking me–” 

“You want the full-ride scholarship, don’t you?” Her eyes are beady through the thin rims of her glasses. You fight the urge to shrink away from her piercing gaze, one that you never become accustomed to no matter how many times you’re subject to it. “Trust me when I tell you that the judges will not care how many times the mathletes lost, no matter how eloquently you write about it.” You let your skepticism show on your face. 

“But they’ll care about a bunch of boys that get into fights every day?” If she cares about your deadpanned comment, she doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“My friend told me once or twice that there’s more to those Furin boys than meets the eye,” she says before turning back to her screen. Your confusion is still obvious, but the only help your teacher gives you is an indifferent shrug. “It’s up to you. But if you want a competitive edge, you need to take more risks.” You exhale, weighing your options and ultimately deciding that your career was more important. 

“When do I start?” 

You begin your morning early on your first day in Makochi. After leaving your host’s apartment and staring at the graffiti-covered high school that was drowning in plant overgrowth, you abruptly turned on your heel and decided to observe the people on the busiest street. You had no interest in exploring Furin High School itself, only the effects of crime and constant fighting on the uninvolved citizens. You catch a group of boys wearing black jackets heading in the same direction as you and duck into the nearest cafe, hoping to wait them out and watch how they interact with the town. Across the street, the owners of the shop that was vandalized with the pink insignia scrub the paint from the glass. 

“Good morning.” A girl with short brown hair greets you behind the counter, gesturing for you to take a seat on one of the stools. You thank her and set your notebook down next to you, flipping through the menu when you feel her staring at you. “Are you new here?” 

“I’m in town for a few days,” you reply. Her demeanor is friendlier than you would expect from an area that sees so much violence. “I’m from one of the neighboring high schools.” The girl nods, placing a cup of water in front of you, along with a set of chopsticks. 

“Are you visiting family? We don’t get many visitors here, so I’m just wondering what a new face is doing in town,” she says, nodding when you point at the menu item you want for breakfast. 

“No family here; I’m actually studying the town for an assignment. My teacher thinks that if I write about this town, it’ll help me get a scholarship.” Her mouth opens in an ah of understanding and she ducks into the refrigerator to retrieve some eggs. An idea pops into your brain and you open your notebook. “While I’m here, do you mind if I ask you a few questions about Furin High?”

“Sure. Bofurin members eat here all the time.” Your eyebrows draw together and, unlike your journalism teacher, she understands and addresses your lack of knowledge. “Bofurin is the team that protects this town. It’s made up entirely of students at Furin High School. Actually, it’s a little funny that you stopped into here today, of all places, since–” 

“Kotoha!” The door flies open and the same group of boys that were behind you on the sidewalk corral into the cafe, the space suddenly too small for the number of people present. The source of the voice, a tall guy with bright white hair and coattails attached to his jacket, approaches the girl behind the counter with a blinding smile. “Did you miss me?” 

“No,” Kotoha deadpans, sending you a sympathetic look as more boys file into the cafe. “I was gonna say that you chose the one day Umemiya treats all his underclassmen to breakfast. Umemiya’s the leader, the tall idiot I was just talking to.” You grimace and begin to jot down what little information you’d learned about Furin, covering the side of your face with your hand and hoping none of the students question why you were there. It’s wishful thinking, unfortunately. 

“Oi.” You’re snapped from your brainstorming daze by a boy whose hair and eyes were two different colors. He was watching you write like you were plotting how to demolish the high school and you curse your luck for the millionth time that you picked the one cafe the Bofurin team frequented. “Who are you and why are you here?”

“Sakura, you can’t just say that to strangers. Tell them you’re sorry,” Kotoha, the girl behind the counter, chides. The boy’s cheeks turn pink and he turns away, muttering what sounds like a half-assed apology to you. “Don’t mind him,” she says to you with a warm smile. “He’s terrible around new people.” Sakura’s face twists into indignation. 

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. You got into a fight on your first day here, and school hadn’t even started yet,” points out another student with blonde hair sitting next to a boy wearing dangling earrings and an eyepatch. You’re quick to write down anything and everything you were hearing, picking up pieces of conversation from the tables around you. “Hey, what are you writing?” The question doesn’t come off as accusatory, but you shut your notebook anyways and guard it like a treasure chest. 

“It’s nothing. Just homework,” you force out. 

“Homework,” the boy with the eyepatch echoes. “So, you live around here?”

“They go to a neighboring highschool,” Kotoha explains before you have the chance to speak. “They’re actually here to study Bofurin.” All three boys turn to you expectantly, as if you were going to interview them on the spot. 

“I’m just here to observe,” you say quickly, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m not here to interfere or get in your way or anything.” 

“Who said you would be getting in the way? I’m sure Umemiya wouldn’t mind–” 

“I wouldn’t mind what?” You jump, the same guy that called Kotoha’s name upon entering the cafe appearing like a ghost between you and the boys you were conversing with. “Have you three ordered yet? You need to eat! We have a big day today,” the person you assume is Umemiya instructs the boys. To your surprise, they’re quick to nod their assent and place their orders. “Good. Now, what was it I wasn’t going to mind?” 

“There’s someone here to study us,” the half-and-half haired kid mutters, pointing in your direction. Like before, the two other students scold him for his brashness. 

“Don’t say it like that, Sakura.” 

“It makes it sound like we’re animals in a documentary.” 

“Study us?” Umemiya ignores them and turns to you with a curious look. “Why?” Your face heats and you hastily close your notebook again, hoping that Kotoha would be done with your food soon so you could vacate the cafe and avoid it for the rest of your stay. 

“It’s for an assignment for school,” you reply hesitantly. 

“You don’t need to be so humble,” Kotoha calls over her shoulder from the stove. “You can tell them it’s for a scholarship.” The three boys next to Umemiya gape at you in awe, but you can’t help feeling the slightest bit embarrassed that you drew so much attention to yourself on your first day in town. You didn’t know much about the Furin boys except for their reputation as fighters, and you expected Umemiya to turn you away and kick you out on the spot. 

“I’ll be out of town in a few days, so you don’t need to–”

“You can shadow us.” What the hell did he just say? You blink at him, unsure if you hallucinated his words or if he actually said them. Umemiya’s face suddenly turns a shade redder and he turns to his three underclassmen, whispering uneasily, “That is the term for it, right?”

“I think so,” the blonde one whispers back. “Suo, you’re better with words. What does it–”

“You want them to follow you around and see how you guys work,” Kotoha says as she brings you your meal in a to-go container. “That’s what ‘shadowing’ means.” Umemiya thanks her with a thumbs-up before turning back to you. 

“What she said. Come with us as we go through our daily routines so you really understand what we do.” You start to stutter out a list of fake reasons why you couldn’t, something along the lines of getting in their way and needing to take a fish to the veterinarian. Umemiya doesn’t budge and sees through your nerves like glass. “You won’t be inconveniencing us at all, I promise. If anything, it’ll be good for more people to have an understanding of Bofurin.” 

“Yeah. If you just watch us from the outside, your writing’s not gonna be any good,” Sakura says bluntly. The two boys next to him flinch and cover their faces. 

“You should stop saying things like that, Sakura,” the boy with the eye-patch warns. 

“Like I said,” Kotoha mumbles in passing. “Don’t pay him any mind. He’s just like that.”

“So, what do you say?” Umemiya grins at you in a way that unwillingly makes your heart rate increase and, before your mind knows it, you’re nodding in agreement and he settles on the stool next to you. “Great! Before we start, do you mind if I ask you about yourself?”

—  Day 2 of 5: “I know I have good judgment // I know I have good taste”

It’s 7:00 am when Umemiya appears outside your door. 

“Good morning! Did you sleep well? I know yesterday was a lot, so hopefully we didn’t scare you too badly.” You rub your eyes and manage to give him a sleepy ‘good morning,’ trying to shake off the exhaustion after running around the previous day with Bofurin. The moon was hanging high by the time Umemiya dropped you off at your host’s apartment and you thought you were hearing things when he said he’d be back in the morning to pick you up. “We’re not gonna have time to stop by the cafe, so I picked up something for you to eat.” You open the small paper bag he hands you to find a pastry wrapped in a napkin, slightly squashed from the walk. “Do you have everything?” 

“Yes, I do. This is really nice of you Umemiya,” you say as you fall into step next to him. He shrugs and waves you off, but you catch the self-confident upturn at the corner of his mouth. Why you were staring at his mouth in the first place could not be waterboarded out of you. 

“Don’t mention it. What’d you think of yesterday? Oh, wait. Let me take this from you so you can eat.” Before you can stop him, he reaches over and carefully slides the strap of your bag from your shoulder and hoists it onto his. Surprised, you thank him again, something that you found yourself doing a lot since you met him. It wasn’t like you were trying to overstate your gratitude, Umemiya just kept doing things for you; on your first day, he did everything from crouching down to tie your shoe to herding you toward the side of the sidewalk, away from the busy street. So far, Bofurin was nothing like you’d previously imagined. 

“There’s a lot more structure in place than I thought there would be,” you answer, taking a few bites of the pastry. After Umemiya gave you a proper introduction to first-year class captain (and your self-proclaimed #1 skeptic) Sakura, he also introduced you to Suo and Nirei, the two boys that were with him. The rest of your first day was a flurry of meetings and broadcast announcements from the top of the school, mixed with an unexpected amount of pot transplanting on the roof. “I didn’t realize there would be such a clear hierarchy of power…or a community garden.”

“You thought we were just a bunch of kids who got into fights every day?”

“Yes–wait, no!” Your face burns while you backtrack and try to explain yourself. Umemiya doesn’t hear it and simply chuckles at your slip. “Okay, fine. Yes, I did think you were a bunch of kids that got into fights every day. But,” you pause, taking a look at the pastry in your hand. “There’s obviously more I need to learn.” 

“That’s alright,” Umemiya beams. The sun starts to peek over the roofs of the little stores and houses, painting Furin High golden as you approach. “That's why I’m here. Oh, and before I forget, give me your phone.” You watch as he dials his contact information in, even taking a picture of himself for the contact photo. “What do you think?” 

“Wow, you look great. Thanks for doing that for me.”

“Of course. Now you have a direct line to me in case you ever need anything!” He has a cute smile, speaks an unprompted voice in your head that you’re quick to silence. You’re about to tease him about being so friendly with strangers when you catch sight of a smear of hot pink running across the bricks beside you. Umemiya’s smile fades as you walk past the metal garage door of a food vendor, it too becoming the victim of the same pink marking you saw on your first night. 

“That’s the second one I’ve seen now.” His eyes are narrowed when you turn to him. He’s not focusing on what you’re saying; you can tell by the way the muscle in his jaw clenches that he’s running analyses like a supercomputer. “Do you have any idea who’s doing this?”

“There hasn’t been word of a pink team in ages, let alone one that has the audacity to come on Bofurin territory and claim it,” he says quietly.  

“They’re trying to take it from you?”

“Keyword ‘trying.’ Doesn’t mean they’ll be successful.” The darkness of his expression disappears in a blink and you’re met with a self-assured grin. “Ah, well don’t worry about it. We handle this kind of stuff all the time,” he reassures you, readjusting your bag over his shoulder and starting again down the sidewalk.  

“How often do you deal with stuff like this?” 

“Weekly, probably,” he shrugs and you make a mental reminder to write it in your notebook. 

“Are people just looking for a fight because you’re the strongest team, or is it something else?” Your mind momentarily brings you back to sitting across from the mathletes team in the school library, giving them food for thought and jotting down their responses. It was a little different, asking questions of Umemiya, but the familiar feeling of seeking answers is comforting muscle memory. 

“I don’t have a concrete answer for you, honestly,” he admits. “But, my theory is that people don’t like what we do here. We protect the town and discourage people from doing unethical things. People simply don’t like being told what they can’t do.” You nod, trying your best to remember everything he’s saying. It made sense why smaller teams would want to take down the most powerful team in the area, but the morality side and restricting the actions of others because they harm the townspeople was something you didn’t expect to also play into the situation. “Are you going to interview any other teams here?” You shake your head.

“I wasn’t planning on it. The answers that you’re giving me now are more than I could have hoped for,” you answer and you catch his satisfied smirk out of the corner of your eye. “Do you think I should study other teams?” 

“You don’t need to. You fit in better with us, anyway.” 

— Day 3 of 5: “Whatever devil’s inside you // Don’t let him out tonight”

Reports of the hot pink marking become more frequent the longer you stay with Bofurin, both for sightings on shop windows and shadows sneaking around alleyways just out of patroller’s lines of sight. The more teams Umemiya sent out to paint over the vandalism, the more sightings increased. To you, it was an indicator of growing tensions between Bofurin and surrounding, envious teams. 

To Umemiya, it was Wednesday. 

“We have a collaborative meeting with another team, Shishitoren, today,” he informs you on the walk from your host’s apartment to the school, your bag swinging weightlessly on his shoulder. “I’d like for you to join us, but it’s ultimately up to you.” 

“Do you have a history with them?” The team leader’s eyes space out and he blinks once, then twice, before coming back to the present. 

“Yeah…you could say that,” he chuckles. “Just don’t ask Sakura about his first one-on-one with them. He gets defensive.” You stifle a grin.

“Oh, did he lose?”

“He won, actually,” Umemiya corrects, equally as amused as you, “Which is the part he gets mad about, so you should probably steer clear of the subject all together.” You nod, interviewing Sakura being nowhere in your plans. “Suo and Nirei will be able to give you all the info you need, though,” he says quickly, mistaking your silence for discontent. “And of course, you could always ask me too.” He smiles at you and something in your brain short-circuits. 

Ever the professional, you try not to think about how nice Umemiya’s been to you when you arrive at the Ori, headquarters of Shishitoren. Steering away from the run-down screening room, you and Umemiya’s team climb up to the roof, where a group of guys wearing orange baseball jackets are waiting. 

“What took you so long? Breakfast is getting cold!” The team’s leader, Tomiyama, leaps from his seat on the ledge and bounds over to Umemiya. “Oh?” He pauses, looking you up and down before smiling brightly at you. “You brought your new friend, Ume!” You wave politely and introduce yourself, a little more relaxed with Umemiya at your side. 

“Smart,” comments whom you assume to be the second-in-command, Togame. He moves at a leisurely pace, barely even blinking as he lifts Tomiyama by the collar of his jacket and sets him at the other end of the meeting’s circle. “Our guys have caught at least three of their guys running surveillance on your side. Who knows what would’ve happened if you left your guest at the school alone.”

“Surveillance?” You frown, but Umemiya doesn’t look surprised. “And what do you mean, something could have happened?” 

“Rival members follow others around, learning their ins and outs,” Togame tells you. “Essentially what you’ve been doing, but uninvited. They’ve been getting pretty pissy about Bofurin lately, so they might’ve tried to use you as some kind of collateral if they knew Umemiya would be out.” The thought makes you gag, and the same discontent expressions can be found on all the occupants of the roof. 

“They’re not very nice, those guys,” Tomiyama pouts. “The ones we’ve questioned wanna take over your side, Ume.” So other teams want to take over Bofurin’s territory more often than Umemiya lets on, you think to yourself. Maybe not even on a weekly basis, but daily. 

“Did you let the guys you’ve questioned off the hook? Or you still have ‘em here?” Hiragi asks. 

“We don’t have any of them here, no,” Togame replies. “But we have a general idea of how they make their rounds and can probably catch a team or two when they start following Bofurin guys.” 

“Great,” Umemiya concludes with a single decisive clap. “Let’s go get ‘em.” 

“Alright, field trip time!” Tomiyama’s energy sends him practically bouncing off the walls. You pack up what little things you brought with you to the meeting and are ready to fall into step behind the guys, but Umemiya stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Yo, Kaji.” The lollipop-mouthed second-year pulls down his headphones to listen. “Take them back to the school. Don’t want them there in case things get ugly.” You open your mouth to protest, ready to fire off why it’s important that you see the good, bad, and ugly of Bofurin, but Umemiya silences you with a shake of his head. “Please go. I’m not changing my mind.” 

“Why don’t you want me to be there?”

“Like I said, things could get ugly–” 

“And,” you cut in, “I’m capable enough to run if I need to. You can trust me to get out of there on my own.” The tone of his reply is soft and patient, like it was for your own good that you didn’t go. 

“Maybe next time, okay?” You frown, disappointment twisting in your gut. “I don’t doubt that you can handle your own if things get bad. I just…don’t want you to see it if things get bad.” He runs a hand through his hair and the flex of his large bicep suddenly clicks the pieces of understanding into place. There was a reason why he was the head of Bofurin and respected by all these rowdy team members, whether they were on his team or not. Though you hadn’t seen him fight yet, there was a more dangerous side to Umemiya that existed with the kindness he’d shown you. He didn’t want you there in case things got ugly because of him. 

“I–I see.” He nods with a sigh of relief and turns to leave; you pull your arms close to your body at the sudden chill as he walks away. “Umemiya?” He pauses at the doorway, his hand hovering over the handle as he looks over his shoulder at you expectantly. Several things occurred to you to say to them, all of them borderline condescending if he took it the wrong way. Don’t do anything brash. Make sure you come back. You shouldn’t need to use your fists for this. 

“Be safe, please,” is what you settle for. 

— Day 4 of 5: “Everyone makes mistakes // But just don’t”

You’re past the halfway point of studying Furin High and team Bofurin when Hiragi storms into the broadcast room, grumbling about being out of supplies. Umemiya isn’t worried and reassures his friend that they would have what they were missing by the end of the day. Four days of immersing yourself in Bofurin was having a significant effect on you, since you volunteer to do the run before anyone else does. 

To be fair, you did need to run back to your host’s apartment–who had so graciously started letting Umemiya in while he waited for you to get ready in the morning–because you’d forgotten to drop your notebook in your bag before rushing out the door. The list wasn’t huge, either, and you figured you could do the whole trip in about an hour: painkillers (Nirei misjudged his spacing and accidentally got kicked in the crotch), small bandages (Sakura, self-explanatory), wet wipes (Suo noted how dirty the desks became because of everyone’s shoes), and a few packages of plant food (Umemiya insisted on buying some potted flowers from the vendor on your street).

“Are you sure? One of the patrol teams can pick the stuff up,” Umemiya offers, eyeing you oddly. Four days of immersing yourself in Bofurin meant you also caught the team’s head staring when he thought you weren’t looking, and then quickly turning away when you looked back. “Or, if you go, let me send one of the class captains with you, just in case. Sakura should be on patrol in the area.” You shake your head and stand up to leave. 

“I’ll be fine, Ume, I promise.” The nickname slips out before you can stop it, but he doesn’t seem to notice, eyebrows drawn in concern as he watches the floor. You lightly rest your hand on his shoulder and he snaps out of it, exhaling through his nose before nodding, reluctantly. 

“Call if anything happens,” Hiragi grunts before turning to Umemiya. “Hey, weren’t you talking about giving them a–”

“Hiragi, you’re a genius,” Umemiya cuts in and moves to dig through a box at the corner of the room. “Hey, wait,” he says, gently catching your wrist before you’re out the door and pressing a jacket into your hand. Four days of immersing yourself in Bofurin, and you would know the jacket’s green collar and the insignia anywhere. “No one should bother you if you’re wearing it.” 

Ironically, absolutely nothing happens until you’re on your way back from the convenience store. Your host was waiting for you in the living area to give you your notebook, and the store was barely a block away from her apartment. You find the needed items easily, placing a bag of mixed hard candies and a box of new chalk into your basket because you noticed they were running out. It’s a perfect day as you walk back to Furin, all cloudless skies and cool breezes and smooth sidewalks. The Furin jacket fits snugly on your torso, sturdy enough to protect you from the chill in the shade but light enough that you don’t overheat from the sun. It’s nice, something you could get used to. 

You don’t realize they’re behind you until it’s too late. 

“So, you’re Bofurin’s bitch, huh? Nice to see you in the light.” You stop in your tracks and look behind you to see a dozen guys in hot pink team uniforms you don’t recognize. There shouldn’t be that many of a rival team on Bofurin grounds, right? What the hell were they doing here? 

“You gonna say something, or are you stupid as you are ugly?” 

“Aww, look at them. They’re shaking and they don’t even know why,” one of the guys in the front sneers. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll give you something to be scared of.” The group starts to approach you and your vision slows like everything was moving through syrup. You catch the symbol on their uniforms, the same one that’s been spray painted on the town’s buildings for the past few days. The encroaching team was trying to take you to get leverage over Bofurin. Not good. Definitely not good. 

“Umemiya’s gonna think twice about messing with us after they see how we mess up his little pet!” Umemiya. You need to get to Umemiya. Your senses come back to you like a freight train and you have half the mind to dig your shoes into the street and run. 

The rival team shouts after you and the sound of pursuing footsteps thunder down the road. With one hand gripping the plastic bag of supplies, you yank your phone from the jacket pocket and frantically swipe to his contact. Your assailants draw closer and you force more energy into your legs, barely outrunning them by a few seconds. You cut through an alleyway and round a corner, but a dip in the road simultaneously makes you trip, pain shooting through your ankle. Shit! Your finger misses the ‘call’ button on your phone and you tap the ‘send location’ button instead. It’s not what you were going for, but your only options were to stop to properly call for help and get caught or keep running on your tweaked ankle. With the group of guys racing around the corner to catch you, you have no choice but to keep running. 

“Get the hell away from me!” You skid to a halt and turn to face the team head-on, your voice unsteady and breathless. You were finally starting to recognize the buildings around you; at the same time, your lungs were aching unbearably. Your pursuers slow to a halt and you’re stuck in a standoff in the middle of the street, the townspeople shutting themselves away in their stores to minimize damage to their own livelihoods. You stumble backward when the team leader steps forward, a cruel grin covering his entire face. 

“C’mon now, we just wanna have a little chat with you, you being Bofurin’s newest addition and all.” The men behind him leer at you, swinging their bats and crowbars up onto their shoulders. 

“Take one step closer and all of Bofurin comes running,” you snarl, shoving your phone forward, your finger hovering over the ‘send location’ button.

“That’s a whole lotta bullshit spewing out of your mouth, sweetie.”

“Why don’t you shut yours, asshole?” You spit. Sure the phone was a bluff, a last-ditch effort to stall for time.

It didn’t matter.

You knew how quickly Bofurin organized. 

As the hot pink leader lunges the remaining distance between you two, he’s knocked to the side by a blur of black, green, and white. Sakura stands up straight, rolls his shoulders, and scowls at you. 

“Why didn’t you call us sooner, dumbass?” 

“What, you think I wanted to get chased down today?” You meet his attitude with your own irritation and exhaustion. “Why didn’t you get here sooner?”

“Just go somewhere safe, idiot,” he yells, slamming his fist into an attacker’s face. “Your boyfriend’ll be here soon, but we were closer when he messaged everyone!” You don’t have time to think about the idea of Umemiya texting all of Bofurin to descend upon your location.Your glare fades quickly into relief and you step backward as Suo and Kiryu launch themselves into the fight.  Kaji and Hiragi rush in within a minute, and you’re spun to face Umemiya before you register that he’s there. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” He searches your face, his anxiety evident. “What did they do to you?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay. They didn’t get me.” Your voice wavers when you try to put weight on your injured ankle, and it panics Umemiya even more. Other Bofurin members enthusiastically join the brawl, but all Umemiya can do is take your hands and scan your body, letting you use him to balance on your good foot. 

“They were chasing you? I knew I should have–” You give him a tired smile and pull his face up to meet your eyes. 

“I didn’t let them catch me. I’m safe, I promise.” He inhales like he’s about to say something, but his attention snaps behind you, his expression hardening in an instant. He slips in front of you like a shield and brings his forearm up to block the hand that was meant to grab you while you were distracted. He throws the attacker to the ground and it lies still, completely unconscious. 

“Hey!” The sound of Umemiya’s voice echoes in the street. The chaos stills, fists suspended in mid air. His eyes that looked so kindly on you darken into shadows, shutting out the sunlight and sending chills down the backs of everyone present. “Not enough to kill…” he orders, securing an arm around your waist and turning you away from the fighting, leaving his underclassmen to finish the job. “But enough.”

You’re a sweating mess and barely able to put weight on your ankle by the time you make it through the doors of Bofurin headquarters. You fall away from his supportive body and your shoulder hits the wall, stars scattering in your vision. Any attempt to drag yourself further, with or without Umemiya’s help, earns you nothing but a hiss and a white-hot flash of pain. Umemiya looks distraught, reaching forward and pulling back with indecisive uncertainty. 

“What do you need me to do? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” he pleads with you. “Please, tell me what you need.” 

“Water,” you croak, your voice hoarse and tired. “I just–I can’t–I can’t walk well–” Your feet leave the ground before you can comprehend that you’re in the air, Umemiya’s arms effortlessly lifting you and beginning the ascent up the school’s stairs. His body is steady and he barely breaks a sweat, stone-cold determination his only expression. Your decreasing heart rate pounds in your forehead and you squint against the light once he climbs to the roof. He sets you gently on a chair in the shade before retrieving a bottle of water, watching as you take a few sips before kneeling in front of you. 

“May I?” You blink, regaining your senses, and realize he’s asking if he can inspect your ankle. You hum, settling into the chair while he carefully rolls up the cuff of your pants. His fingers brushing your bare skin momentarily makes you forget any pain, a shock of lightning shooting up your spine as he swipes his thumb over the front of your ankle. He turns your leg over gently in his hands before deeming it okay. “It’s not swelling, thankfully, so it’s probably just a bad sprain at most.” He exhales, deeply relieved, but continues to run his fingers carefully over the tender area. 

“You couldn’t have predicted they would be there,” you say, his thoughts painted all over his face. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he mumbles, more irritated than you expected. He’s just mad at himself, not at you, you need to remind yourself.  

“You didn’t need to.” Your hand reaches itself out on its own accord, turning his face so you could meet his eyes. “I didn’t get hurt because of you.” 

“But you did get hurt,” he mutters, eyebrows drawn the same way as when he was analyzing the pink symbol a few days prior. The cogs in his brain were turning, you could see, but this time there was a lingering sense of shame. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?” He shrugs, but you catch the muscle in his jaw relax as his eyes soften. “If that’s not safe, then I don’t know what is.” 

“You’re not angry that I wasn’t there sooner?”

“I’m safest when I’m with you,” you state simply, “and you found me at just the right moment. So no, of course I’m not angry with you.” Words slip out of Umemiya’s mouth before he’s able to register that they’re leaving, but he has half the mind to change the middle part of the sentence before he comes off as too overbearing. 

“I…care about you, deeply.” You smile, letting him take your hand into his own and press his lips to the inside of your palm. 

— Day 5 of 5: “We could live so happily // If no one knows that you’re with me”

It’s 7:00 am and Umemiya isn’t outside your door. 

You curl up on your bed and stare out the window, the street below milling with its usual morning business. After he dropped you off the previous night with a curt ‘sleep well’ and a reminder to ice your ankle, you were left in an eerily quiet bedroom while you tossed and turned thinking about the day’s events. A ring of the doorbell sends you hobbling down the stairs and throwing open the front door, only to be met with a very pink Sakura, flanked by Suo and Nirei. 

“Don’t go outside today,” Sakura says bluntly. Nirei flinches and Suo’s smile becomes slightly strained, both of them eyeing their class captain warily. 

“What he means,” Suo says before Sakura can say anything else, “is that you don’t need to come study Bofurin today.” Your heart sinks. This must have been because of the day prior. He was really mad that you got yourself hurt, huh? 

“Don’t look so sad about it,” Sakura mutters, his cheeks turning a slightly darker shade of red. “It’s annoying.” You stutter an unexpected apology and suddenly have the urge to hide back in your room until your train the next day. 

“I get it,” you say quietly. “He’s angry with me. Please give him my thanks for the hospitality he’s shown me this week. I’ll be gone by 8:00 tomorrow.” You move to close the door when all three boys practically throw themselves in the way. 

“Wait, that’s not what we meant!” Nirei’s eyes are the size of basketballs. 

“Please don’t listen to anything Sakura is saying; he has a hard time empathizing with others.” Nirei nods enthusiastically in agreement with Suo, slapping a hand over Sakura’s mouth to prevent the boy from speaking. “Really, that’s not what we mean by saying you don’t need to study us anymore.” 

“Umemiya wants you to take the day to rest,” Nirei explains quickly. “He doesn’t think you should be walking to and from the school on your injured ankle.” Your sadness is replaced with indignancy and you cross your arms over your chest. 

“He couldn’t have told me this himself?” 

“He would, but…” Nirei’s voice trails off and you catch Suo biting the inside of his cheek. Sakura’s the first to break the silence, peeling Nirei’s hand from his face. 

“Umemiya and the upperclassmen have been beating the shit out of those hot pink assholes since last night.” 

“It must’ve been pretty serious, since he didn’t even allow Suo or Sakura to go with them,” Nirei adds, “And they’re some of the best fighters in our class.” 

“How long has he been out?” 

“Hiragi said he called them late last night and a small team raided the hot pink team’s base.” That would mean Bofurin raided the base immediately after dropping you off. Why would he hide that from you? “Technically, he said not to tell you because he knew you’d panic,” Sakura continues. “So he sent us to tell you to take it easy. Don’t stab the messengers.”

“It’s ‘don’t shoot the messengers,’ Sakura,” Suo corrects and Sakura shrugs, indifferent. 

“And we’re already as good as dead anyway,” Nirei says, his expression dropping. “We weren’t supposed to tell you that he’s been fighting those guys that hurt you.” 

“It’s Sakura’s fault for yapping–”

“You wanna fight?”

“What’s done is done, little brothers.” You stiffen, blinking against the morning sun as Umemiya trudges into your vision. His handsome face has seen better days, small cuts and bruises littered all over his skin. He tossed his jacket over his shoulder, revealing the dirtied white shirt that wasn’t stained the previous evening. He rolls a broad shoulder and stretches his neck from side to side, his underclassmen scurrying away as he steps onto the welcome mat. “G’morning,” he greets in a tired voice. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Better late than never,” you deadpan, taking his hand and guiding him inside. “Thanks boys,” you call over your shoulder at the sheepish underclassmen. “I’ll take it from here,” you finish before shutting the door. 

“Gotta say, this place looks better when my vision isn’t blurry,” Umemiya jokes with a wince, collapsing into a chair at the dining table. You ignore his attempt at humor, retrieving the first aid kit from the closet along with a rag that you soak with warm water. His eyes are on you as you move about; you feel his gaze burn into the back of your neck. 

“If you weren’t already beaten to a pulp, I’d slap you,” you mumble, sitting across from him and gently patting the dried blood from his face. 

“And I’d let you,” he manages to smile, never taking his attention away from you. You can’t tell if your face is hot from his intense stare or from the anger bubbling in your stomach. Scooting closer, you start work on the cut above his lip, just missing his nose. “You smell nice.” 

“You need to stop talking.” His smile fades only slightly, his eyes ever watchful while you take care of his wounds. You hope he can’t tell how badly your hands are shaking as you tap antibiotic ointment onto his skin and cover it with a bandage. 

“You’re upset with me,” he says carefully, observing the way you’re conveniently avoiding eye contact. 

“You just figured that out?”

“You gonna tell me why, or are you just gonna keep scowling?”

“This is not how you usually do things,” you say through gritted teeth, gesturing to the evidence of fights all over his body. “You’re diplomatic. You’re understanding. You’re empathetic. You don’t…You don’t solve problems like this!” You don’t realize how loud your voice has become until you register the echo from the empty walls, nor do you realize that you were standing until his eyes were looking up at you. 

“How do you know that I don’t do this?”

“Because I watched you this week and I know how you work.” You swallow thickly. “I don’t know why you’d break all of that just because of some hot pink bastards running around your–”

“I did it because of you,” he says. “I did it because they hurt you.”

“You didn’t need to do that, Hajime.” It’s the first time you’d used his first name and something flutters in Umemiya’s stomach. He can’t do anything but stare at you in awe, watching as your emotions start to escape down your face in wet streaks. His body moves on its own, reaching out to wipe your tears to the side and standing so that your chests are nearly touching. His voice is barely a murmur, reserved only for you to hear. 

“You didn’t want me to do it?” Both your hearts are racing, slamming against your rib cages. 

“If it meant you getting hurt like this, then no.”

“I’d put myself through much worse if it meant you were safe,” he whispers. In this proximity, your anger flies out the window, along with your good judgment. He was so close, you could just–

“What else would you do for me?” His eyelashes flutter against yours. 

“Anything.” Umemiya thinks he has a broken rib from how little he can breathe. 

“Show me.” It’s like a rubber band snaps between your bodies as he finally leans down to kiss you, molding himself so that you could perfectly melt against him. His grip on your waist is rock-solid, holding you close enough that you feel him shudder when you scratch against his undercut. The sound you make when he swipes his tongue against your bottom lip makes his head go completely empty, the same feeling happening for you when his fingers graze the spot where your neck meets your chin. He kisses you feverishly, refusing to let you breathe until you’re forced to pull away lest you completely lose consciousness. 

“Do you always kiss the people you write about?” He winks at you and you roll your eyes, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“Only the ones I fall for,” you whisper back. “I’m still mad at you for ditching me this morning, though.” 

“I sent your three favorite underclassmen instead,” he argues but you shake your head, a smile teasing your mouth. “Fine. How can I make it up to you?” You hum thoughtfully, blinking at him in a way that sent Umemiya’s mind into a frenzy. 

“Kiss me again and we’ll call it even.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

— Day [???] of [???]: 

He’s waiting for you when you step off the train, a dazzling smile on his face that grows when he sees the certificate awarded to you with your scholarship funds. A dozen captains dot the platform, diligently watching the back of their leader as he brings down every guard he has and catches you in his arms. After enduring Umemiya talking their ears off, the silence that falls over the area as you bask in each other’s presence is enough of a reason to switch formations, allowing you time alone with the one man who would put himself through hell if it meant you were still his. 

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[silversodas]

Interesting Alastor Insights

I think I may have figured out what was up Alastor’s ass in Dead Beat Dad. On one hand it may be a deeper issue that I am missing some context for, but I actually think it’s a little simpler then we think.

Even before Lucifer arrived, Alastor was clearly not happy about him coming over, and yes Alastor was 100% full of shit in the dad off song, BUT! Something note worthy is that he was not only being possessive of the Hotel (claiming to be its host and even greeting Lucifer as the master of the house does) but is also weirdly possessive of Charlie

And right down to the “fuck you” to Lucifer’s face it was projecting “get your feet off of my damn coffee table and get outta my house” energy. At first I was wondering what crawled up Alastor’s ass and died, and then Hell’s greatest Dad starts playing and..

“Who’s been faithful as a Nun? Who’s been here since day one?”

And it dawned on me and I was like “Alastor, why are you acting like your being replaced?” And Charlie is just as confused at Alastor’s behavior, like this came out of nowhere. Apparently Alastor was determined to show Lucifer who the Genie of this bottle is. But I didn’t believe it at first, I was like “nah it has to be something else” but then Mimzy gave some VARY interesting insight

When Mimzy first arrived, Alastor has a look that says (oh this is all I need right now) but he still seems happy to see her

Like holy shit, he happily reciprocates the hug, but that’s not to surprising if you know who Mimzy is if you have been fallowing Viv for a while

When she mentioned that he frequented the club (speakeasy)that she preformed in I was like “oh! They are drinking buddies!” Drinking Buddies are someone you generally only know the fun side of because you only hang out together at the bar, but Mimzy highlights a different side to their relationship

“Put on some Jazz, and pour a few fingers of Rye, and he becomes a kitten”

This gives me insight that while they were alive, she wasn’t just his drinking buddy and dance partner, she was his comfort zone. The way she phrased this sentence, made it sound like this was something she used to do for Alastor when they were alive, maybe she was a soothing presence as well as an entertaining one in Alastor’s life. But bar friends can sometimes be pretty high maintenance friends outside the bar, actually I think a lot of us have had something close to a friend like Mimzy in our lives. Apparently she is so bad that even Husk is concerned enough about Alastor to try and talk to him about her

“You and I both know Mimzy only shows up when she needs something. That bitch is trouble, and who knows what demon she fucked with to come running to you this time”

Alastor’s response threw me for a loop

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, don’t worry Husker, who would cross me?”

So Alastor is not immune to having toxic friends? I always assumed he would just drop anyone who became to much trouble, this is an interesting surprise. And on top of that he’s…an enabler!? Huh…that is super interesting to know. Putting a pin in the rest of this interaction for another post because there is a lot to unpack with husk and alastor. Except for the being on a leash thing because it made me realize something.

What if the reason he felt upstaged by Lucifer was not because Lilith told him to keep him away (yeah I am subscribing to the Lilith theory, it’s to much to Be a coincidence) but because he is legitimately afraid of no longer being needed by Charlie? What if, if he isn’t needed by Charlie then he has to go back to wherever he was the last 7 years? Everyone assumes he is free because he acts as such, but is he? Like real question, what if he was a straight up gift to Charlie in a way? Even if it was a “look after my daughter” command I would still call that sending a gift.

And oh man, what if he was suppose to tell the whole truth to Charlie but gave the whole, “I am here for entertainment” speech instead.

And your probably thinking, Charlie wouldn’t tell him to leave. Yeah but does Alastor know that? And he probably thinks Lilith might call him back anyway if he is not needed but just hanging out. But as we have seen, he cant even except his own situation

I will unpack this whole encounter later, but for real I don’t even think he is that mad at husk, he was mad at the reminder that his soul doesn’t belong to him any more. Like look at his face, it’s the most upset we have ever seen him, and it’s so detailed. He looks enraged, but also hurt at the same time. He and Charlie are not friends, yet, but I think he does feel some what safe at the hotel and maybe that’s enough for now

I also think there is some stock in Alastor hating that Lucifer is a bad dad theory, because that contempt was so raw and he did calm the fuck down a little bit during the “more then anything” song

But those are my random insights of Alastor, there were more but this is already to long I just hope it’s coherent

[starlit-typewriter]

Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 4

So fun fact, I got Lyney on 12 pity, with no guaranteed after posting that previous section, so uh. He doesn’t need to be jealous of his siblings anymore I guess.

Warning for Spoilers up to 4.6

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

Cold

It was very cold,

Freezing actually, numbingly cold and frigid. The icy hands of hypothermia creeping up your legs to encase your body into an icy coffi-

Ok, well maybe that’s a step too far.

But it’s cold.

Why is it cold?

Oh it’s snowing that’s why.

You look down at your feet.

Yep, there’s snow.

You wiggle your toes, and see the snow on top if them shift. 

You giggle to yourself at the amusing sight. You look up to see if there’s anyone else.

It’s empty, just a vast expanse of snow and wind.

Wait, no it’s not. There’s a building right over there, it’s massive, tall and imposing with gigantic walls and windows.

Oh there’s a person in one of those windows, hopefully you’re not trespassing.

You can’t really make out who it is, their black and white figure is blurred by the heavy snow and wind, but you try waving to them anyway.

If there’s so much snow and wind shouldn’t you be colder than this?

You blink,

“- gnoring me, I swear,”

You turn your head, and your friend is there.

“Hellooo, why do you keep spacing out?” she complains, taking a sip of her drink.

The two of you are at a cafe. 

She proposed that the two of you meet up now that the weather is nice and take a walk together and get some exercise. Somehow that exercise ended with the two of you sitting in a heavily air conditioned cafe.

You blink, weren’t you just cold.

Oh right, you look over to your side where the AC is blasting on full volume.

“Why don’t we move to different seats,” you offer, “The AC is giving me a headache.”

~~~

“Another successful day of adventuring completed!” Paimon cheered, spinning around as the Traveler handed in the receipts for all their completed commissions. 

The Traveler smiled at her enthusiasm as they accepted their reward from Katheryn, before heading over to where Paimon was floating.

“Hungry for dinner?” They asked, knowing the answer already.

“Of course!” Paimon exclaimed, “As if that’s even a question.” She paused, bobbing slightly as she stared the Traveler down. 

“Hmm, Paimon can’t help but feel you’re up to something, but she can’t figure out what.”

The Traveler takes their time, hemming and hawing as they stroll down the streets of Fountaine with Paimon floating closely behind, riling her up with frustration.

“Grrr, c’mon just tell Paimon, or I’m gonna burst,”

The Traveler laughed at their companion’s frustrated face, before turning to face them with a cheeky smile on their face. “Well, I’ve got a bit more energy than usual, so why don’t you choose a restaurant for us to visit,” they proposed cheekily.

Paimon’s eyes opened wide with anticipation, “really!” She exclaimed, shooting up with anticipation, “you better not be messing with Paimon,” she threatened, eyes sparking.

“Nope,” the Traveler drawled, as they made their way over to the nearby waypoint. They placed their hand on it meaningfully, and extended the other to Paimon. “Where are we going tonight?”

Paimon squealed with happiness, shooting into the Traveler’s arms. “ Komore Teahouse please,” she begged, “We haven’t had hotpot in so long,”

“As you wish,” and in a burst of energy the two disappeared from the streets of Fountaine.

The smell of sweet Sakura blossoms greeted Paimon's nose as the two appeared in Inazuma. 

Thankfully there weren’t too many gawking standerbys, many of them having gotten used to the Traveler's unique ability of traveling through waypoints.

She quickly darted out from their arms and turned to check on them. While it may look effortless, she knew that teleporting took a lot of energy out of the Traveler, and as their traveling companion it’s her responsibility to make sure that they don’t overwork themselves. 

Their breathing was fine, but their head rested on the waypoint, eyes closed. Paimon gave them a moment to collect themselves, hovering anxiously. Within a few seconds their eyelids opened, sending Paimon a reassuring smile.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Paimon asked, feelings slightly guilty at how enthusiastic she was at coming to visit Inazuma, even though she knew how much energy it would take.

“Of course, I did offer after all,” the Traveler replied easily.

The two made their way to Komore teahouse, Paimon made sure to float a bit slower than usual, just in case the Traveler was still tired.

She’s sure they noticed, since they bumped her playfully before whispering “race you,” into her ear and darted off. 

“HEY NO FAIR,”

The two adventurers raced each other down the streets of Inazuma before skidding to a stop outside Komore Teahouse, the Traveler slapping their hand on the sign triumphantly as Paimon panted behind them.

“No, huff huff, fair,” Paimon complained, pointing their finger at the Traveler accusatorially. 

Before the Traveler could gloat about their victory, a familiar voice interrupted the duo.

“Woah woah what happened here,”

“Thoma!” Paimon exclaimed, perking back up. 

The Traveler exchanged warm greetings with the Kamisato housekeeper, as the three headed into the teahouse to catch up.

“-lace flooded and then!” Paimon paused mid story, mouth hanging open.

“And then what?” Thoma asked eagerly engrossed in the story.

The expectant silence was interrupted by a loud stomach gurgle.

There was a moment before all three of them burst into laughter.

“I think Paimon got so engrossed in story telling that we forgot to order food,” the Traveler commented between giggles.

“Hey!”

Thoma took the initiative to stand up and order food for the group. The Traveler tried to get up as well, but was ushered back into their seat. 

“C’mon, it’s already bad enough manners that I made guests wait this long without food, at least let me order it for you,” Thoma pleaded playfully, 

 “I think we’re more friends than guests at this point, ” Paimon chimed in, floating up from her seat.

“You know that’s not what I mean. C’mon, you guys save me some face here.”

After some light heckling and teasing, Thoma darted off to grab some dinner for them.

The Traveler leaned forward in their seat, face still a little pale. 

Paimon floated beside them anxiously. “Are you feeling ok?” She asked quietly, the Traveler doesn’t usually take this long to recover from a teleport trip.

The Traveler hummed lightly in agreement, now fully leaning on the table, “just a bit drowsy.”

Paimon bit her lip nervously, she floated around the Traveler’s head anxiously.

It seemed as if her hovering was annoying them since they soon tilted their head up to gaze at her with slight annoyance. “I’m okay, Paimon, honest.”

Paimon didn’t believe them.

“Are you sure, because -”

“I’m fine,” they cut her off, “I’m more worried about you.”

Paimon blinked, “Me?”

“Do you think I haven’t noticed how much hovering and how anxious you’ve been? I just wanted to- ” they cut themselves off in frustration.

Paimon sagged a little, she didn’t like making the Traveler worry about them.

The Traveler sighed, “If this is about the Kn-”

“No,” Paimon interrupted, “It’s not.”

A disbelieving face was her only answer.

She bit her lip. Maybe she wasn’t as good of an actor as she thought, or it was just the Traveler being able to see through her.

She didn't really want to explain, but considering that they were willing to push themselves in order to try to cheer her up, well. Paimon felt guilty for keeping it from them.

“It’s just not fair!” She burst out, a scowl painting itself on her normally cheerful face. 

“Her being blessed you mean?” The Traveler confirmed, sitting up properly to face Paimon.

“I don’t trust her,” Paimon admitted, her hands twisting together. “She’s so scary and we never know what she’s going to do next, or who she’s going to hurt. Not to mention she’s Fatui Harbinger!”

“So are Childe and the Wanderer,” 

“That’s different and you know it! Wanderer’s working for Nahida now and Childe might be a Harbinger but he won’t hurt us, you can beat him up any day!”

The Traveler sighed, “this is because I lost isn’t it.”

“That’s -” Paimon couldn’t refute that.

The two fell into a bit of an uneasy silence. 

“I’m not the strongest person in Teyvat Paimon. I never have been,” they explained gently.

“I know,” Paimon mumbled, “I just, don’t like the fact that she’s now going to get stronger because of us.”

“You don’t know that- ”

“Yes I do!” She shot back, “So many people we meet just get inexplicably stronger and they all think it’s thanks to us but we haven’t done anything and it’s been fine so far because they’ve all been our friends and have been really nice to us but-”

She gets cut off when the Traveler pulls her into a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” they apologized, “I didn’t know you’ve been struggling with this.”

Paimon relaxed in their hold, “It never really bothered me until now,”

“Me neither,” they admitted, leaning into their hug more.

“Food her-” Thoma paused in the doorway at the sight of the two hugging. “Uh, did I barge in at a bad moment, because I can- ”

“It’s fine,” Paimon exclaimed, flying out of the hug. “We were just uh-”

She looked over to the Traveler for an excuse, but they just shook their head and shrugged.

“Practicing what we’d do if there was an earthquake,” she finished lamely.

Thoma blinked at that admittedly pretty bad excuse, but thankfully knew not to push.

“Alrighty then, well who’s ready for- ”

“HOTPOT,” Paimon’s eyes widened to the size of Dinner plates as the smell of the tray in Thoma’s hands finally reached her nose.

The rest of the meal proceeded merrily as Paimon got to fill her stomach, Thoma got caught up with all their recent adventures, and the Traveler got to bask in good company.

They were pretty quiet, as is the norm, since they prefer to let Paimons speak for them.

Until, well.

“Thoma, what did it feel like when you got blessed.”

The other two fall into silence at the Traveler’s question. Thoma swiveled his head to see the Traveler staring at him with an uncharacteristically serious look. 

Their golden eyes bored into his face, it was easy to forget when they were chatting over a meal or talking walks together, but the Traveler was famous for more than just their adventures. 

Despite their young appearance, they’d always held themselves with an innate grace and authority Thoma had rarely ever seen. A kind of aura that made you wonder whether they were secretly an ancient powerful Yokai in disguise. 

“Uh, well,” Thoma stammered.Even though he could confidently say they were friends, and that they would never lay a hand on him, the fact that the Traveler was so much more powerful than him was hard to ignore at this very moment. “Haven’t you gone through it yourself?”

The Traveler shakes their head, “I don’t remember being blessed,” they responded shortly.

“Well,” Thoma scratched his head, mulling over his words, “I can’t really compare it to getting a vision-” he trailed off, deep in thought.

He looked around before his gaze settled on their empty hotpot bowl. 

“I think I'd compare it to drinking a warm bowl of soup on a freezing cold day.” 

The Traveler quirks a brow, surprised.

“I thought it’d be more dramatic than that,” Paimon added, looking slightly disheartened as well.

“Sorry,” Thoma scratched his head, slightly embarrassed. “That’s just the best way I could think of to describe it.” 

He paused, before angling himself towards the pair to better explain his train of thought, “You know there are some days where it all feels a little overwhelming and exhausting,”

The two nodded in response.

“Think of it like that, its been a super long day, the weather’s a mess, you’re cold and tired and you just want to crawl to bed.” he gestured, trying to convey what a busy day would look like. 

“Then you go inside, and there’s this warm bowl of soup waiting just for you, it’s the perfect temperature so you don’t don’t need to worry about burning you mouth and it just warms you from the inside out and give you more energy to keep going.”

By the end of his story the two were nodding in unison. 

“Does that make sense to you,” he finishes weakly.

“Better,” the Traveler commented, looking over at Paimon who was nodding enthusiastically. 

“Sorry, it’s just that no one’s ever really asked me about that before.” He laughs sheepishly. Internally grateful that the Traveler’s gaze had directed itself elsewhere.

“Really?” Paimon exclaimed, “I’d have thought um-” she trailed off awkwardly.

Thoma knew where they were going, “Lord and Lady Kamisato never mentioned such things to me, they know about my blessing of course, but they never tried to pry into the specifics.”

“Ahh, gotcha,” 

The table lapses into an awkward silence.

“Is there a particular reason why?” Thoma asks eventually.

The two look at each other for a bit before turning back to him.

“Just a bit of investigating,” the Traveler responds vaguely. “It just seems weird to us that this has been happening for years now and now one is really sure why.”

“Well, most of us assumed that you were the one doing the blessing,” he responded, stacking some of the empty plates together. 

“WHAT!” Paimon exclaimed, flying backwards in shock.

“You didn’t know?” Thoma looked surprised.

The Traveler shook their head alongside Paimon’s vehement denial.

“Oh, well that’s a bit awkward,” he laughs, “But don’t worry, we soon realized that you had no control over it,”

“Good,” Paimon nodded, “The last thing we need is people thinking we’re intentionally withholding a blessing from them, or worse people trying to get close to us for the blessing.” She shuddered.

The Traveler nodded in agreement, yawning slightly.

Thoma, perceptive as always, offered to get them a room at the Kamisato estate, only to be met with polite refusal.

“Thanks for the offer Thoma, but we’re probably gonna head out first thing tomorrow morning,” Paimon said, “Plus it’s not like we’re camping outside with our teapot and all,”

“That’s true,” Thoma noted, “then pass on my regards to you Teapot butler for me.”

“Will do, and pass on ours to Ayaka and Ayato.” The Traveler responded kindly.

~~~ 

Later that night, Paimon and the Traveler were getting ready to sleep.

“Ooof, Paimon is stuffed,” she stretched, floating down towards the bed.

“Satisfying meal?” the Traveler commented wryly, tucking their legs under their chin from where they were seated on their bed.

“Mmhmm,” Paimon agreed, curling up under the blankets. 

“Thank you,” she said, after a short pause.

She didn’t need to elaborate, the two had traveled together for far too long for that. Despite how it may look to outsiders, and how the Traveler might joke about her being emergency food, she knew how much the Traveler treasured their relationship and vice versa.

She remembered the darker days at the beginning of their partnership, when the Traveler would wake up in the middle of the night screaming for their sibling, or days when they could barely talk, overstimulated by the world around them. Whilst Paimon was no expert doctor, she knew how to bring the traveler out of their shell and what they were comfortable with.

She knew that the Traveler still had a difficult time meeting new people, and that even though that had a near total mastery of Teyvat’s language, its not one that they enjoyed using.

There were still bad days of course, and bad nights, but Paimon knew how to deal with them better now.

A soft snore interrupted her train of thought.

She looked over to see the Traveler comfortably asleep.

Yeah, things are good the way they are.

She curled up in her own blankets and let darkness overtake her.

~~~

Poke,

Poke, Poke

A soft giggle.

Paimon scrunched her nose and turned to her other side to avoid the poking, to no avail.

The soft pokes to her squishy cheeks continued.

Paimon became fed up before long and shot out of bed, ready to yell at the Traveler for waking her up like that, only to be faced with, not the Traveler.

A stranger stood in front of her with a confused look on their face.

“You weren’t supposed to wake up,” they muttered in confusion.

Paimon stared at them for a brief second before bursting into a scream.

~~~

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~~~

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If you'd like the join the taglist, please send me an ask, it's a lot easier to keep track and I'd hate to miss anyone.

Or if you just have any questions or comments, my ask box is open!

[creature-wizard]

"I'm in a bad place and need to get out, what can I do?"

I figured I'd make a post with all the resources/tips I've collected to help people get out of shitty situations so far, since it's easier than linking to a bunch of posts each time.

Seek out appropriate resources. This can include support groups (online or offline), helplines, and the like.

If you're in the US, you can call 211 to help you find resources.

Crisis Text Line offers services to the US, Ireland, Canada, and the UK.

RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) is a US service offers a lot of information for sexual abuse survivors.

The Trevor Lifeline is a service for queer youth in the US.

If you're a minor, you may wish to read How To Escape Abusive Parents: A Guide For Minors.

If you're an adult, you may wish to read How To Escape Abusive Parents: A Guide For Adults.

You might also Duckduckgo something like "resources for people in abuse" or "abuse resources help" or "domestic violence survivors resources".

Ask people for help in finding resources. If you can't find anything on your own, there are other people who know where to direct you. It might take awhile to find what you're looking for, but keep asking.

A WORD OF CAUTION: there are many predatory spiritual groups and conspiracy theorists out there who prey on abuse survivors and mentally ill people. You will often see these people claiming that channeling or hypnosis can help you remember past life memories or repressed traumatic memories. This is nonsense and quackery.

Relevant posts of mine:

Hypnosis is unreliable for memory recovery, and this is one way we know.

False past life memories among the starseed movement

Here’s the trouble with hypnotic regression…

If you're on a website that claims to support cult survivors and you see any of these names in the citations (and make sure you check the citations!), leave immediately - all of these people are far right conspiracy theorists. (Unfortunately, many people today are unwittingly perpetuating the BS of Fritz Springmeier in particular. See this and this for more info on that.)

Change who and what you surround yourself with. Start associating with different people/groups as much as you can. Get hobbies to fill your time. Unfollow blogs that reinforce the beliefs you're trying to get away from, and follow blogs that provide a healthier alternative.

You might follow blogs like:

A Kind Place

Trauma Survivors Helping Trauma Survivors

Compassionate Reminders

Trauma Survivors Activities

Reasons For Hope

Bluest Fluff

If you're trying to rebuild your worldview without conspiratorial/culty elements, go take a look at my Resources page.

Remember that your first job is looking after yourself. You don't owe the group. You aren't responsible for the group, or for anyone in it. It might feel that way, but it's vitally important to acknowledge when you're unqualified or suffering burnout. You might feel like bad things will happen if you leave, but that's a fear, not a fact.

You also don't have to justify your departure to the group. You can just leave. If you feel that you must give a reason, you can offer something as simple as "I need to take some time to focus on my mental health" or "I'm really busy lately and don't have time to spend here." If they throw a fit over this, that's honestly just more proof that you need to get out.

If any practices the group taught you actually helped, you can keep doing them. If doing affirmations helped you, keep doing affirmations. If listening to so-called healing frequencies actually made you feel better, you don't have to stop listening to them. If you were practicing something like the Law of Assumption, you can carry on with a lot of that under a psychological model rather than Neville Goddard's wacky metaphysical model. (See this video for an example.) If it genuinely helps you and doesn't hurt anyone else, by all means, keep doing it.

You might look at my Manifestation Without Woo posts:

Manifestation Without Woo: Changing Your Brain

Manifestation Without Woo: People React To Your Projections, & Your Projections Affect Your Perceptions

Manifestation Without Woo: Setting Reasonable Goals

Manifestation Without Woo: Make It Fun!

Manifestation Without Woo: What If It's Not Working?

Get some critical thinking skills. In order to keep yourself from falling into another bad group, it's important to develop your critical thinking skills.

Learn to apply the Five W's (who, what, when, where, and why) when encountering any information.

Learn common logical fallacies.

Learn the difference between fact, opinion, belief, and prejudice.

Don't equate emotional reactions with some kind of innate or higher moral guidance.

Ask yourself if you're "thinking for yourself" or being led to believe you're thinking for yourself.

Know what emotional manipulation tactics look like.

Watch out for these behaviors in any new group you join.

Yes, there are ways to confirm the age of an old text without having the original text itself.

Learn how propaganda works.

Watch out for these red flags in spiritual groups.

And watch out for this red flag.

Understand that belief doesn't have to be binary.

So yeah, hopefully this'll give folks some actionable advice. I can't promise it's going to help each and every person out there, but hopefully it'll give a lot of you something that will help.