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neoplatinum · 3 months

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north and south poles | minatozaki sana

summary: sana wonders, are we not the two sides of the magnet?

pairing: childhood-friend!sana x fem!reader

themes: extremely angsty, best friends to ?? to ??, internalized homophobia, gender dysphoria, sana's not too great of a friend, reader is a pushover until she isn't, implied sex, original male character, [----] x reader

wc: 3.3k

(side a: we can't be friends - ariana grande)

when sana's seven, her mother explains the cardinal rules in life. that boys and girls are polar opposites, like two sides of the coin, or like left and right. boys and girls are like the north and south poles of a magnet. and for a long time this holds true.

boys like to play rough, kick dirt over each other, chase after poor cats in hopes of catching them, or smack each other in the head. it's all a bit too gruesome for sana. she never did like watching them play, it felt like they were fighting. boys are like boxing matches, competing for a top winner. but girls are different.

girls are gentle, they play with dolls together, creating groups to play house or sliding down slides, and everyone cheers each other on. girls also like sharing cool things they found: cute rocks, rings, and toys. girls are like gentle waves crashing against the beach.

sana makes this distinction very early on, boys are boys and girls are girls. there's no in between for a seven year old sana. and life gets explained to her pretty easily by her mom. be a pretty girl, and you'll marry a good man who'll protect you and your family.

but her mother also told sana that you were a rowdy kid. a girl that played with the boys; you liked kicking dirt at the boys, chasing cats to catch them, or smacking each other in the head. but you were a girl, you also liked playing with dolls, and sliding down slides. you especially liked cute rocks, so you were someone she needed clarification with how to categorize as a kid.

so she asked her mom about you.

"oh her, she has no manners. her parents probably don't have enough time to teach her all that. they're both always so busy at work." her mother's chopping onions as she speaks, not lifting an eye at sana. and little sana rocks herself back and forth in the kitchen, a little confused by her own mom.

she's met your parents, they were nice people. offering royal milk tea to her, even if she wasn't allowed to have it. they always gave sana first pick for dishes they made, always. and like them, you often gave her parts of your lunch whenever sana was given too little.

and when sana enters middle school, this cardinal rule starts to shake a bit. boys are boys and girls are girls, but you are a girl, with boy-ish tendencies.

you liked playing rough with fuji, throwing dirt at each other even if it stained each other's school uniform. you liked shoving bigger boys when they were mean to girls, even if you had a black eye and sana had to rub a hard boiled egg over it.

but you were also as gentle as a girl, you held sana's hand gently whenever she wanted to walk along the rock wall, balancing on the ledge. you also helped blow and wash off sana's cuts whenever she scraped her knee in dance. just like how her mother does it.

you were the in between, and in between's don't exist in her mother's cardinal rule. when her mother and father sit at the dinner table and sana's mother asks her which boy in class she thinks is cute. sana doesn't think of any boy, but she thinks of you. you with your rough exterior with the older boys, but gentle and soft to sana, always.

"fuji?" her mother asks her. and sana thinks about fuji, a dependable friend in her life. a boy that is also gentler, although sometimes she thinks he's too loud during basketball. he shoves harder than you do, when you three play tag together. his hands are more rough, he towers over sana and really she sees him like an older brother.

sana thinks fuji is exactly the guy that her mother would like for her to marry.

"yeah, i think so." but sana really doesn't think so, her mind drifts off to your long hair and your soft shoulders.

when sana's twelve and excited to go home with you after the sga meeting, fuji confesses to her at the back of the school. he presents to her a letter. and through it all, the only thing she could gather was that sana was the prettiest girl in their class, and she has the prettiest smile.

all these compliments feel nice, but it doesn't stir her like you do. when you tell her that her hair is pretty today or that the bow she chose to match her shoes makes her look look fashionable. she stands by the wall, hands behind her back and staring at her shoes. all she can afford to do is nod at the words.

she knows this much, fuji is nice enough. he doesn't kick her chair like some other boys in the class; he always lets her walk inside the sidewalk when there are cars. so when he asks for a first date, she agrees, not letting her eyes look up at him. he walks away relieved, but sana can't feel anything other than a weight in her stomach.

another cardinal rule her mother told her is that lying is wrong.

so she asks for your opinion, and as she stands by your desk, watching you peacefully take a nap. she thinks about just ripping up the letter in her hand. she readies herself for the best performance of her life. to ask you a question that's self-indulgent. if you'll be her first kiss. and just like that she broke another cardinal rule, lying to you, but mostly to herself.

she thinks your lips would be soft, smelling like that cherry lipstick you like so much. and when you do kiss, she feels like she's floating. your hands are soft, when they cradle her jaw. moisturized with that cherry hand cream she gifted you. your hands are smaller too, they fit her head nicely. and most of all you're gentle. you pull apart, and sana nearly falls forward, body leaning into the kiss.

you stare at her in expectation, and panic surges through her body. you aren't fuji, you are the girl that's always played rougher than other girls. a girl that'll always give her 100% during class sprints, while all the other girls lightly jog. and the first thing she can think of is that she wishes you were a boy.

so she say's the exact words that tear your heart apart.

“wow yeah, that was good.” sana fiddles with her school skirt, “i wish you were a boy, you’d make a girl very happy kissing her like that.”

sana says that, but she watches as your eyes fall, hand dejected, and she can't help but feel like everything she knows about love is wrong. you don't say anything, so she leaves, closing the sga door behind her.

eyes welling up in tears as she thinks about how wrong this all is. if only you were a boy. she sinks onto the floor and cries into herself. when sana goes on the date, and fuji kisses her at her doorstep, she thinks of you. how he has to bend down to kiss her, and it all feels so wrong. later that night she starts a pros/cons list between you and fuji.

the only thing she has written for fuji is that "mother would like him." she tears the sheet of paper and tosses it into her waste basket.

when sana's eighteen and talking to her friends about boyfriends. all they have to say is that sex is amazing. they all talk about their first time and when they ask sana of what she thinks, she confesses that she's never done it.

"doesn't fuji ask you to?" one friend asks.

"no, he doesn't." the girl looks at sana weird but then shakes her head quickly.

"some guys are like that, they might not want to do it yet." she comments and then the conversation shifts on to talk about the latest school gossip.

sana's quiet for the rest of the week. she thinks about it, sex with fuji, and all she can do is groan. it's the natural progression of a relationship, but she feels like it's a weight in her stomach. that same weight she felt when he confessed to her.

so she does what she naturally did next when she was twelve; she finds you. she hasn't visited your house in years, it's still the same, even though there's a new door that she doesn't recognize anymore. and when she rings it, she finally sees you up close after so long.

she thinks about what she came here for in the first place. oh right, sex with fuji. so she comes up with the best excuse she can, that fuji wants to have sex. she knows its absurd, she's lying through her teeth, none of the reasons makes sense.

but the way you look right now, she can't think of anyone else she wants to have sex with. it stirs low in her stomach. her wanting you, so she lets a bit of truth in her lie.

"i need you to be my first, i want you to be. it can't be anyone else." sana is firm, but you look conflicted. eyes flitting all over the room. debating your morals.

she grabs your hands. eyes with want as she stares at you, and then you say yes. and suddenly the weight is lifted. sana feels like she's floating again.

when you pull her into your room, she feels like she's invincible. this room has always been so safe, and the way you stare into her with want, she thinks she wants to stay here forever in your arms.

the way you ask for permission, the way you constantly ask her if this is what she wants. asking if she's feeling good, gentle hands smelling like cherries that slip off her clothes. she thinks she'll stay naked like this forever if you asked her to.

her mind fills with you, shouting your name into the night where only you two exist in this world. she thinks this is right, this is what love is all about. this little bubble lasts only a night.

weeks later, she proposes sex to fuji, and he nods adamantly. like a horny teenager boy, which he is. but it all feels so off, even though she know's that he'll never cross boundaries. his hands feel too rough, he's too fast and he never asks sana how she feels.

sana feels the emptiest when she thinks back to how she thanked you when she left your room, when all she wanted to say was "i love you." and cherish you for the rest of her life.

when sana's nineteen on her birthday, all she can think of is how she hates fuji's arms around her shoulder. how you stare at the arm like it's the most offensive thing in the world. and sana agrees too, it is offensive, so she shoves it off, playing it off like she has an itchy shoulder.

she smiles at the way you relax back into your seat, like you staked your claim on her. it makes her feel wanted by you. even if she knows its wrong that you kiss her messily in the bar bathroom five minutes later, she feels like life is right.

when sana's twenty, bored out of her mind in her apartment with fuji. she thinks of you, she often does anyways. eyes wide when she comes up with the best plan. she purposely fights with fuji, calls him too suffocating, watching tears roll down his eyes, and she feels bad. she really does, she hates seeing him cry because of her, but she needs to get away.

so she calls you, bags packed and waiting by the door. her heart leaping in her chest when you knock on the door. grabbing her bags and asking her to stay in the car. giving stern words to fuji before finally leaving together. away from fuji.

sana stays with you for weeks, waking up and sleeping next to you. always attached to the hip, just like magnets. she lets herself believe this is her life, living with you, being with each other forever. she fits perfectly in your hold, as well as you in her. she always tells you she loves you, but only after you fallen asleep. she whispers it into your ears like they'll be heard. like a spell she put you under.

she doesn't think about fuji until he texts her much later, asking if it's okay to meet up and make up. so she goes back, feeling awful about letting her boyfriend believe she's mad at him. she avoids you for months to not feel the guilt. but it eats at her every day.

when sana's twenty-four and enjoying a stroll in the city with fuji. he proposes to her, with both their families around for the surprise. as she listens to him, one knee up, professing his love for her. she looks at her mother, her mother with happy tears in her eyes and she can't find herself to say no, so she says yes instead.

wedding planning is fun when she thinks about it as a wedding with you, so the best she can do is ask you to be her maid of honor. she presents to you the wedding invitation in your apartment. talking your ear off about how happy she is, watching you get more and more upset.

just waiting for you to tell her you want to run away with her, to elope together. move away and change names and live in europe together. she lists off all the things she can think of that a girl would like in a wedding, but you never ask her to run away. she knows its selfish, to want you to pull her out of her life, she just can't find the courage to pull herself out of it.

you show up to the wedding, in a gorgeous dress that she thinks that she would marry you in right now. you give a speech about how you, fuji, and sana all met. you talk with so much passion in your voice. she thinks that you might actually be happy for them. sana cries tears out of despair, maybe you really do think sana loves fuji. but she's in love with you.

when you make an analogy that fuji and sana are like magnets drawn to each other, the whole crowd awws, and sana feels her heart break. thats how she sees you and her, a perfect match. the rest of the wedding becomes unremarkable to her.

when you disappear, sana searches for you: eyes wide and frantic. calling up all your friends and family, but they all say the same thing, "she said she's going on vacation for a while, soul-searching?"

sana visits your house everyday, waiting for you to show up like hidden treasure. ever since she's found out she's been pregnant, she's been trying to find tell you about it. you should be the first to know, but you don't show up until a month later.

and when sana wakes up to the sight of you, it's like she's whole again. she walks away from that conversation sadder than ever, you don't drown in her eyes anymore. hands shuffling and changing positions often as she explains about her new incoming newborn.

when sana's twenty-five you walk out of her life. after the long labor and intense pain she went through, out came her little baby girl. wailing and crying at the introduction of the world, fuji's trying to wipe down sana's sweat and calm her down, but sana's drowsiness leads to her calling out your name instead, fuji think it's strange but doesn't comment on it. she sleeps for a long time.

when she wakes up to fuji excitedly telling sana that you are visiting. she tries her best to smooth out her hair and her heart rate jumps at the news. so she gets ready for you to visit her.

she thinks she'll name her daughter after you, the same girl she's so in love with. when she proposes the idea, you shut her down. she's never heard this tone before, so harsh and so mean. but she deserves it, the same way she knows she deserves all things bad to her when you look so dejected every time she leaves. she needs you by her side, she can't do motherhood alone with fuji, she doesn't think she can do life without you.

but then you say it, words that make her feel like her heart got pulled out of her chest. you pulled it out. you're moving away, a whole different country, a whole life without sana. and you want to, be away from sana. she can hear it in the way you say it, the way you stand up from the visitor's chair, having only sat there for a minute. the way you walk out of the room. you would have kept walking out had fuji not stopped you.

and sana's angry, after all this, you walk away. she can't tell who she's angry at anymore. angry at you, angry at fuji, angry at her mom, angry at the world. and she lands on it, she's angry at herself. with hot tears running down her face, you look back one more time, and you still leave. like you just double checked that it is exactly what you want to do, leave sana all alone.

when sana's thirty and thinking, "yeah, i am okay after all this time." she isn't. because her little girl has just run into you. and nearly hit her head, falling back. but with gentle and caring hands, you stand her back up. asking her daughter if she's alright. and as her daughter runs back to sana, sana can see you for the first time in five years.

your hair is longer, you look more tired, more lines on your face. but your eyes are still so wild, familiar eyes that she's found herself dreaming about for years. for five years to be exact, she dreams of you returning. so you walk up to sana and fuji, calm and collected about seeing them after five years.

but sana's panicking, like she's seen a ghost. you basically are a ghost in sana's life, she's been wondering lately if you really have been there in her life, if not for photos she really wonders if this is all a dream.

a dream that comes crashing down, you pick up a small girl, she's younger than sana's daughter. but she's got your wild eyes and cute nose. and sana thinks that she could die here. right now the rug could be pulled out from under her and she wouldn't utter a peep.

you have a daughter, and a wife. a gorgeous wife who smiles at you like how sana used to. and her eye line follows, you look your wife with the same passion of when you were both eighteen and far too stupid to understand anything in the world. you look at this woman like you used to look at sana.

"it's been a while." sana's voice cuts in. she needs to hear your voice after so long.

"yeah, i guess it has." you reply, finally looking at her after so long. sana gulps, willing the tears away. you sound the same, lighter than your last conversation, like you've made peace with it.

"honey, you're crying." fuji says wiping away sana's tear and you smile at that. like you've finally accepted fuji as her husband.

"oh i didn't notice." sana laughs, rapidly wiping her tears away. she's embarrassed, here she is thinking that you still love her, but you don't. not anymore.

sana tries her best to talk with fuji and momo. them talking about their line of work and interests. but sana can only stare at you.

eyes wide open.

a/n: i think im actually evil for writing this. like no joke. but anyways!! stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

#sana x reader #twice sana #sana twice #minatozaki sana #sana minatozaki #twice x you #twice x reader #twice #kpop imagines #neoplatinum

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seeingivy · 9 months

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the met gala

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

content: the end contains some possibly triggering content. toxic man moment/unsafe situation so dni and protect ur peace if you need to.

an: fan service to the highest t. you want laufey? i'l give you laufey. you want sukuna? ill give you sukuna. did you ask for catoru gojo? no but i'll give it to you anyways. and the end is a nice yummy lil eren little fdklsfjdksljfkdlsjfkdsjk. also I changed real life met gala lore idgaf if they don't do real perfomances there bc they do now

songs mentioned: death of a bachelor by panic at the disco, seven by taylor swift, promise by laufey, and dorothea by taylor swift

previous part linked here

Eren waits for it in nervous anticipation. Because despite everything Hyla and Lana say, he knows for a fact that you won’t be staying silent. That Danny and Sareen wouldn’t let this slide and neither would you.

And it eats at him while he waits for the real response, beyond that video Connie posted of you, Mikasa, Connie, and Jean dancing to Girlfriend and your tweets about how much you loved the song.

He’s positive that a forty second video can’t be all you’re doing. People loved it and thought it was funny. But surely that can’t be it.

“I can’t believe all your friends sided with her. I thought you were close with Connie.” Lana mentions.

“I was. Before you did that.” Eren responds, clenching his jaw. He can feel anger surging through his blood, every minuscule fraction of frustration building even more - like it had been for the past three days since the awards show.

It's irritating how quick things crumble down. He figures this is what Sukuna was talking about. Because the last time he talked to Connie was when Mikasa called him and it was nothing short of irritating.

Eren’s phone rings in the middle of the night and he’s nearly scrambling out of his bed because he thinks it’s you. Nine hours after the awards show and you’ve finally gotten the chance to respond.

Except he sees Mikasa’s name flashing across the screen, accompanied with her contact picture which is you and Mikasa sleeping.

“Mika? What’s wrong?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you Eren?”

“Mikasa. Okay, I can ex-”

“You can explain? You can explain why you just humiliated Y/N in public? Are you serious?”

“I-I know it’s bad and she hasn’t picked up my calls and-”

“Eren. Is there something wrong with you? Because I don’t even recognize you right now. You would never do something like this, let alone to her of all people.”

“Did you just call me to yell at me Mikasa? You don’t think I feel bad enough about it already? You don’t think I would have stopped it if I had any idea it was going to happen?”

He hears the line get quieter and Mikasa murmuring over the phone, only to be met with Connie talking to him now.

“Hi Eren. It’s Connie.”

Eren sighs, the fact that Mikasa’s so put off she won’t even talk to him sitting wrong with him all together.

“Hi Con.”

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah. Yeah, is she okay?”

“Mika? You know her, she gets mad so fast and-”

“Not her.” Eren whispers.

“Oh. No, no that’s why we called. She won’t talk to any of us. We called to see if you would know what to do because we’re coming short on ideas.”

The words die on Eren’s tongue. The first line of defense when you get like this is always him, because he can always get you to talk.

Could always get you to talk.

“You tried Levi?”

“Yes.”

“Her brothers. You need to fly Falco and Colt out now. I’ll pay for the tickets. Get the shin ramen from the store, it’s her comfort food - put half of the spice packet in because she can’t eat it too spicy, make sure you boil the egg for six minutes because she likes it when it’s still a little runny, and chop ONLY carrots and green onions for the vegetables. And put on Spy Family, it’s her favorite show. Her favorite episode is nine, I think. It’s called Show Off How In Love You Are. ”

“Okay, that’s all great man. Really. Thanks.”

“Connie?”

“Yeah?”

The thought crosses his mind so fast and suddenly he's asking it.

“Do you hate me?” Eren asks, the whisper in his voice sounding so pitiful that he’s almost embarrassed.

“No, Eren. I could never. Just, I have to be here because she needs us right now. You get that.”

“No, no I do. Take care of her, please. Tell me how it goes.”

“Yeah man. Sure.”

Connie hangs up and the guilt eats at Eren.

Eren hears the resounding pounding of footsteps - only to be met with Myka, Hyla, and two other people he’s literally never seen before - standing in his bedroom.

The first thing he learned quickly about filming with these people? They have no concept of personal space or time.

“What?”

“Ricky and Y/N. They made a music video. Put it on.” Myka states, the group of them crawling onto Eren’s bed as he starts pulling up the video.

The thumbnail already has him sick to his stomach. It’s you kissing Ricky’s cheek. The video starts with you and Ricky’s hands, playing the piano together, and it takes Eren all but three seconds to realize that this is the horrible, gut-wrenching response he was waiting for.

His first cue? Not only are the two of you playing the piano together, but you and Ricky are wearing matching, beaded bracelets with each other’s names on them. Like the ones you and Eren have, the one he keeps on him at all times.

The camera pans up to the two of you and Ricky starts singing, which earns him a nice list of profanities from Lana at his side.

Do I look lonely? I see the shadows on my face People have told me I don't look the same Maybe I lost weight I'm playing hooky with the best of the best Put my heart on my chest so that you can see it, too I'm walking the long road, watching the sky fall The lace in your dress tangles my neck, how do I live?

His second cue? The dress you’re wearing in the video, the one with the lace, is one he knows all too well.

“Okay so, Eren. I have to find a dress to wear for the album premiere tomorrow. And it's my first album and it's special and I want it to be perfect. Something kind of soft and casual, since it’s just going to be just fans. Can you help me pick?”

Eren nods as he flops back onto the soft plush of your bed, eyes focused on all the little pictures and knick knacks littered over the walls of your childhood bedroom. Participation awards for sports, signed letters from your teachers, and pictures of you and Colt doing karaoke.

“Ew, Eren. Don’t look at those.”

“What do you mean? You were such a cute baby.”

Eren hopes your kids don’t inherit your messy hair genes as you walk up to his side and look at the picture - of you and Colt with little pink microphones in your hand and the little plastic crown on your head.

“You know, you still do that.”

“Do what?”

“Everyone else holds the microphone at the top, their fingers nearly wrapped around the wire. You’re like the only person I know who holds it at the bottom - like you’re doing in the picture.”

You roll your eyes as you gesture to the dress, asking for his opinion. Eren stands up, grabbing you by the wrist, to spin you around in the air. And he loves the sound of your laugh and how you berate him immediately after.

“Eren. Be serious. What do you think?”

“Perfect. Wear this one.”

“But it’s black - it doesn’t really fit the vibe that I wanted to go with.”

“Good point. No one should see you in this but me. Try another one on.” Eren states, placing a kiss on your neck before walking over to your bookshelf.

"You're no help." you whine.

"I'm biased. You look good in everything, sweetheart."

He’s running his hands against the spines of your books, clearly bent and broken from reading them so much as you try on the next dress.

“Love?”

“Hm?” your voice comes out, all muffled from the sound of the closet door.

“How many times have you read the Goblet of Fire? This spine is demolished.”

He feels your limbs wrap around his neck and a kiss on his cheek as you lazily murmur into his skin.

“Lots. Cedric Diggory was my first love.”

“Oh? Really?”

Eren turns around and makes it a point to pointedly glare at you, which you return with the sweetest, cheesiest of smiles as you tease him on.

“Oh, of course. I’ve always had a thing for Hufflepuffs.”

“Would you look at that? I’m a Hufflepuff too.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a Ravenclaw, Eren.”

“I was expecting you to say Slytherin.”

“No, I feel like that’s a cop-out answer. You’re intelligent, creative, and clever. Ravenclaw.”

Eren smiles as he brings his hands down to your wrists again, spinning you in the air again. He brings his hands up to your hair to tuck your hair behind your ears before responding.

“Nope. Very pretty, but too formal for something small like this.”

“I appreciate the honesty this time, mon chéri. I only have one more, so it better be the one.”

Eren leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“What was that for?”

“I love it when you speak French to me.” he whispers.

Eren watches you roll your eyes as you disappear into your closet again. He settles into the seat at your desk, flipping through the song lyrics in your bound notebook.

And he doesn’t miss the polaroids you have taped into certain pages - the one of the two of you at the vow renewal on your invisible string page and one of him at the piano on the New Year’s Day page.

“Okay, Eren. Good?”

Eren turns around to find you shyly smiling at him, hands tucked behind your back. It’s a soft white dress, with a lace neckline. Eren thinks it makes you look like an angel. He makes it a point to stand up just so he can push you onto the bed behind you and lean right over you.

“Eren.”

He leans forward and starts peppering kisses all over your cheeks and your face, leaving longer lingering ones in your neck that leave you in a fit of nervous giggles and saying his name so softly it only sets him off more.

“It should be illegal-”

Kiss.

“To look like this.”

Kiss.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

Kiss.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to drive me crazy, love.”

“Am not, Eren. It’s just a dress.”

“It’s never just a dress with you. Be serious, Y/N.”

He watches your eyes go wide, a soft pink dusting your cheeks. Your hands are resting on his face and he swears they’re shaking, your arms trembling along with them. Eren brings his hand to your cheek, softly brushing across the skin once.

“Hey. What is it?” he whispers.

“You said my name.”

“I say your name all the time.”

“No, no. You always call me love or sweetheart.”

“Do you like it when I say your name, Y/N?”

He watches the blush spread across your cheeks again as you nod, the sweetest smile on your face.

“I like how you say it. Y/N.”

“I love your name. Though, it’s missing something.”

He watches you frown, the confused look spreading across your face.

“What’s that?”

“My last name at the end.” he responds, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Ew, Eren. That was so corny.”

He brings his hands down to the side of your dress, where the zipper lies and starts pulling down. He watches the shock spread on your face, immediately pulling back.

“Are you crazy? Falco and Colt are still here even if my parents aren’t.”

“Falco is sleeping over across the street. And Colt is definitely at a party and pretending not to be. Who takes limes and salt to a study session? He definitely needs those for the drinks, silly girl.” he responds, sliding the dress off your shoulders and burying his face in the crook of your neck, leaving lazy kisses all over your skin.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“Chelseaiswatching.” you murmur.

“Huh?”

“Chelsea is watching.” you whisper.

“Who the fuck is Chelsea?” he asks, the panic laced in his voice.

You point over his shoulder and he immediately rolls his eyes when he sees her, bringing his hands up to pinch your cheeks.

“Are you being serious? You can’t kiss me back because your stuffed animal is watching?”

“Eren. It’s weird, I’ve had her since I was a kid. And my dad bought her for me.” you whine.

“And you think she’s going to narc on you?”

“No. It’s the principle, Eren! Don’t do inappropriate things when kids or kid-like things are present.”

Eren stands up, making it a point to pick up your stuffed animal and bury it in the back of your closet before he returns, hands on his hips.

“Okay. Anything else? Do I need to put tape over your posters of Loid Forger doesn’t watch us doing it?”

“Now that you say it, it’s actually-”

“Too bad.”

And well after being tangled in the sheets together, Eren pretends not to be offended when you pull on a hoodie and immediately get out of bed and reach for your notebook and your pen instead of cuddling with him after.

You crawl back in the bed next to him, where he immediately rests his head in your lap and starts groaning. You reach forward to push the messy hair out of his face and make a mental note to cover up the purple skin on his neck later so Colt doesn’t hang you at the cross whenever he comes back.

“Did I get you that inspired that you can’t hold me right now?”

“Basically. You’re my muse, Eren.”

“What’s the song called, Y/N?”

“Dress.”

“Clever. I wonder what it’s about.” he responds, pressing kisses along your thigh, consecutively going higher with each kiss.

“Eren. Are you serious? It’s only been like ten minutes.” you respond, the nervous jittery feeling growing in your stomach.

“It’s like vitamins. Can’t go without it.”

“Do not refer to it as vitamins. And you can technically go without vitamins, if you’re like really healthy.”

“Quit being a know-it-all. You know I meant like medicine.”

“Eren.” you respond, a warning tone in your voice as you keep scribbling your lyrics out.

“You get two minutes to finish what you’re writing and then I’m throwing that book out the window.” he responds, his breath on the inside of your legs tickling you.

Eren knows you’re trying to drive him crazy and not in the way he likes. And it’s working. And Ricky’s all too agitating singing voice doesn’t make it any better.

The death of a bachelor Oh oh Seems so fitting for Happily ever after (woo) How could I ask for more? A lifetime of laughter At the expense of the death of a bachelor

Eren watches you and Ricky dancing through the streets, while Ricky sings on and on about happily ever after, and he can’t help but slam the computer shut and all but push the group of them out of his room. And when he closes the door, all he can do is cry and hope they can’t hear him.

You peek out the window and count seven black cars and fourteen different people standing on the block, anxious faces craning up with shining black cameras in their hand. You feel a hand on your shoulder and know the ice cold hands can only be Ricky.

“Hey.”

“How many?”

“Fourteen.” you groan, giving him a frown as you yank your shoulder out from under his hand and walk past him.

You head to the vanity, where you’re going to place your last finishing touches on your outfit. Ricky’s quick to follow and lean into your space, with a smirk pressed on his face.

“Ricky.”

“Yes, babe?”

“Ew. Do you need something? Or are you all up in my space for fun?”

“For fun! You smell really good.”

You make it a point to lightly shove him back, which you both laugh at as you clip on the sparkly necklace, making it a point to not move suddenly at all from this moment forward.

It would be infinitely embarrassing if you ripped the first designer dress you wore. Especially when you have to return it later.

Ricky swings his hand around you from the back and holds a cupcake in front of your face, a glimmering blue candle lit in the middle. You give him a questioning look in the mirror.

“Baby’s first Met Gala!”

You snort as you blow out the candle, taking it from his hands and pulling the wax out.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Ricky says.

“For?”

“The cupcake! And getting you invited to the Met Gala.”

You smack his shoulder, giving him your angriest look, before you both laugh.

“You’re a prick. I got invited all on my own.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” he responds, sarcastically.

“What flavor is the cupcake?”

“Chocolate.”

“Eh. I like vanilla.” you respond, swiping the frosting off the top with your finger. But before you can lick it, Ricky reaches for it first and swipes it right off your finger.

“I mean, I was going to eat that, Ricky.”

“I only like the frosting of the cupcake.”

“Well, I only like the frosting too. Especially when it’s not the flavor of cake I like.”

You hand Ricky the rest of the cupcake and grab your purse as you head out. You press the button on the elevator and both slide in when it opens, the anticipation of the fourteen people waiting outside for you and the hundred more who will be at the event sitting on you. You must be making some weird face because Ricky catches on to it super fast.

“Just relax. It’s just paparazzi, not flying to the moon.”

“I know that. I just feel like I’m not entirely here at the moment. And they’re all going to ask me about Girlfriend and you and Eren and I just-”

You still haven’t encountered the press after the entire thing, despite most of the tabloids writing things in your favor. Because rehashing the worst thing that’s ever happened for you in the two seconds the paparazzi talk to you and have it become a whole convoluted story is not something you’re ready for.

After the entire thing went down, you retreated to your room for one day. One day. With full intentions to mope for the rest of your life, because you would never live this down. And because the entire ordeal was so overstimulating, so stressful that you need to rest.

Until Danny and Sareen dragged you out by the legs and forced you to film a music video with Ricky. Then go to his debut of the song and the music video in Times Square. And then they granted you your beauty rest, but then that stupid voice in your head got the best of you and you couldn’t help but watch what everyone said about the entire thing after the event.

People thought the entire Girlfriend thing was really tasteless. Because it was. Ricky did a bunch of interviews, where he just talked you up and how the entire thing was ridiculous in his opinion. They thought it was sweet of Ricky to come to your defense with Death of a Bachelor and that your official debut as a couple was one for the books.

You’ll take a win where you can get one.

Everyone sided with you, which was nice. Fans wise but also from your real friends. Connie, Marco, Mikasa, and Jean were at your side the entire time, which you appreciated.

Connie was the one that convinced you that “you had the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever” and filmed a video of you, Jean, Mikasa, and him dancing to Girlfriend and posted it.

Which was your favorite part of the entire thing, not because of the song, but because they were there for you through the entire thing. That Connie could make something mortifying funny for you. A bad memory a good one. A true testament to his support.

Unlike some people. People’s inquisitive eyes leave no stone untouched and now rumors of a fallout between you and Historia are flying around, when she’s the only one to not publicly come to your defense. And you get it, she doesn’t have to. What you don’t understand is why she won’t return any of your calls.

Ricky reaches down and grabs your hand, locking his fingers in yours as he gives you a smile, bringing you back down from the thoughts.

“I won’t leave you, okay? Danny and Sareen said I should handle all those questions anyways.”

“And if Lana comes up to me?”

“Spit in her face. She’s really annoying.”

“And if Eren comes up to me?”

“I’ll give you a big kiss.”

“Ew. Don’t do that.”

“I love it when you act disgusted by me.”

You snicker as the elevator rings and the door swings open. You’re immediately flooded with a mound of flashing lights as Ricky grabs your hand and drags you through the crowd into the fresh air. And it only gets worse outside because not only are the cameras outside bigger, but the reporters are louder.

Are you and Ricky official?

Eren and Hyla are rumored to be dating. Do you have any comments on that, Y/N?

Can you tell us anything about your upcoming record, Ribbons?

Ricky ducks your head into the car first before sliding in himself, tapping on the seat ahead of him as the car speeds off. You let go of Ricky’s hand, wiping the sweat against your dress, immediately freezing when you remember you’re supposed to return it at the end of the night.

“Now was that so bad?” Ricky asks, giving you a winning smile.

“Literally, yes! I wasn’t expecting them to be in the lobby.”

“Cmon, you nailed it. I was there, wasn’t I?”

“Quit trying to flirt, Ricky. You suck at it.” you grumble, which he laughs at.

The car comes to a screeching halt and you give Ricky a weary smile as he walks out first, making it a point to open the door for you on the other side. You wrap your arm around his as you both walk the carpet, giving glimmering smiles every time you walk a few paces.

You make mental notes of those standing on the steps behind you and you catch sight of them. Eren and Hyla, in the center of the carpet. Eren’s lifting his hand to twirl her in the middle, with consecutive clicks from the cameras. And you can see Sukuna right behind them, pretending to gag with Maki and probably ruining all the picutres.

You smile, making it a point to sit with Sukuna later because he’s so wildly unserious that it’s probably the only thing you could tolerate on a day like this. And it would really piss off Eren.

Mikasa and Jean are smiling at you from behind the ropes, Mikasa giving you a sweet smile and mouthing that you look great. She points at a spot towards the left and you nod, signaling that you’ll meet her there after.

Out of the periphery of your eye, you catch sight of it. The giant cat in the middle of the runway. You tap Ricky on the shoulder, pointing it out to him.

“Oh god.”

“At the Met Gala? That’s so unserious.” you respond.

“Ten bucks it’s Gojo.”

“That’s such a lame bet. I know for a fact that’s Gojo. He’s the only type of dumbass to show up to the Met Gala dressed up as a big white cat with blue eyes.”

You both lean closer together, making a point to make sure the paparazzi are taking pictures of you two all close to each other. The head of the cat pops off and surely enough, a very excited Satoru Gojo is now running in circles around in the middle of the carpet. And blocking every girl standing on the side.

You don’t miss Geto standing ten paces behind with Shoko, the two of them very loudly declaring that they, in fact, do not know or associate with that man.

“You owe me ten bucks.”

“I never agreed to that, Ricky.”

Ricky leans forward and plants a warm kiss on your cheek, earning a nice symphony of cooing from the photographers on the other side.

“Oh?”

“We both got it right. So we both get a reward.” he responds, tapping his left cheek.

You roll your eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek and consequently wipe your glittery lip gloss off his face after. You give the cameras a smile and wrap your arm around his again as you walk farther down the carpet towards the interviewers.

“Y/N. You look gorgeous!”

“Thank you! So do you.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about your third upcoming album, Ribbons? What’s your favorite track on the album?”

“Thank you for asking! I think Ribbons is a mix of a lot of feelings I’ve had lately - specifically good, warm, and positive feelings. I-I think that being negative is something that’s really easy to do, especially when you’re in my position, but I try to keep my music feeling like sunshine on a nice day, because who likes to focus on the bad when you can just be the good. My favorite track on the album is seven, a song that I’ll be performing inside later today with one of my best, best friends who I wrote it with.”

“That’s sweet. Are any of these positive feelings a consequence of your new beau, Ricky James?”

And right on cue, Ricky’s on your side, tilted eyes glimmering in the camera.

“I know for a fact they are. She loves to write songs about me.”

“That’s a bold statement coming from you, Ricky.” you respond.

“I’m a bold guy.” Ricky responds, giving you a wink.

“Speaking of writing songs, Y/N. How do you feel about songs being written about you? Songs like Girlfriend?”

The reporter looks way too excited at this part now. You look at Ricky before answering, who gives you a subtle nod. The answer you practiced with Sareen and Danny.

“I think it’s flattering.”

“Really?”

Ricky slides his hand around your waist and smiles, finishing off the rest of the answer for you.

“Oh, it’s totally flattering. I mean, I’d be really intimidated if I was comparing myself to someone like Y/N here too. She’s quite literally at the top of her game, in every sense, and it’s easy to feel less than when you’re comparing yourself to a future triple threat. So we get the thought process behind it.”

“Ricky.”

“It’s true, Y/N. Personally, I think they should pick London Boy from her discography as the song selection. But that’s just me.”

You smile at each other as you give the interviewer a polite nod, giving each other a thumbs up as you walk around the floor. You finally get to stop near Jean and Mikasa, who are very obviously already wine drunk, from the way their cheeks are tinted pink.

“Wow, Jean. It hasn’t even been two hours yet.” you respond, placing your hand flat against his cheek to see how much his skin is burning.

“I hate this type of shit.” Jean responds, grumbling.

“Jean. How drunk are you? Don’t tell me you’re imagining cats walking around are you?” you ask, feigning concern.

“Huh? That cat isn’t real?”

“You’re actually seeing cats?!” Mikasa asks, catching on.

“THERE’S A REAL CAT HERE, MIKA. LOOK.” Jean says, pointing at Satoru who is now lying face down on the red carpet.

"Jean."

"Y/N. MIKASA. I'M SO SERIOUS I SWEAR THERE'S A REAL CAT. IT TALKED TO ME EARLIER. IT TOLD ME I SHOULD HAVE DRESSED UP AS A HORSE WITH IT."

“Oh, sweetheart. We should go inside, you’ve had too much. You always do this, Jean.” Mikasa says, shaking her head as she leads him in. Mikasa turns her head over her shoulder and gives you a wink, before she walks straight into the venue.

Geto and Shoko come up to your side after they catch you staring at Gojo - who's now doing the worm in his cat suit on the floor - as they both give you polite hugs. The three of you stand against the wall to watch him take the spotlight away from anyone who was hoping to have it.

“Can you believe you’re married to that guy?” you ask Geto.

“Please don’t remind me. It pains me everyday.”

“He wore the cathead to my house the first day he got it. I was hosting a vigil for one of my neighbors.” Shoko states, placing a cigarette between her teeth.

You snort at the thought of Gojo, in his fully exuberant energy, trotting into a room of people mourning with the cat head on.

Megumi and Yuuta join the group of you as you now watch Yuuji - whose actually dressed in a nicely styled suit - have a dance off with Cat Gojo on the red carpet.

You nudge Megumi in the side.

“Can you believe you’re dating that guy?”

“We’re breaking up.” Megumi responds, earning a laugh from the group.

“I can’t tell what’s worse. The fact that they’re dance battling at the Met Gala or that Yuuji is horrendously losing to Gojo wearing a twelve pound cat-suit.”

“Yuuji losing.” you all respond in unison.

“I think Cat Gojo is going to haunt me in my dreams.” you respond.

“Get this, Y/N. It’s not Cat Gojo. It’s Catoru.” Yuuta responds.

“Don’t tell me he trademarked it already.”

“He did.” they all respond in unison.

"Geto. Shoko. When you burn that thing in the flames of hell, I want a video." you state.

"That's a promise, kid." Geto responds, with Shoko giving an affirmative nod.

You turn to your left to find Ricky standing at your side, with his arm wrapped around John. Historia’s ex-boyfriend. You give the group of them a polite nod as you walk away and join Ricky at your side.

“Y/N. This is my friend, John. He’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Hi. Y/N.” you respond, making every effort to emphasize the flatness in your voice.

“John. Nice to meet you.” he responds, holding his hand out which you refuse to touch.

“Play any chess games lately?” you ask, making a pointed reference to Historia’s song.

He glares and you watch the smile on Ricky’s face drop. You give your best, sickly sweet smile as you wait for a response.

“That’s right. You acted in Attack on Titan so you must be friends with Historia.”

“Very good friends.” you respond.

“Okay John, we’re going to go in. I’ll see you in a sec, yeah?” Ricky responds, hands increasingly hard on your biceps as he drags you a few paces away.

“Ouch, Ricky. Get off.”

He’s leaning close to you, whispering in your ear earlier like you two were when Satoru came in, except this is nowhere near as fun as last time.

“What’s your problem?”

“What’s yours? He’s not a good guy, Ricky.”

“I’ve made every effort to be friends with your friends. You could and should be doing the same for me, Y/N.”

“And I will. For your friends who aren’t groomers, Ricky.”

Ricky glares at you before giving you a smile and pressing a kiss to your forehead with the paparazzi so close, before dragging you into the venue with him. You settle into your seat next to Ricky, craning your neck to see where the rest of your friends are sitting, all the way on the other side of the room.

You turn to the girl sitting next to you and whisper in her ear.

“Hi. I’m Y/N.”

“I-I know who you are. I’m a big fan.”

“I’m really sorry to ask you this then. But you see that guy right there, pink hair, those two little scars near his eyes. Could you go and switch seats with him? He’s sitting in between Megumi Fushiguro and Yuuta Okkotsu, so I can at least promise it’s a better seat than this one.”

She looks over and gives you an affirmative nod. You squeeze her shoulder as you watch her stomp over, Sukuna turn back to give you a questioning look, before letting the girl take his seat and striding over to sit next to you with two cups in his hands.

He sits on the chair to your left, making it a point to spread his legs as far as he can on his chair, and glare at Ricky as he sits down.

“What do you want, doll?”

“Nothing. I got bored.”

He shrugs as he places the second cup in front of you, which you pick up. And then immediately spit back up, because it’s just straight vodka.

“Shit. My bad, doll. That’s mine.”

“You’re drinking straight vodka? No chaser?” you ask.

“Imagine doing this shit sober. I’d drive myself half insane.” he murmurs.

You switch the cups and drink yours again, pleasantly surprised by a warm, sweet latte.

“Sukuna. How’d you know?” you ask.

“Eren told me.”

You look over at him, giving him your best glare.

“As if you’d talk to Eren.” you snort, craning your neck to find him on his phone, next to Hyla’s who is fixing her hair.

“We talk. It’s just not pleasant.”

“Yeah. My preferred coffee order is just so horrible to talk about.”

“You wouldn’t believe it. Poor guy mopes about you so much it even makes me depressed.”

Ricky taps aggressively on your shoulder, leaning over into your space.

“I’m going to go sit with John.” Ricky states, angrily.

“Okay?” you respond.

“Okay? That’s it, Y/N?”

“Do you need a formal, written invitation? Or does she need to hold your hand and walk you there so you don’t get lost?” Sukuna responds, glaring at him.

Ricky gets irritated at Sukuna’s response and storms off, which just has Sukuna moving his chair so that you can both prop your legs up on it. You’re both switching off on sharing your drinks - mixing Sukuna’s alcohol with your latte and watching all the performances.

“Are you performing?” Sukuna asks.

“Yeah. With Marco, right before Eren.”

“Real cute. Is it that same fluff shit you always write?”

You smack him hard on the shoulder.

“Asshole. That fluff shit is Multi-Platinum, dumbass.”

“I get that. But I’m saying, you should write something more serious than that. Instead of penting up all that rage in your forehead, you should write it in a song. Quit letting real stupid girls call you stupid in songs.”

“I can’t. My record doesn’t really like the idea of that.” you respond.

“So? You’re the artist and it’s your music. Write whatever you want. Don’t be a chickenshit.”

“It’s not that simple, Sukuna.”

“No. It literally is. You’re just chicken.”

“It’s not about chicken, Sukuna. My record was the one who took a chance on me and to some extent, I have to follow that. And they’ve made me Multi-Platinum so far so who am I to not listen to them?”

“God. You’re pathetic.”

“And you’re an asshole, Sukuna.”

“Do you want to kiss now?”

You reach forward to smack his face, which elicits a laugh from him.

“You never change, do you Sukuna?”

“Best thing about me, doll. You should learn to piss people off like I do. It’ll actually relieve some of that tension. And flirting is good for your health.”

“We can’t all afford to be feather rustlers like you.”

“You could. I’m sure people would eat it up - the whole sweet girl saying her mind type thing. I’ll give you lessons on how to talk your shit sometime instead of letting idiots like that do it for you.”

He points over at Ricky, whose glaring bullets at the two of you. You give him a gesture, which he completely ignores as he turns over to whisper in John’s ear.

“Out of all guys, you had to pick that one? When you tweeted that you were charged with murder, I thought you were being serious and got really excited for a second.”

“Danny and Sareen picked him. That’s not my fault.”

You feel a tap on your shoulder and see the usher, signaling that it’s time for you to perform. You nod and turn to Sukuna, who's already getting up from the chair. He presses a kiss to your cheek before you walk off to the other side where Marco’s waiting.

Eren’s sitting towards the end of the bench, hands pressed under his legs, when he watches you take the stage with Marco, a glittering smile on your face.

And in your billowing, white dress, there’s only one thing Eren can focus on. The fish tattoo, right on display. He instinctively reaches for his own, hidden under the fabric of his clothes, and thinks about how your sweet, flowery smell was always overwhelming, even in a disgusting tattoo parlor.

And when Eren catches sight of Marco at the piano, Eren knows you’re a temptress to everyone and not just him. Exhibit A? You convinced Marco to sing in public with you.

“Hi everyone. My name is Y/N.”

Everyone breaks into a loud applause and Eren thinks that the wolf-whistling in the corner is Mikasa, who he’s convinced is shit-faced by the way her cheeks are glowing pink.

“Thank you. Um, can we just take a minute to give a second round of applause to my sunshine boy, Marco, here? He’s not a big singer and I’ve all but forced him to do this with me, so let’s all give him some love.”

The crowd claps again and Eren knows for a fact that the wolf-whistling this time is Jean, who is actually plastered.

“This song is off my new album, called Ribbons, and it’s called seven. The idea of this song kind of came up randomly. I told Marco that it was kind of sad that I don’t have any of the childhood friends I did when I was a kid anymore. And Marco just responded by saying, ‘what do you mean, we’ve been friends since we were seven?’ And long story short, I jumbled out a nice mess of lyrics with Marco and Armin produced it after that and the song was finished. We hope you like it!”

Marco starts playing a soft piano tune, accompanied by your light strumming on the guitar, and some part of it is so familiar, so you that it makes Eren’s heart ache. Not that Eren’s a big hater of your new, more pop songs like London Boy, but Eren’s always enjoyed your soulful, soft songs like this more.

They remind him of the soft parts of him that you only shared with him, when you used to be next him when he slept at night.

Y/N: Please picture me In the trees I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

Eren fights the urge to snort. Of course, there’s still beautiful things. You’re standing right there.

And Eren knows he’s way too sensitive for this because hearing your soft, echoing voice when he’s about to sing a song about the last time he kissed you has him pushing his face into the table. Because there are tears in his eyes.

Y/N: Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you

Marco: Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

When you both finish, Eren watches you give Marco a big hug and a kiss on the cheek as you both walk off together. And then Eren’s trailing up to the stage where Historia’s waiting, the orchestral suite setting up their instruments and he feels his hands shaking at his sides. Historia gives him a smile, which he appreciates as he takes the front stand.

He hates it up here. He knows that flowery scent in the air is you. He manifested it by thinking about it and now it's suffocating him.

You lean against the wall with Marco, hands linked together, as you watch Eren readjust the microphone to his height and Historia sit at the piano. You make a fleeting second of eye contact with her and give her a smile, which she halfheartedly returns.

Eren’s hair is shorter, he’s cut it from the last time you’ve seen him. And he looks kind of tired, though you’re sure you look no better.

“My name is Eren Jaeger. This is my new song, Promise, that I co-composed and wrote with my friend, Historia.”

You lean your head against Marco’s shoulder, who is giving you a warm squeeze on the shoulder, as you listen.

I made a promise To distance myself Took a flight, through aurora skies Honestly, I didn't think about How we didn't say goodbye Just see you very soon

You pinch your eyes shut as you feel the breath constrict in your throat and tears warm in your eyes.

“You okay?”

“It’s Eren. Of course, I’m not okay.” you whisper.

No matter how long I resist temptation I always lose It hurts to be something It’s worse to be nothing with you I’ve done the math There’s no solution We’ll never last Why can’t I let go of this?

As Eren goes on and on, that soft voice that’s lulled you to sleep hundreds of time is haunting you. And Marco’s reflexes to wipe your tears away fast are the only reason that people don’t catch on.

When Eren finishes, his green eyes meet yours and he gives you a painstakingly long look, before walking away.

You don’t see him again that night. Or for a while. You figure it's better that way. Being in the same room but not talking is like nails on a chalkboard.

You lean over the counter, scrolling through the set of pictures Ricky just took, as you wait for the timer on your computer to count down.

Ricky circles his arm around your shoulder, as you both watch the seconds on the timer run out and the little display of confetti go around the screen.

You refresh the tab on your Apple Music and you see it - your name and album cover displayed in bright colors right at the top banner.

“How does it feel?” Ricky asks, watching you refresh your Spotify on your phone and watch the songs turn from grey to white, meaning they're now able to be played.

“Good. I hope Historia calls me after she realizes that dorothea is about her.” you murmur, the notifications on your phone buzzing from Reiner, Levi, and Mikasa. You open Levi's first.

levi: We love the record, kid.

you: it's been out for five seconds.

levi: Just shut up and take the compliment, sometimes.

you: I love you, levi. give kisses to hange. i'll call you guys tomorrow.

“She will. Just relax.” Ricky states, as he watches you push up on the counter, legs dangling in the air after putting your phone down.

He reaches for the lowest drawer, pulling out a dark black box and placing it flat in the palm of your hand.

“What’s this?”

“A gift, before you go on tour. And I wanted to ask you something.”

You nod, encouraging him to go on, as you look at the bracelet - a chain-linked, chunky silver bracelet with a heart charm right in the middle.

“That’s custom made. From Tiffany, because it’s your favorite right?”

“Yeah. Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“Well, I’m really proud of you. Ribbons is a great record and I’m sure you and I will be competing for Record of the Year in a few months.”

You smile as Ricky leans closer, hands on both of your sides of the counter.

“I think you’re really great. And-and I know we’ve been pretending but some part of this became really real for me and I think it did for you too. So I think we should quit playing around and do this for real.”

You feel your throat dry as Ricky smiles at you, so excited and earnest, that you almost feel bad. For how you’re going to shoot him down.

“Ricky. Oh. Um. Listen. You’re really great. I-I really like you. But I-I don’t know if I can do that right now.” you respond.

“That’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you and I’m willing to be patient and all that. We’ll figure it out.” he responds, yanking the chain out of the box and reaching forward to secure it around your hand.

“Listen. I-I don’t know if it’s all that. It’s just, I don’t. I like you Ricky but not like that. I just can’t do that right now.”

Ricky leans back in confusion, dragging the necklace off your hand as you give him your most sincere smile. And you can’t help but feel bad for not liking him back. When he’s helped you out more times than you can count, with red carpets and defending you when he didn’t have to.

But you can't help these sort of things.

“Listen. I-I can go home. I’ll take the trash and then leave so you can be alone, yeah?”

“Okay. I appreciate that. Thank you for being honest.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Of course. And thank you for taking it well, I still appreciate what you’ve done and have a lot of love for you.” you respond, squeezing his shoulder as you walk past.

You take the half filled bag of trash and walk out to the garage to swing the door open. There’s a decent amount of rain pouring down and you quickly scamper out admist it. You throw the bag over your shoulder and quickly run over to the chute to throw it down before running down to the door.

Except when you reach for the handle, it doesn’t pull down. You jam it down, more aggressively this time as the heavy drops start matting your hair to your forehead. Giving up on the door, you run to the other side and rap your knuckles against the window, where Ricky’s back is still turned.

He turns around and gives you a look, half opening the window.

“Hey. Sorry, I accidentally locked the door on the way out.”

“That wasn’t an accident. That was me.” Ricky responds, glaring at you.

“Huh?”

“That was me.” he responds, again.

“Listen, I can’t really hear you and it’s really cold outside. Can you just let me in?” you ask.

“Sorry, Y/N. I really like you but I just don’t know if I can do that right now.”

"Ricky."

He closes off the window and walks away all together.

You can feel the panic setting in your chest - at the fact that you’re standing in the pouring rain in Seattle and you don’t know where to go. And that Ricky, nice and sweet Ricky, just locked you out.

You hunch over on your knees, yanking your phone out of your pocket to call Mikasa. She picks up on the first call and you can hear her and Jean screaming through the speaker.

“TOP TEN ON THE CHARTS I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT.” they both scream, the sentence going over you’re head.

“Mika. Mika, wait.” you whisper, the tears starting to fill your eyes.

You’re thrown off by the screeching of tires and doors closing and you march over to Ricky’s side door. You lightly crack it open and spot seven paparazzi cars, parked straight on Ricky’s porch.

Meaning. Not only did Ricky lock you out of his house in the pouring rain but he made sure to call the paparazzi so they can catch you the first chance he got. You quickly shut the door and run to the backside of the house, into the back streets by Ricky’s neighborhood. And the panic's starting to make your legs shake.

“Mika. You’re not still in Seattle, are you?” you ask, the panic laced in your voice.

“No, babe. We’re in Tampa right now for Armin and Annie’s thing. We left a few days ago.”

“Do you know anyone who is? This is urgent, Mika.”

You hear Mikasa murmuring over the phone and suddenly Jean’s on the line, his voice more firm and collected than Mikasa’s. You can suddenly hear her panicking in the background, talking to a third voice you can’t identify.

“Marco says your options are Eren or Historia. They’re both still in Seattle, though I think Eren’s closer to where you are. Call us when you’re safe. Immediately, Y/N.” Jean says.

“Okay.”

You can hear the sound of raised voices from the direction you came and you quickly hunch to the side. You try your best to wipe the wetness of your phone as you scroll for Eren’s contact and dial.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice raspy like he was sleeping.

And at the sound of his voice, months after the fact, when you’re soaked to the bone in the rain, you can’t help but cry.

“Eren?” you ask, voice breaking.

“Y/N. What is it?” he asks, voice suddenly louder.

“I need your help.”

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"No. No, I'm not hurt, but I could be? I don't know, Eren I-"

“Say the word. What-what is it? I-I’m there. Just tell me what you need me to do, love."

“I need you to come get me, Eren.”

“I’m coming. Stay exactly where you are and on the line with me.”

next part linked here

taglist:

@k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist by either commenting on this or the masterlist <3

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hippolotamus · 2 months

Note

Hiiiii Hippo 💕💕💕

Buddie fic title:

If only I knew you had electric fingerprints

-❤️🪐

Hiiii Saturn!!!! So lovely to see you here! You said Buddie. Please know you have my eternal gratitude for forgiving my slip into Diaz Family Feels. 💞🦛

After the debacle of broken salad bowls, 'I think you should go home' and 'This is your mess now', Eddie thought that he and Chris had worked through the biggest tangles of dating in the Diaz household. Introducing Marisol was almost a non-event. Eddie might even go so far as to call it a success.

He will now admit that line of thinking was more than a bit premature and naïve on his part.

Maybe it was his own growth and evolutions in the relationship department that led him to assume Christopher wouldn't face the same issues. And, well, technically he didn't. No, Eddie's son dealt him an entirely new, foreign set of tribulations. A one-eighty of Eddie's nesting instincts where Christopher is leading on five different girls. Five!

Wasn't it just last year they were discussing how much shirt sleeve was acceptable to show? What the hell happened?

And, OK, it's a new world with new methods of communication and apps and how teenagers interact with each other. Eddie likes to think he isn't completely stupid, because he tries to stay informed about current trends that he would honestly rather not know about. But no article or discussion with the school guidance counselor - or Frank - could have prepared him for tonight. No tips, tricks, signs to watch for could have fortified him for the devastating blow of 'We loved her and she left us anyway' and 'I can't remember her voice anymore'.

When Buck emerges from Chris's room, Eddie is still leaning against the wall, crushed under the weight of a thousand emotions and questions, attempting to prevent his heart from spilling past the walls of his chest. To keep it from slipping through the makeshift cage where his fingers press bruises into his skin, just below his collarbone.

Buck squeezes Eddie's shoulder before wordlessly leading them to the kitchen where he pours them both a glass of water and he waits. Waits for Eddie to speak, because it's what they do. They don't press. And maybe they should - more or earlier - but that's another thought for another day. For another version of Eddie that doesn't feel like the ground has been ripped out from underneath him.

"I don't- How am I supposed to-" Eddie blows out a harsh breath, frustrated that he can't form a complete question. That there is no entry in the non-existent Parenting Handbook for how to tackle this scenario.

"Eds," Buck says the nickname so carefully, so gently, like his tongue is shaping it from the most fragile glass. His hand tentatively slides across the tabletop until it's resting on top of Eddie's own. "You don't need to have all the answers or know exactly what to do."

"I know I don't. It's just-" He cuts himself off, huffing out an unamused chuckle. Because he doesn't know.

And, look, Eddie is fully aware that he doesn't have to be one hundred percent in control all the time, but it doesn't make him hate whatever this is any less. This combination of lost and thrown off course; of sad, bitter anger muddled together with desperation. His own eagerness to bargain for a way to make this situation more palatable. A pathetic yearning for the chance to go back. To never enlist and close himself off. To splurge on the digital camera with video recorder so he could capture a truly ludicrous amount of everyday, mundane moments.

How many hours of footage might they have collected? Of simple things like Shannon chopping vegetables or putting on makeup before a night out. Her and Eddie slow dancing in the backyard to music only they could hear. Or her laughing, bright and bold, as she smudged dirt and filth across Eddie's cheek after he showed her how to change the oil in her car. The way he pulled her in with his own grimy hands, pressing their mouths together so he could swallow the sound.

He blinks rapidly to keep tears from falling as he wonders how many instances would have featured her rolling her eyes - exactly the way Christopher does now - and shoving her palm in front of the lens.

But he'll never know because he's stuck with the choices he made. That they made. He can tell their son stories, bring him for graveside visits, and offer small souvenirs of the time Shannon had on earth, but that's all Eddie can do. He can't replicate what it was like to be in her presence. He can't convey how she was soft and gentle and all the things Eddie isn't, while also being sharp and spirited. How she smelled like peonies and summer rain.

Whatever he has to offer is two dimensional. Framed photographs, memories stored in his mind. Some of them also stored in Chris's though Eddie suspects in a completely different way. Hopefully in a way that doesn't taste as much like guilt and regret for things left unfinished and words left unsaid. Words like-

Dear Christopher.

He swallows hard around the phantom taste of sea spray from the Pacific Ocean, has the urge to claw at damp, sun-warmed sand that isn't there. And god only knows how his best friend has any idea what's scratching at Eddie's brain, but he does. And Eddie is so, so grateful when Buck rubs his thumb across Eddie's knuckles and asks if he should stay or would Eddie rather it just be him and Chris.

As much as Eddie would like Buck to be present as an extra layer of protection, he knows this is something he has to do himself. Even though, as he walks Buck to the front door, promising to call later, he gets the distinct feeling he won't actually be alone.

In the low lighting currently casting shadows around his bedroom, Eddie's fingers tremble as he reaches for the small safe in the back of his closet. A simple design meant to hold important, precious things. The metal dial is cool under his fingertips, easily manipulated as he rotates it right and left and right again until the door pulls open.

It's been years since he read the words written in Shannon's flowing script, but he knows them like he knows his own name. He traces over her loops and arches, wishing, like always, that he had more time. That he could put off performing this errand for a few more years, decades, lifetimes. Even if he knows it's only for selfish reasons. Because he owes this to Chris and to Shannon. It's on him to follow her instructions and deliver this remaining link between mother and son.

He holds the folded pieces of paper in his hands, feeling something familiar wrap around him that isn’t the usual despair. Something that's more like spun gold flowing between the note and his skin.

Eddie bites back a sob as it dives beneath the surface to wind its way around nerves and spill through blood vessels on its way to his heart. As a calm takes root, anchoring in all four chambers, unfurling and flourishing. As the room, that typically smells like lavender fabric softener and the fancy vanilla linen spray Pepa bought for him, is permeated by the overwhelming scent of Texas nights - filled with crackling humidity wrapped in silvery starlight - and velvety pink peonies.

He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing it in, inhaling deeply to his core like it might allow him to hold onto this moment forever. When at last his lungs protest, forcing him to exhale, his eyes flutter open again.

Eddie closes the door to the safe, hearing it shut with a satisfying click.

"Thank you," he whispers, letting his gaze drift to the letter once more before he walks down the hall to pass it to its rightful owner. His son. Their son. A living, breathing tether between past, present and future.

He knocks on the doorframe, briefly saddened by the sight of Shannon and Christopher’s picture turned face down on the desk. It only makes him more sure he’s doing the right thing.

“Hey, buddy…”

For additional Feels™️ may I recommend

#hippo gets mail #jfc i must go cry now #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #shannon diaz #saturn tag 🪐#7x1 coda #i guess?#hippo writes #fic title ask

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januaryembrs · 2 days

Note

Any fluffy sweet Drabble about the moon boys 🫡

SWEET MORNINGS | Marc Spector x reader

description: the boys wake up to their girlfriend making breakfast, too bad she has no clue which boy is fronting that morning

length: 1.1k

warnings: representation of DID, Marc's slight self loathing (it's Marc idk what to say). Writer has never experienced DID so I am going off the show

He woke up peacefully, which had once been a fleeting dream in itself for a man like him. He’d spent years jumping at the smallest sounds, flinching at voices and footsteps, ready to be up and out of bed within a moment’s notice. Yet, when his eyes slowly blinked out of the reverie of sleep, he heard her humming along to the radio, already half way through the song, heard her socks sliding against the kitchen floor as she whirled around the stove, and the smell of pancakes and coffee hit him with full force.

His lips drew into a smile before he even knew it, and he was drawing the covers back, her side of the bed not entirely freezing which told him she’d been up about twenty minutes. Marc grabbed his shirt off the floor, the same one Steven used to sprinkle with sand when he had no idea about their coexistence, only two years later, it was scrubbed clean, even with a pretty, knit rug you’d bought from your apartment when you moved in.

Tugging it over his head, he padded into the living room, where he could already see your form where you danced around the kitchen, entirely unaware of his approach. He’d been trying to teach you self defence, said you needed to learn to have a sixth sense when it came to people on your tail, because he had a tendency to worry about you more than Steven and Jake did. But maybe it was the fact he had naturally light footsteps, or maybe it was the fact you knew in the comfort of your home he would always be there to protect you, either way your guard was entirely down by the time he swooped behind you, grabbing you in a warm, soft hug, pressing kisses down the side of your bare neck and onto your shoulder.

“Morning,” His voice was muddied with sleep, and he cleared his throat, hoping to take some of the husk out of it despite the fact you whirled around to look at him with something that told him just what you thought of his rumbling voice.

“Morning, honey,” You said, pressing a small kiss to his lips, your hand still on the frying pan that he now realised had been filled with mini-chocolate pancakes, the batter sizzling and cracking in the oil, “You hungry?”

Marc wasn’t really listening as he gave a ‘mhm’, too busy burying his nose in the crook of your neck and jaw, kissing lazily there as he tightened his grip on your waist.

His gaze fell on the counter after a moment, the blueberry porridge Steven went crazy for already dished up in the little purple bowl you’d painted for him for their birthday, whirled of steam coming off the breakfast that was slowly turning a cornflour colour with the chopped fruit swirling in the centre.

“Sorry, baby, I think Steven’s still sleeping, I can try ask him-” He started as you used a spatula to quickly flip the pancakes, their underside a golden brown that made his mouth water.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t sure who was joining me for breakfast, or if all of you wanted something, so I made a bit of everything,” You said, smiling at him as you turned the gas down and spun in his arms, batting your eyes at him with an innocent smile, “Chocolate pancakes for you, blueberry oatmeal for Steven and a black coffee for Jake since I know you guys got mad last time we had bacon together,”

“What a woman,” Jake’s voice was a growl of appreciation that Marc couldn’t help but agree with, and he was quick to lean in to steal a handful of long kisses, grabbing the soft plush of your hips with feather light fingers and pulling you towards him, “Ay, Romeo, your pancakes are burning.”

You sprung away from him like you’d heard the alter yourself, your eyes wide in surprise, “Your pancakes are burning!”

He heard Jake chuckle and a smile made it’s way onto his face as you fretted over whether the brown was where the chocolate had melted or if the mix had singed, but Marc thought he might just eat anything you gave him because you poured so much love and affection into it he couldn't help but think it tasted divine.

“Marc, I’m sorry, I know we have the no hogging the body rule and I got to have her all last night, but please let me have just a few bites- o-or atleast ask her to save it for me, that stuff smells delicious,” Steven seemed to be wide awake and kicking at the sight of food, and Marc sighed, reaching out with one hand to swoop your hair off your neck as he kissed the very top of your spine.

“Steven asks if we could save him the blueberry oatmeal since it’s my turn to spend time with you,” He said gently, and he feels you smile before he sees it, the way your cheeks crinkle and pull tightly.

“Of course I can, baby, I’ll put it in the fridge,” You said, despite the fact the man was inside the body, scooping the little circular goods onto two plates for both of you. Turning to set the plates on the table, Marc grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet, opening the fridge door with a rattle as the magnets clasped pictures of the two of you to the cooler.

“Orange or apple juice?” He asked, pulling the former out of the side drawer for himself.

“Orange, please,” You replied politely, grabbing some cutlery out and laying it beside his plate.

The two of you sat down finally, Marc sliding the filled glass over to your half of the dinner table and allowing himself to just watch as you picked up your knife and fork, digging into the chocolatey breakfast before it went cold.

He never deserved any of this, the light touches and the breakfasts and the devotion and the way you put him on a pedestal. But sitting in the slow hum of the radio, the most obscure top hundreds playlist he thinks you could have chosen, he bit into his pancake, his tongue exploding with sugary yumminess, as you told him the weird dream you’d had about him becoming some kind of half horse, centaur type man and how you wondered if he would wear jeans on the front legs, the back legs, or if you would have to have custom, four legged bottoms made for him.

The two of you laughed, because he didn’t quite understand what had gotten him so lucky as to end up with you. He could get used to all this.

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #moonknight x reader #oscar isaac x reader

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aclowntiny · 9 months

Text

Ateez Taking Care of a Sick S/O

This was suggested 5EVERRRR ago by @jacobbaeluvr & I straight- up forgot about this fora bit 🥲 but this is for you babe! & me cuz I’m super sick thanks ✨recurrent illness✨ *to the tune of Vixx’s On & On* I need surgery la la la la la surgery

Hongjoong

♡ *fails to hide disgusted expression at your snot* ‘Hey love, is it alright if I throw some of these tissues on the nightstand out?’

♡ Feels your forehead with his hand, saying you feel warm & making you test your temperature just to be sure. Slides the thermometer in so gently knowing how uncomfortable they can be.

♡ He has this relaxing herbal heat pillow that he warms up for you- it’s good for muscle aches, chills, or even just plain aromatherapy. You’re skeptical but he hands it to you & you’re immediately in heaven!

♡ Pulls you in close to his chest & takes a nap with you 🥺 even when you wake up his arms will be around you, one protectively keeping your head near his heart!

♡ Knows exactly how much time has passed between medicine doses & is getting you to take it on time like clockwork, even setting an alarm for it on his phone!

Seonghwa

♡ Makes 👏🏻 you 👏🏻 soup 👏🏻 even if you don’t really feel up to having a whole bunch he’ll insist on spoon-feeding you a little bit because the warmth will clear your sinuses & make you feel better he promises 🥺

♡ If you fall asleep you’ll wake up with a new box of tissues magically replacing your empty one & a fresh water bottle there in hopes you’ll stay hydrated. Seonghwa likes feeling like a magical little healing fairy but his heart goes 💗 when you thank him

♡ Traces shapes on your back as you lay together, making sure you’re ok when your warm skin shivers under his touch & smiling when you tell him not to stop.

♡ Flies some of his lego ships around the room for you when you say you’re bored. You’re like I meant the tv right there but this is actually so much better. He was so into making the whoosh noises for you ok?

♡ Undresses you but not in a weird way, just getting you out of sweaty clothes & into clean pajamas or a robe, pulling you into it & kissing your shoulder, then your lips 🩷

Yunho

♡ Holds your hand in both of his & tells you he’ll do as much as he can for you, so please just ask ok?

♡ The type to insist you do not have enough blankets, take one more actually blankets cure everything

♡ Proceeds to then roll himself up into a matching blanket burrito until you two are wiggling around like ridiculous blanket worms & you know what? It cheers you up at least & gives you your first laugh in 2 days, so success in Yunho’s mind 😌

♡ TBH tells you so many jokes & does little performances to distract you. Blanket cape superman impression. Cute version of an Ateez choreography. Dramatic ritual dance to ‘scare the germs away’. ‘Get out of my (y/n)!!! *hand wave*’

♡ Lifts you up & carries you bridal style when it’s time for bed, laying you down so gently it’s like falling on clouds ☁️

Yeosang

♡ Smooths back your forehead to give you kisses even if you’re kinda sweaty 🩷

♡ Will 100% offer to read you a story, this man is far too precious 😭 if there’s a royalty figure in the story especially a beautiful one he’ll change their name to yours!!!

♡ ‘Now will you believe me when I say you need to bring a coat when we go out?’ ‘But I like yours 🥺’ ‘Ok, then I’ll make sure I have it with me.’ On the inside he was thrilled because free excuse to give you his clothes heck yeahhhh

♡ Wriggles in under the fuzzy electric blanket the moment he’s done spreading it over you, making you laugh with his cute satisfied smile & nod.

♡ ‘Hiyah!’ (That’s the sound of Yeosang fluffing your pillow with little chops until it’s nice & poofy for your heard again)

San

♡ Gives you the biggest 🥺 eyes the moment he sees you sprawled out feeling uncomfortable, wishing he could take your pain from you 🥺

♡ Big spoons you immediately & tells you he won’t leave you until you’re feeling better! You can feel him nuzzle into you like he can’t get close enough, lending you his warmth.

♡ Softly sings a love song while you guys cuddle to remind you that no matter what state you’re in he will always love you 🥰

♡ San brings over a whole bag of supplies without having to ask, so he’s already armed with decongestants, tissues, painkillers, vapor chest rub, a container of a soup you like, water, electrolytes & vitamin C, & a plushie at the store he saw & thought might cheer you up when he was buying all that!

♡ Puts the chest rub on you so softly, pausing to let you adjust to the cold & holding your half-raised head steady while he does it.

Mingi

♡ ‘What do you have though? How bad is it? Do you need the doctor? I’ll go get the doctor.’ ‘Mingi no it’s just a bad cold-’

♡ Sits at the side of the bed holding your hands so dramatically as if you were in an irl medical drama until you just pat the half of the bed next to you & have him lay down to watch some tv

♡ Absolute KING though of making you your tea exactly how you want to take it. Insists on the peppermint blend though because duh it’s good for congestion, inflammation, nasuea, & like everything you could possibly be feeling 💁🏻‍♀️

♡ You guys nap together & the moment you wake up he asks how you feel, if it’s any better. When you say yes, a little, he takes your hands in his & claps them, giving a little ‘yaaaay!’

♡ Acts, in fact, like your healing is a personal achievement. Hypes you up like ‘wow, this disease has nothing on you. Look at you go, beating it like a pro. It’s so amazing how well you’re fighting this off’ while you’re just sitting there like Mingi this is not voluntary. He won’t hear of it, though, nope. Too busy gushing over your amazing recovery skills because you’re the best at everything, actually, & you know what maybe he helped too 😎 you guys are both the best.

Wooyoung

♡ OML you are not going ANYWHEREEEE

♡ If you so much as stand up behind Wooyoung’s back he’ll be like ‘Ah ah ah no whatever it is I can get it’. ‘Wooyoung I’m going to the restroom’ He deflates a little. ‘Ah, I see. …oh alright fine’

♡ Part of the not moving scheme is so he can throw himself onto the bed next to your blanket pile self & throw a leg over you & get in all the cuddles his heart desires >:)

♡ ‘What do you want?’ ‘Maybe just some decongestants? Thank you so much!’ Wooyoung returns, dropping like 5 pill boxes & 2 bags at your feet proudly. ‘What is all this?’ ‘I wasn’t sure what kind you wanted so I bought them all. Also got some lozenges~’

♡ Squishes your face & tells you how cute you are even when you’re sick. Just when you think the doting is up is when he starts kissing all over your cheeks instead of squishing them 😘

Jongho

♡ Probably the only one to actually sit down by you on the bed & just ask what you need lmao

♡ Intense battle between ‘nO I CAN DO IT YOU NEED REST’ & ‘yOU’RE SICK & I LOVE YOU STAY STILL’ but you always lose because you’re going up against Choi Jongho & besides hearing him say I love you pretty much always gets him his way

♡ Lays next to you & chats, watches tv, even just goes on his phone & lets you play with his other hand so you never feel alone 🥺 it’s quiet time for him to just make himself available however you personally are comfortable!

♡ If you feel sore anywhere, he’ll offer to massage it in a heartbeat if he can! Even if you’re not specifically sore he’ll do it because you aren’t feeling good, the least he can do is pamper you a little 👸🏻

♡ 50-50 on if he teases you or gets shy, but it’s a 100% chance he will sing you a lullaby if you claim any struggle sleeping & ask for a song!

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #requested #jacobbaeluvr #fluff #illness

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sergeantgoggles · 1 month

Note

I'm back again!

How about Maize with Fireball/Nemec

Omg this was the cutest shit. This might be a new comfort ship because they're so freaking cute to me.

Maize: Who initiates the first kiss?

There was an aroma wafting through the base that tickled Nemec’s senses. It was sweet, heavy, and just the right amount of spice to keep him interested, the perfect concoction to lead him into the kitchen, the source of the scent. He’d ignored Howzer when he asked where he was going, and only distantly heard Rex tease him about thinking with his stomach. Which, okay, may have been partially true. Nemec had never shied away from a good meal, and on their last supply run Echo had come back with a bunch of ingredients to stock the kitchen with for at least a little while.

As he’d suspected, Fireball was whipping up something delicious. His apron was tied firmly around his waist as he slaved over the stove, mixing chopped vegetables in a creamy orange sauce in one pan and simmering spice coated chicken in another. There was another pot that Nemec couldn’t see into until he was nearly pressed against Fireball’s back, and only then did he note that it was a large pot of rice.

“Smells good,” Nemec complimented as he couldn’t help but notice Fireball leaning slightly into him as he stirred the sauce.

“Well, I hope it tastes as good as it smells,” Fireball chuckled. “With Gregor out in the field, you’ll have to settle for my second-rate cooking.”

“Your cooking is fine,” Nemec insisted as he leaned closer than what was strictly necessary to get a better sniff, though being so close, it was almost hard to tell what was food and what was uniquely the scent of Fireball’s skin. “Maybe even better.”

Fireball grinned. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

They shared a soft chuckle, enjoying the temporary moment of peace amidst the chaos and calamity that the rebellion naturally brought. Nemec’s hands found a home on Fireball’s hips, and he sighed contently when Fireball fully leaned into him, allowing Nemec to slide his arms around him loosely.

They had been dancing around this thing growing between them for weeks, never quite pushing the other or themselves to take it any further than flirting touches and late night smokes when they weren’t on watch. It was comfortable, and if nothing else, it was a distraction from what was happening on the outside, across the galaxy.

Fireball only moved when he needed to combine the chicken with the sauce, and Nemec watched as Fireball seemed to move with ease. He wondered, if things had been different, if Fireball would have been a chef. Nemec thought he should have been, but they all should have been something more than what they were now.

He pushed the thought aside as Fireball turned to him, spoon in hand with a little bit of sauce on the tip.

“Taste?” He offered.

Nemec leaned in and took the sample from the spoon, immediately melting at the taste and humming with a smile. “So much better than Gregor’s cooking.”

“You’re biased,” Fireball accused, then paused, eyeing him curiously.

Nemec blinked. “What’s up?”

“You have…” Fireball inched closer. “…sauce…”

Their lips slotted together, chaste, soft, and innocent, and Nemec almost missed the chance to pull him close again. His arms slowly tightened around Fireball’s hips, hands splayed wide as he ran them up his back and deepened the kiss, and Fireball’s arms wrapped around his neck.

They only parted when the rice water started to boil over, and Fireball jumped, gasping as he quickly turned to take care of it. Nemec stepped out of the way but leaned back in to kiss below Fireball’s ear. “You should let me have a taste more often.”

He smirked as Fireball shivered and flushed from his neck all the way to his cheeks. “Go get some bowls, would you?”

Nemec chuckled, giving up on teasing him for now. There would be plenty of time to explore that later. “Yes, chef.”

#cloneshipping #clone shipping #clone/clone #the bad batch #nemec/fireball #color prompts: cloneshipping edition

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steddietogo · 4 months

Text

Made With Love

Steddie Tik tok au: Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 read on Ao3

———

Steve_the_Hair posted 2 mins ago

—

The video starts with the trio in the kitchen, overlaid by the caption on the screen reading, ‘3 simple dishes for 3 occasions.

—

‘Thanksgiving’

Robin and Eddie are ‘helping’ Steve peel the potatoes, mostly just splashing each other with water and loudly singing along to the songs playing in the background.

In the next shot Steve is alone, chopping the potatoes, Eddie and Robin banished from the kitchen on account of clumsy limbs and sharp kitchen knives. But they’re back for a dance break after the potatoes have been dropped in the pot to boil and the knives are safely stowed.

The camera angle shifts to capture Steve sliding the boiled potatoes into the oven and Eddie filling a glass mug of wine and handing it to Steve who looks more and more pink and giggling every time the video cuts to him checking on the potatoes. Then it's just the counter top and the potatoes side into view and Steve seasons them and adds a few sprigs of rosemary to it.

The video cuts to show a modest spread of green beans, mac and cheese, the roasted potatoes and a rotisserie chicken instead of a turkey on the dining table lit with candles. The trio sit in the candle light and clink their wine mugs in the middle before they dig in.

The last clip is of the three of them piled on the sofa with a black and white movie playing, but Robin and Eddie are fast asleep, snoring away on top of Steve.

—

‘Christmas’

The trio pile their luggage into the trunk of Steve’s car and they’re off on the road, singing along to the radio, munching on food and then falling asleep all while Steve is driving and giving the camera pointed looks now and then. A caption briefly appears above a sleeping Robin saying ‘it's literally just a 1 hr drive’.

Steve is setting up his camera in a homey looking kitchen while two middle aged women wave enthusiastically behind him. Then he puts Dustin and Lucas to work chopping up apples while he’s preparing the dough for the pie crust, the sleeves of his ugly christmas sweater rolled up. (There’s more munching on apples and pretend sword fights with wooden spoons more than actually working though)

Once the pies are in the oven, the three join the rest of the kids in the backyard for a game of football. Eddie is clearly behind the camera on the back porch, loudly cheering while he films the nine of them running around in the snow and Steve getting tackled to the ground once he gets a hold of the ball. The teens plus Robin immediately dogpile him, much to Eddie’s amusement.

Once they are sufficiently damp and shivering from the melted snow melting on their clothes, they head back inside. Robin pretends to float around the kitchen in the smell of the pies baking. Steve takes them out and cuts a big slice out of one, scooping a hefty serving of ice cream on top of it. There's a commotion in the background and then several tiny spoons reach into the frame for a piece and the slice is gone in seconds.

—

‘New Year’s Eve’

Steve is alone in the kitchen mixing a few ingredients for a dip in a dish, tops it off with cheese and broils it in the oven. The cooking part of the video is over pretty quickly. The two get situated on the sofa with a few other snacks and a bottle of champagne. They’re in their pajamas and wearing the sparkly ‘2024’ party glasses. They watch a movie, drink and dance around the living room together, laughing their asses off when Eddie tries to take a swig straight from the champagne bottle and almost chokes on the fizz.

Closer to midnight, they turn the sofa around to face a big window with the curtains thrown open. Once they are done, Eddie picks up the camera saying, “No Robin today, she’s out there living her life,” while Steve makes an exaggerated pouting face in the background, once again both clearly drunk.

The camera is placed behind them, capturing the view outside the window along with the backs of their heads as they sit with a glass each, counting down with more drunk voices shouting from outside the window.

Three!

Two!

One!

“Happy new year!” Eddie cheers with Steve, almost tipping his glass onto himself. Doused in the colorful lights from the fireworks outside, Eddie and Steve lean in to share a kiss.

———

Comments:

80085: STEDDIE IS REAL OH MY GOS THISI S NOT A DRILL!!!!!

Dustin H: Steve pick up the phone ISTG

mrmunson: Forced to watch my husband kiss some other man 😭

Corrodedfan: okay but like WERE THEY TGT THE WHOLE TIME? IF YES THEN I TOTALLY CALLED IT

———

a/n: final part for my loyal followers we’re going to ignore how this is less than 4k words but took me like more than a year to finish

———

tag list: @deehellcat @eddiemunsonswife @missarte-beltane @walkingaftermidnight07

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie tik tok au #platonic stobin #You KNOW dustins blowing up their phones #Steve lets him find out this way as punishment for trying to set him back up with nancy a few years ago

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brayneworms · 11 months

Text

fearful, wonderful.

featuring. scaramouche.

tags. kabukimono!scaramouche, trans!scaramouche, yokai!reader, gender-neutral reader, slowburn, general allusions to war and death, yokai lore/imagery.

word count. 4.09k

notes. MINORS DNI

synopsis. the both of you are missing pieces. you will never be human. you will be more human than anything that came before you.

masterlist. prev. next. ao3.

I. EVEN THE IRON STILL FEARS THE ROT.

There are spirits that live in your eyes.

They live, they dance, they die, all in the confines of your sclera. Sometimes when you blink, you see them imprinted even in your mind. Some of them are your friends, some your enemies. It doesn’t matter at the end of the day. They live and they dance and they die all the same. You watch decades go by in a blink. You watch a flower sprout and bloom and die before you can even think to pluck it. Beauty is something that escapes you, the longer the years go on. The stars blur together in silver streaks across the sky, unending glistening tubers counting the years of your misery.

You find something like solace in Tatarasuna. Your village nests itself at the bedrock of a cluster of mountains that jut up against the Inazuman horizon. You’ve lived through the war, now you reach peace. Peace is a house with a red door and a lavender-melon tree outside. Peace is a community of humans who are all kinder and more well-meaning people than you. Peace is the children that play in the flowery meadows, the elderly women who hang their wet linens on the wires outside their homes, the men who chop wood and manhandle iron.

Peace is laying down to sleep on your futon every night with the knowledge of all your days spent, and all the ones yet to come. Peace is dreaming of friends long dead and mistaking for a moment that they will be there to greet you when you wake, only to open your eyes to an empty room, a cold hearth. You keep your teacups out of the cupboard, hanging from little wire hooks protruding from the sugi wood. They’re seto, hardly finely crafted, but you think built with heart. That is something humans are good at. Building with heart. They stir love into their creations.

You have never known yōkai to do the same.

You make tea in the evening. The sun crests over the purple sky, dips behind the mountains, shading your village in fiery light. You look out of the window of your kitchen; the glass has become cloudy over time, built up with moss and condensation piling between the panes, but you can see out, far out, across the lavender field. Two children play there, throwing a ball made of cloth back and forward. As your water starts to boil over the fire, their mother wanders out, takes them both by the wrist and hauls them back inside whilst they cry and whine.

There is something so human in that, you think. They know the meadow will be here tomorrow, that the moths will not consume their cloth ball in the night. And yet they cry. It is so human to want everything to linger in the here and now.

They have no sense of future or past. They seek beauty in its extremity, hunt for it under every corner, drink it like lifeblood.

You’re beginning to see the appeal, the longer you stay.

Your tea is earthy. It’s made from dendrobium.

You drink it outside in the dying light, and it looks like blood, and it feels like home on your lips.

You find Katsuragi one evening on Nazuchi beach. You know that he sometimes takes off his shoes and walks along the foamy shore, looking for crabs or turtles that have wandered into water too shallow and tossing them back to the tide.

Katsuragi is a softhearted man. He slants his hand against the sun to see you properly as you approach. Your footsteps sink deeply into the purplish sand—further than they should, for someone of your size. It is one of the many things about you that you’ve learned unnerve the humans.

You slide your geta off your feet as you approach the shoreline, hold them by the woollen band between two fingers. Katsuragi bends down and observes a jellyfish trapped in a rock pool.

“Don’t touch that,” you tell him as he reaches. “They sting.”

“Do they?” He looks surprised. “I’ve never been stung.”

You shrug. “Maybe they sense your kind intentions.”

“Ah, well, I’m absolutely brimming with those.” Katsuragi grins, then leans down again. You tap his wrists sharply.

“Let me,” you mutter. “I don’t feel it.”

“Of course. I forget.”

You don’t know if that’s the truth. Most of Taratsuna knows that you’re a yōkai, even if only because you’ve lived in the same place for around a hundred years and not aged a day. They have no clue how long you’ve lived before that, though. And they never will.

You cup the water beneath the jellyfish with two hands. It squirms in your grip as you lift it into the air; its feelers wrap over your arm like pale ribbons; its body is soft and rubbery and achingly vulnerable in your hands. You wonder if it knows that its attempts to sting you are in vain. You wonder if all things hurt the people trying to help them, only because they don’t know aid from sabotage.

It slips from your hands back into the water and disappears beneath the surface.

“Thank you,” Katsuragi says earnestly. “You’re a good soul, Y/n.”

You don’t tell Katsuragi that there is a large part of you that doesn’t come alive unless you are hurting or being hurt.

“I’m not,” you say instead. “I’m tsukumogami. I have no soul.”

“Jellyfish have no brains,” Katsuragi shrugs. “But we care for them all the same, don’t we?”

One night—the night that everything changes—sleep escapes you.

Every time you close your eyes you see war. You are seto-taishō, and so it is all that you know. Rain pours down from the black sky in sheets, collects in the mossy gutters and pools on rooftops. The lavender meadow by your house will flood at this rate. You think of all those flowers coming loose from the topsoil like a hundred thousand frail purple corpses, awash downstream.

You keep a collection of scrolls tucked away inside a dresser drawer; they tell stories of your life, your past, your friends. All of it long gone and dead, yet their pictures remain. You unroll them tonight, loosening the velvet ribbons that catch them fast, lay out the worn parchment over your dining table. You run your fingers over the cracked and faded paint. What will you have left of them when even these scrolls return to dust? Your own memories? What a sick joke.

Their screams echo in your ears; you feel your skin press tight over your bones, like your heart is too big for your body, and you press your knuckles to your mouth to stifle a scream. Tatarasuna is good. The people here are good. You are not, and it is why you will never belong.

It is why you will never integrate yourself with them, because they are only humans, and their lives pass you by in a blink. You have loved and hated an uncountable number of humans, and they live and die just the same, and it hurts so badly that it’s all you can do to shut it all out. You’ve learned that it’s easy to become entranced with humanity, and their kindness, and their hope and resilience—but it is just as easy to become revolted with it. With their fleeting lives and their selfishness and their hypocrisy.

At first you think you hallucinate the knock at your door. It’s pitch black outside and howling a gale; lightning forks down from the sky habitually, blazing the landscape violet for a split second before it dissipates back into darkness. But then it comes again—more frantic, more urgent, and you set your scrolls to the side with a mounting feeling of suspicion.

You think about hunting for your weapons. It seems you truly cannot escape your nature, or you would have burned the things years ago. As it is, they lay stashed and growing dust under your wardrobe. In lieu of arming yourself to the teeth, you slip a delicate half-dagger into your sock as you approach to the door. You press your ear to the wood, hearing nothing for a moment but the dull roar of the storm outside.

And then another knock.

You crack the door open. A curtain of cold wind whips inside, making your lit hearth sputter and protest and choke out a plume of black smoke.

And Katsuragi says, “Hear me out.”

Your brow furrows. A crack of violet lightning splits the sky, and you see them. A figure so much smaller than Katsuragi that they were almost swallowed entirely. Head bent against the lashing rain, small and slender against Katsuragi’s thick corded-muscle arms. You blink, looking from the nameless figure back to Katsuragi. He lifts his eyebrows, beseeching.

Slowly, you open the door. Katsuragi sags with relief and steps over the threshold, and it's only as the both of them pass over it that you notice they’re holding hands. The sight of it looks bizarre. The figure behind him moves with both easy grace and childish uncertainty. Their lithe, pale fingers curl around Katsuragi’s fist.

“Thank you,” Katsuragi pants, swiping his dripping wet hair from his forehead. You close the door silently behind him, culling the howling gale. “You don’t know what this means. I barely do.”

“Explain,” you say quietly, eyes flickering from the man you recognise to the figure you do not. They stand quite still in the middle of your living room, dripping water onto the tatami flooring.

“Yes,” Katsuragi says, then promptly gets distracted. “Hey there, don’t stand so close to the fire,” he chides, seizing the figure by their wrist and pulling. “You’ll get burnt. Or your robes will set alight.”

They go without question, stumbling where Katsuragi’s gentle pull guides them. The longer you look at this figure in your living room, the more your hair is standing on end. “Katsuragi?”

“Yes. Sorry.” He hesitates, then jerks his head. You follow him into the hallway and he slides the door shut behind you; the figure in your living room watches, unblinking, until the very moment the door touches the frame. Wide blue eyes, like ice shimmering on a winter lake. “I found him at Shakkei Pavilion. Just wandering around. He had this on him.”

Katsuragi hands you something. Your eyes widen as your eyes come to focus on it—an elegant golden feather, unmistakable.

“Hung around his neck,” Katsuragi says lowly. “It’s a mark of the archons.”

“The Shogun?” you mutter, turning your head back to the closed door in disbelief.

“I see the resemblance alright,” Katsuragi says. “It’s strange. I don’t think he’s quite… human.”

Your spine stiffens. “What do you mean? He’s… yōkai?”

“No, not quite,” Katsuragi winces, looking awkward. “But… we walked in that rain for nearly an hour. I’m about to catch my death from the cold, and he was just… standing there like he didn’t even feel it. I don’t even think he was breathing.”

“I’ve never heard of anything quite like that,” you admit. “But… why bring him to me?”

Katsuragi bites his lip. “I can’t… in good conscience cast him aside,” he says quietly. “By the looks of things, he’s been abandoned once already. The—the look in his eyes, when he realised I was trying to take him with me… almost like he’d never even conceived of it before. But I also—I don’t have the time to look over him all day, not with my job. And yet… he hungers for it, I can tell. To be a part of something.”

“Is that so?” you say archly. “And how can you tell?”

Katsuragi’s eyes soften. “I see it on your own face often enough.”

Your jaw clenches. “Losing your sight in your old age, I see,” you spit. “Or maybe you’ve taken one too many hits to the head.”

A breathless chuckle. “But, see… I think him finding a place in this village will be good for him. I’ll pay a visit to my friend Niwa in the morning—he taught my niece to read and write, you know? He could learn to be a real person.”

You almost ask, why do you care so much? And then you remember that this is Katsuragi. Katsuragi who wanders the shores in his spare hours, finding sea animals who had wandered too close to land. All Katsuragi did was look out for lost souls. He collects them—things without brains. Things without souls. You cast a glance at the shut door again, picturing the figure behind it.

Things without hearts.

“So you want me to… what?” You look at Katsuragi in disbelief. “I’m not the one to raise him, Katsuragi.”

He shrugs. “He’s not a child. He is ignorant of the world, sure, but he seems to have lived much of it already. You wouldn’t be a parent. You’d be a friend.”

“A friend?” you repeat with derision. “I’m hardly fit to be anyone’s friend.”

“Well, I’m hurt.” Katsuragi grins. “All this time, I thought we were buds.”

“You’re hilarious,” you say acidly. “Be serious. Let Niwa house him. Do it yourself, if you care so much.”

“I can’t,” he begs. “Nobody else can. Don’t you see?”

And suddenly you do. You are the only one suited to look over him, because of one very specific thing you both have in common. You are not human. And neither is he.

“You don’t want him to be alone,” you say quietly. Katsuragi looks at you helplessly. “I think you’re making a mistake, entrusting him to me.”

Katsuragi gives you a crooked smile. “Who says I’m not entrusting you to him?”

The thing—boy?—has moved a little from where you both left him when you shut the door. His back was to you, and he was stooped slightly over your dresser, examining the small collections of kitchenware you had stored carelessly upon there.

“What are you doing?” you snap, striding over. The puppet doesn’t flinch, exactly, but his body sort of locks up in surprise, and he turns those wide indigo eyes over to you with the sort of innocence you’d once thought only small children or animals possessed. The seto cup in his hand trembles.

“I was… just looking,” he says tremulously.

“You’re touching,” you grit out. “Touching isn’t looking.”

The puppet looks down at the cup in his hands, and then he slowly sets it down on the dresser. His features—somehow soft and pointed at the same time—are taut with faint confusion. “Is it valuable?”

“To me, yes.” You snatch the cup up and hang it back on its hook. The puppet’s eyes follow you, hopelessly confused. You sort of feel like you’re pointing a crossbow at a deer that’s never been hunted before.

“Easy, now,” Katsuragi intervenes—he raises his hands as though about to place them placatingly on your shoulders, but the venomous look you shoot him cowes him. He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, instead. “He didn’t know, okay?”

You bite your lip, staying schtum. The puppet looks from you to Katsuragi uncertainly. The silence swells.

Finally, Katsuragi stoops down to talk to the puppet. “So… you’re going to be staying here for a while, okay? At least until we figure out what more we can do.”

The puppet’s lashes flicker in surprise. “Will I see you again?”

“Of course,” Katsuragi says warmly. “I’ll stop by all the time. I just don’t have the time to house you with me at the moment, okay?”

“I’m not going back to the Pavilion?” the puppet asks quietly. “I… get to stay?”

Katsuragi raises his eyes and looks at you beseechingly.

This is a terrible idea.

You’re going to ruin this poor puppet’s life.

You throw up your hands in exasperation and nod.

As Katsuragi says his goodbyes, you go to the closet and pull out a spare futon and some blankets. There’s a spare room, but it’s about the size of a large cupboard and currently is used to store your old armour and weapons. The puppet will have to share your room. You unroll the futon in the furthest corner from your own bed, right under the window. Muted strips of moonlight fall over the sheets, stifled by the rainfall.

When you wander back into the living room, Katsuragi is preparing to leave. You hesitate.

“Don’t want to dry off before you go?”

He shakes his head with a demure smile. “Not much point. I’ll get soaked either way.” He walks over to you with his dark eyes soft and open. “Thank you for this. I’m grateful.” His voice drops. “So is he.”

You don’t voice any of the things that rise to your lips instinctively. This is a mistake. I’ll mess this up. I’ll mess him up.

I can’t teach life. All I know is death.

Instead, you shrug. “Whatever.”

With another pat on the puppet’s head, Katsuragi departs. The puppet’s eyes follow him warily before turning to you. The expression on his face is expectant, like he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do.

You cast an awkward look around. “Are you… cold?”

The puppet blinks. “I don’t think so.” He looks down at his soaked clothes as though they don’t even belong to him. “That’s rain outside, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

The puppet looks thoughtful. “I heard it often, in the Pavillion. I always wondered what it looked like. What it felt like. But I couldn’t feel much of it.”

“Right.” You shift awkwardly. “Well… you should change into some dry clothes, at least.”

The puppet blinks. Tilts his head curiously. “Why?”

“Just… you know.” Your tongue feels too big and awkward for your mouth, and you have to bite back an irritated huff. “It’ll feel better.”

The puppet still looks confused, but he only bites his lip this time instead of answering. The skin there, caught between his teeth, is smooth and unmarred. The clothing in question is, indeed, so wet that it’s sticking to him. The plain, unembellished karaginu is practically translucent against his fair skin, his dark katsugi veil clinging to his long, dark hair. And what hair—it cascades like a dark waterfall down to his waist, stringy with rainwater, framing a thin, pale face.

He looks like a woman, in this light. Pretty enough to be one, you suppose. The feminine clothing and hair weren’t helping.

You rummage in your cupboards for a spare jinbei, hands curling over soft eggshell cotton. When you press them into his arms, he looks hopelessly confused, and you heave a sigh.

“Undress yourself, and put these on,” you tell him. “Your bed is in that room, under the window.”

You turn your back, wandering into the kitchen to make tea. You take a cup—not your seto ones, they never get used for something as prosaic as teamaking—and spoon dried curdled leaves into it, light a fire under a pot of water. It bubbles happily away as the flame catches and sputters in earnest.

You look over your shoulder, intending to ask the puppet if he would like something to drink also (do puppets need to drink? Do they need to eat?) but your voice dies in your throat. His veil lies in a wet pile of diaphanous lilac silk at his feet. He has struggled halfway out of his karaginu, the top half pooling limply at his waist as he works at his belt.

“W-what are you doing?!”

The puppet’s head snaps up at your near-shout, eyes wide. His fingers fumble at his waist, and the sharp jut of his shoulder blades and spine contort as he whirls around to stare at you.

“Don’t change here,” you tell him incredulously. “Go into the bathroom or the bedroom.”

The puppet looks utterly bewildered and a little hurt. “What? W-why?”

“For privacy.” You take a deep breath through your teeth. He lived alone in a domain for Archons-know how long. Of course he would be unaccustomed to the concept of shame. Maybe it’s not right for you to introduce him to it—but you can’t pretend the sight of his bare torso doesn’t rattle you in all the wrong ways. Strange markings carve into his skin at the elbows and shoulders. They look like weird shadows, but you don’t keep your eyes on them long enough to gauge their meaning. All you see is an expanse of smooth, unmarred skin.

“I don’t understand,” the puppet says quietly. “Is my body offensive?”

“It’s not that,” you get out through gritted teeth, eyes glued to the wall. “It’s just… decent. Please go and change somewhere else.”

There’s a pause—and then you hear a quiet rustle of shifting clothing. Silently, the puppet picks up his sleepwear and treads down the hallway to the bathroom. The door slides shut with a sound like a sigh behind him.

You turn back to your tea, trying not to feel guilty. The water in the pot froths and spits now, starting to bubble over the cast-iron rim. You wonder if you hurt the puppet’s feelings. You wonder if he has any feelings to hurt.

Things without souls. Things without hearts.

What a pair we make.

Katsuragi’s trust in you feels like a sick joke.

You pour the tea, and whilst it cools, walk over to where the puppet was changing. He left his veil in a sodden pile on the floor, so you pick it up and hang it on one of the coat hanger hooks. It drips sullenly and relentlessly, a steady dull tapping against the tatami flooring. You cast a glance at the closed door, the one the puppet undresses behind.

Aid and sabotage.

Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know the difference.

After another ten minutes, the door slides open in a soft rush. The puppet pokes his head around the frame. “Am I wearing it right?”

The shirt is backwards, and when you tell him so a frustrated furrow carves itself between his brows. He wriggles his arms back out of the holes and twists the fabric around his torso—and then he looks up at you, and you think that if he had the capacity to breathe his breath would be bated. He looks as though his every happiness clings to you telling him he’s finally done something right. His eyes are impossibly big, like night-blooming lilies, begging for your blessing.

He doesn’t yet know that you are unfit to give it.

You nod tersely, drain the last of your tea. “Give me your wet clothes,” you tell him. “I’ll hang them up to dry.”

He scrambles to obey, shoving the damp pile of fabric at you with haste. He watches you hang them up like it’s the most captivating thing in the world, rosebud lips parted in awe.

When you show him his futon, his eyes gleam. He sets his body down gingerly, spreads his palm over the sheets. Feeling the fabric to an almost obsessive degree, clenching his fists so the white cotton bleeds between his fingers, rubbing his cheek against the pillow like a cat. As you settle into your own bed, staring emptily up at the ceiling, you hear him shift, a rustle as he sits up.

“Why didn’t Katsuragi want me?” he asks.

“He didn’t have time for you,” you answer. “He works a lot.”

There is a short pause as the puppet processes this. “Why did you want me?”

“I didn’t,” you grit out. “But I have you now.”

There is quiet, broken only by the endless rush of rain outside. Then the puppet sighs, long and deep and mournful.

“I might have known.” His words seep into the darkness, a million miles from the neutral, curious tone you’ve heard so far. His voice sounds hoarse and much older, suddenly, weighed down with a hundred years of pain. “Nobody ever really wants me.”

With that, he turns on his side, pulling the blankets up over his head.

You don’t know if he sleeps. You certainly don’t.

When you close your eyes after a few hours, you see spirits. They dance and they live and they die. The smell of blood wakes you up. As usual, when you bolt upright, gasping for breath, they are not there.

Someone is, though. For the first time in you don’t even know how long, someone is.

The knowledge of that soothes you back to sleep.

#🫀.scribes #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #kabukimono x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact oneshot #scaramouche oneshot #wanderer oneshot #genshin impact x you #scaramouche x you #kabukimono x you #wanderer x you

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taintedevesayori · 5 months

Text

Prompt 22: Breathless

~ Diabolik OTP Challenge by @yuriko-mukami ~

“So annoying…” Sayo muttered, trying to gather all of her hair in her hands.

There was so much of it that it wasn’t working out. Every time she thought she had it all, multiple pieces would fall again.

“I swear I’m gonna chop it off…”

“Hmm~? But I think your hair is pretty.”

She glanced back to see Kou standing in her doorway. Apparently she had been so focused that she didn’t notice the door open. Who knew how long he had been watching.

“I can’t say I hate it but having it so long can get in the way,” she sighed, letting her hair down. “Plus it’s hard to get all of it together so I can tie it up…”

“Want some help?”

“That would actually be great.”

“Sit down on the chair then!” He chirped, walking over to her.

She moved away from the mirror, sitting down on the chair to her desk. Kou carefully gathered up her hair in one hand. He made it seem so easy…

“Brush,” he held out his other hand, so she handed him the brush.

While she was at it, she pulled the hair tie off of her wrist, handing it to him as well. It felt strange to have someone else doing her hair. Honestly, she thought it was kind of nice.

“There!” Kou grinned once he was finished. “All done!”

He placed the brush down on her desk as she stood.

“Thanks,” she smiled. “I wasn’t getting anywhere with practice since it was bothering me so much.”

“What were you practicing?”

“A dance. Kisa thought it might be fun to add a little dance sequence to a new song. She wanted us to come up with ideas before our next practice.”

“No way! I love dancing,” he was pretty excited. “I want to see you dance. Let me help.”

He was actually pretty good at dancing, so it would be a good idea. Sure, she danced with the others when they occasionally attended the dance club instead of performing, but she never put any thought into it.

“That’s not a bad idea…It’s easy to dance when it’s just for fun but I’ve been struggling now that I need to put real thought into it.”

“That’s why you just go with the flow. I hate people ordering me around, so that’s what I do.”

“So none of your dancing is choreographed?” She was pretty surprised by that.

“Nope! Show me the basics of what you’re thinking and I’ll help from there.”

“If you say so…”

Kou had been helping her practice for over half an hour before the two decided to take a break.

“I’m disappointed…” he muttered.

Was he not having fun? It seemed like he was, but maybe she was reading into it wrong.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought I might get to teach you about sex appeal, but you’ve got plenty of it already.”

She almost choked on her water. “Sex appeal?!”

“Isn’t that pretty important when dancing? I thought you were doing it intentionally….to get me to notice,” he smirked, placing his hands on her waist.

“I was definitely not doing it on purpose,” she wanted to pull away but his grip was firm.

“That’s too bad…then why don’t I give you a little sex appeal of my own?”

“…huh?”

He enjoyed seeing her reactions to this sort of thing. She became fairly flustered when he pushed her up against the wall. What was he trying to prove?

“Come on…be serious…”

“Your face is bright red,” he chuckled. “What do you want me to do?”

One of his hands moved to her back, sliding under her shirt. His fingers trailed up along her spine, causing her to shiver. Meanwhile, he leaned his face down to her neck, tracing her collarbone with his tongue.

“Kou!” She exclaimed, completely flustered at this point.

She attempted to move away, but he moved forward, his hips pinning her lower body down.

“Go on~ Why don’t you start squirming? Doesn’t it sound fun to rub up against me?”

“It doesn’t…Come on, let me go…”

“I don’t want to…You taste too sweet…”

His lips moved down to the top of her breast, just above the top hem of her shirt. She winced as he bit down. Even if she had a high pain tolerance, such an area was uncomfortable. But…their position bothered her more than the bite. She wasn’t sure what to do.

“Mm…” he licked his marks as he pulled away.

When he glanced up at her face, a dark chuckle escaped his lips.

“You look like you’re enjoying this, Sayo~”

“No way…!” She exclaimed.

He leaned up, nipping at her ear before continuing.

“Are you sure you aren’t getting a little heated?”

“Kou, be serious…”

“I am,” he moved his face closer so that their noses brushed against one another.

Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest. She knew she should push him away…but she couldn’t bring herself to. Kou felt like he had waited for her to reject him long enough. He closed the gap, locking his lips with hers.

This was insane. She could barely believe what was happening. One kiss was enough to encourage him. He went right back for more.

“Kou…” she managed to gasp out in between kisses. “What-?”

“Twist your tongue around mine…like this…”

He cut her off with another kiss, more heated than the last. His tongue really did enter her mouth, twirling against hers. She had no idea what to do, so she simply let him continue to take the lead.

Eventually she did push him away as she tried to catch her breath.

“You’re…insufferable…” she gasped.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” he smirked.

She grumbled some choice words under her breath, but let it go as he pulled her in for more.

#diabolik lovers otp challenge #diabolik lovers oc #diabolik lovers #sayori makina #kou mukami

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my-cabbages-gorl · 2 months

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Chapter 2 of Bewitched is up!

Alright, this behemoth of a chapter is finally finished. Sorry for taking forever and ever to update, but this chapter took on a mind of its own and I had to see it through to the end instead of chopping it up into two shorter chapters!

Rating has been updated to Explicit

Tags: Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, Aged-Up Characters, Post-Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 6,038

Stay tuned for the next chapter coming soon!

~~~

In the cradle of the pink cherry blossom breeze, something ancient was roaring to life. Where before, they’d danced under the sun with dragons and ancient fire; tonight, they danced under the purple moon in the light of an entirely new flame.

Time raced unforgivingly. The clamoring of their hands- raking and pulling at what clothing remained on their bodies- dragged them through seconds that hurtled into minutes without their permission. With every sloppy kiss, every moan, they exchanged tormented pleas, entreating time to stop. But, she would not yield.

In the friction of their bodies shifting against one another, Zuko slid a hand between them, pressing his fingers into the scoop where Aang’s muscled chest met his sternum. Pushing gently with his palm, he did what felt unbearable- he tore his mouth from Aang’s, momentarily slowing the uncoiling energy between them.

“Aang , wait.” Zuko exhaled sharply and pressed his forehead to Aang's, catching his breath. Looking down, he was reminded that his completely naked body was flush against Aang, save for the robe draped loosely around his shoulders.

“Sorry,“ Aang’s hands-on Zuko’s waist pushed to put a few inches of distance between them. “I only want this if you do.” Aang fingers the ties of Zuko’s robe and starts to draw them back together.

Zuko shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. I want you, Aang,” a laugh dances across his lips, “I've been wanting you,” he corrected himself- palms sliding down Aang’s stomach to pause where his hands are redressing him. “I just don’t know what it will be like to be friends... after this.” He inhales, the laugh fading from his eyes.

Aang furrowed his brow, his mouth curled at the corners. Freeing a hand from Zuko’s grip, he fits his palm against Zuko’s jaw, the pad of his thumb sweeping the valley below his chin.

“I can’t remember a time when we were only friends, Zuko.” Candlelight fluttered across the bright apricot-colored flush on his face, “Can you?”

Zuko shook his head again. Amber eyes burned with definitiveness in the candlelit darkness. His hand closed around Aang’s wrist- guiding it up to the hem of his robe framing his collarbone.

“Take this off me.” The words feathered over Aang’s kiss-swollen lips. As the silk slipped past their bodies and crumped around their feet, they surrendered.

~~~

Finish reading on Ao3

#zukaang #zukaang fic #zukaang fanfic #nsft #zuko #aang #atla fanart #my fic #atla fanfic #my writing #aged up zukaang #avatar the last airbender #atla

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punkassfrance · 1 year

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Carried Away - Joel x Reader

Rated T for partial nudity and suggestive dialogue. Joel picks up a new project- it's been a long time since you've seen him this excited. Content warning for minor cut/injury, knife, and country music I guess.

This fic comes with a playlist! The first two songs are the songs actually featured, in order, the rest are just songs I think Joel would listen to (working, dancing, singing along, whatever.) All were initially released pre-2003. I recommend the first two songs at least, but hey, enjoy the rest if you like!

You’re not certain where he found it. If it was in Jackson, it was a wonder someone hadn’t taken it already. If it was outside, you had no idea why he decided to drag it back.

Well, maybe you have an idea.

When he kicked the door down and stomped his muddy boots into the kitchen, smiling like a kid, you almost didn’t recognize what was in his hands. He lifted it and held it out for you to see.

“Look!”

You were a kid the last time you saw one of these in your father’s “man cave”, but the closer you look, the more it starts to come back to you.

It’s a Victrola. An old one, even by 2003 standards. The wood casing has a few dings and stains, but it looks much better than it should after twenty years sitting wherever it was. You only look over the crooked needle for a second before looking back up to Joel, and he looks like a kid on Christmas morning. After years of living together, years of being together, you never got the chance to really appreciate his dimples until now. You smile.

His boots thunk across the floor, dried mud falling off in chunks as he makes his way to the garage. You grimace and eye the broom, tempted to give him shit about the mess- but you haven’t seen him this excited in a long time.

He can sweep up his mess later.

Right before you chop down on the carrot in your other hand, snow slides off the roof and hits the trash cans, startling you. You miss and slice your finger, grimacing as you pull away and observe the cut. Barely more than a papercut, but it stings.

As you reach for a paper towel, the garage door swings open. Joel steps through, toeing his boots off and wiping his hands with a stained rag. “I think it’s just about running, babe-” he says, a perk in his voice as he looks up to you. Concern passes over his face, subtle, but not invisible. Not to you, anyway. Not after this long.

He crosses the floor in a few strides, taking your hand and holding it close up to his face. He’s not wearing his glasses; still too stubborn to admit he needs them.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, dear. Just got myself with the knife.” He sticks the tip of your finger between his lips. “What are you…doing?”

He glances up at you before pulling your hand away, dabbing at it with the paper towel he took from your hand. “Helps keep the cut clean, avoid infection. You gotta be careful with those knives, sweetpea…” He grumbles a bit under his breath, too low and quiet for you to make out, but you can imagine what he’s saying.

He glances out the window at the snow, then looks down at his dirty t-shirt. “Sorry I’ve…been out in the garage all afternoon.”

“Joel, you couldn’t have saved me from slipping with a kitchen knife.”

“I know, but…” He pulls you in, arms wrapping around your waist. His chest is so warm- the cologne he put on this morning has faded a bit, softer under the smell of dirt and beer. Rising and falling, sturdy under your cheek. “...I promise this’ll be worth it.”

“It already is.” You get up on your toes to kiss him before pushing him away. “I know how much you love a project. Go clean up before you touch me again.” As he walks off to the bathroom, you reach out to pinch his ass. He smacks at your hand, smiling before he disappears up the stairs.

When you come home from patrol in early February, the house isn’t silent as you expected. It’s not filled with children like some day, Ellie and her friends off at school. No. It’s music.

Old music. The type of thing you hear in the car with Joel. As you toe your boots off and shed your layers, you think you recognize the song- something Joel hums while he works, maybe. Stepping into the kitchen, you can hear him singing along under his breath.

“But darlin’, when you come around…” You knock on the kitchen wall to get his attention. He’s buried up to his elbows in dish water, but he jerks around and reaches for a hand towel once he hears you. There’s that grin again, the one you’ve only seen a few times. You’ll never point it out to him. He might stop if you did. Once his hands are dry, he jerks a thumb at the Victrola spinning on the dining room table. “Finally got her running! Maria let me have free reign over the remaining vinyl collection in the library, apparently we’re the only ones in town with a working record player.”

You stare at each other for a moment, soft smiles in a quiet moment before he crosses the room and pulls you in. Instinct raises your arms to loop around Joel’s neck, like this is just where you belong. You can’t remember belonging anywhere else. The past is too abstract to think about right now, and as far as you’re concerned in this moment, you’ve never been hurt in your life. Joel is right here, pulling you into his chest, humming along to the music. This is as real as it gets.

“I get carried away, by the look, by the light in your eyes…” His chest rumbles subtly as he sings, his hands playing with your hair. You’re not sure when he started swaying you with the music, but the motion is comforting. “Before I even realize the ride I’m on…” Lips press against your head. “...baby, I’m long gone…”

The song crackles out too soon, but he doesn’t let go until you lift your head to look at him. He pulls you up closer to his lips, almost lifting you off the ground in a desperate kiss.

When he finally lets go and you stumble off to the bath, you reach up to feel your hair where he was fiddling with it. It’s tucked into a loose braid.

The library is in surprisingly good condition. Part of the success of Jackson can be attributed to the well-stocked instructional books, so it makes sense the town would prioritize library maintenance. Ellie works down here some days, reading or playing with the gameboy color Tommy got her for the holidays.

Today, you’re in the back room, digging through what’s left of the digital media. There’s CDs, cassette tapes, VHS tapes, various fixed up devices to borrow, and most importantly vinyls. Joel doesn’t know you’re here today. He’s out hunting with Tommy, which would scare you to death, but he’s come back every time.

If there’s anything left to have faith in, it’s him.

You pull back each vinyl, scanning the titles for a second before moving along the stacks. The edges are worn and tattered, but you know the broken records have been culled for the most part.

The front door screams through the library as it opens, thudding closed before footsteps approach the back room. You turn to watch the doorway, breathing a sigh of relief when Maria approaches you with a smile. The goal was to surprise Joel with a few records- that would have been ruined if he came home early and caught you.

Luckily, she seems to have a stack of records in her hands.

“Hey. Glad I caught you- Jesse found these in one of the buildings we’re fixing up, I was going to let Joel know when he got back.” She set them down, pulling an empty milk carton out from under the table. “See anything you want?”

You hold up a small stack as she starts pulling out records to check. “A few things, yeah. Bit of rock, bit of country, and a few for me. Is there any due date for returning these?”

She glances over her shoulder with a bemused grin. “We’ll cross that bridge when someone else gets a record player. So, no.”

You smile as she pulls a record out of its sleeve and pauses. Holding it up to the light to look for warping or scratches, she holds the sleeve out to you. “I know Tommy likes this guy, I’m pretty sure Joel’s a fan too.”

The sleeve is a bit faded with time, but not unreadable. Maria hands you the record, apparently deeming it satisfactory. You’ve heard the name on the label before.

“I think you’re right.”

When Joel comes home, he’s a wreck. Covered in filth, more than usual, aching, just a bit grumpy. He doesn’t even make it to the laundry room before shedding his hunting gear with a deep, long-suffering sigh. When he looks up, his eyes soften a bit. You’re not wearing much- the house is toasty, especially by the fire, and you never wear pants if you can help it. You’re in underwear and one of Joel’s old t-shirts. You smile when you see him, standing from the couch and grabbing another log. Fire crawls up the sides as you feed it to the hearth.

Joel’s eyes light up as the song on the Victrola registers.

“Is this…?”

“I know you like this guy.” You stand up straight, holding out a hand to lure him in. He hesitates, but steps forward in front of the fire and pulls you into his chest. A chill runs through him, and he doesn’t smell nearly as nice after two days of hunting, but you don’t mind all that much. A candle burns on the side table, and he still smells like Joel after all- you’ll just have to warm him up yourself.

He holds you tight- this time, it doesn’t feel like it’s for you. Soft lips kiss at your neck. He’s not leaving marks, just easing into you the best way he knows how. His hands dip down to rest on your ass, fingers tracing over the lacy elastic border.

“Shit, babydoll. I’m getting you all dirty.”

“Hm…if only there was some kind of…big ceramic container we could lather up in. Hot water, maybe. A tub for bathing, perhaps-” You trail off into giggles as he lightly pats your ass.

“Smartass.”

Crackling silence fills the air as the song changes over. Piano. Eventually, a guitar.

Joel looks down at you. You don’t get to see him this soft often, but every time, you treasure the occasion. If there’s anything you’ll remember as you age, as your memory slips away, it’s him. His name. This reverent, adoring smile. Joel.

His hair is graying. It’s one of your favorite details about him. You hope when his memory starts to fade, he remembers you too.

Just look at you, girl.

“Standing here beside me,” he sings quietly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Starlight in your hair.”

He pulls you into the crook of his neck, arms tight around you. “Looking like a dream I dreamed somewhere…”

You never would have thought Joel to be the romantic type. He was so standoffish when you first met- hardened and gruff and a bitter asshole to everyone except Ellie. You imagine him before the outbreak.

There’s no way to know if he looked anything like the man in your arms. But you hope.

The song drawls on, quiet in the corner of the room. You don’t mind all that much, it makes it easier to hear Joel. Eventually he stops singing along, too busy swaying and sighing into your neck. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you make a note to ask him to sing the song around the bonfire some time- but it’ll never compare to the rumble of his voice on your body.

I’m an ordinary man, but I feel like I could do anything in the world…

He pulls back to kiss you properly as the song closes.

…when I look at you girl.

When the fuzz of the record fills the room again, he sighs.

“Maybe we should get cleaned up.”

“I’ll draw a bath.” You get up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Dinner is in the oven.”

He nods, letting go after a moment. Before you pull away, you whisper in his ear.

“If you play your cards right, you might just get a massage after.”

He chuckles and pats your ass again, sending you up the stairs. The last thing you hear as you walk off with a smile is the sound of the needle lifting off the record.

Hope you enjoyed! Check out my about me with all of my info and other works! Comments are always appreciated c:

#the last of us #fanfiction #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller #joel/reader #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #fluff #enjoy #i grew up in a rural area and now you poor people get to suffer for it #Spotify

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knightyoomyoui · 1 year

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The Tale Of The Bloodline | TWICE MiSaMo (Mina, Sana & Momo) x Male Reader- CHAPTER 2: “Defend In Honor”

Previously on CHAPTER 1: "I have to beat Kim Jennie. So I guess what I'm getting at is that maybe there's was some way.... that I could get some help with that." Yuta, YN and Jinyoung knitted their brows once again, but this time... it got more narrow and deeper at how eager they are at this Sana girl's proposition. "I would be more happy to help out in return." Sana shrinked her distance of herself to Yuta who didn't looked at her, sliding her knees at once inches away to him; formed her hands as if she's praying or begging. "Trust me when I tell you this, I could be a very valuable ally here. I acknowledge you... and I want you to recognize me because... as I said, I acknowledge you.", Sana repeated that golden praise over and over again as part of her pleading. Yuta nodded slowly, showing a sign that he's liking what she's doing.Sana sprung her body back up in posture, which effectively flinched again the Bloodline in surprise again. "OKAY! GOOD TALK, I SAID THE THING AND I... have to go now. Bye!", Sana nervously smiled in the end before exiting the room; leaving the Bloodline processing everything what Sana just told to them. YN pushed his head near beside Yuta who remains unmovable and speechless; hands clenched at one another as he stares at the wall sharply.

"So we got people... in my show... talking harsh about me and our family.", Yuta gritted his teeth, lips quivering in growing anger as he tilted his head to YN's direction. He included Mina at the width of his sight, turning his head at his younger cousin with his same demeanor. "Take my name... out of their filthy mouths."

20 MINUTES LATER Sana and Jennie both entered the ring, went onto their respective corners as the referee checks on them if they are ready to fight. The referee confirmed it when Sana took off her baggy coat that is part of her persona outfit as a great liberator. Sana and Jennie had a staredown at one another. Jennie’s lips curved into a smirk and doing whisper teases as Sana looked at her annoyingly. “And here we go-” The announcer was about to finish his words and call the start of the match along with the referee when it got interrupted by the entrance theme of The Myouis played around the arena for the second time of the night, making the crowd react again together with the other fighters in the ringside dividedly. Sana’s reaction was the most priceless one as her mouth formed agape in shock and surprise that her pleading actually did worked, successfully convincing The Bloodline to ask for a help with The Empire Chief sending out The Myouis in the match. Mina and YN Myoui appeared on the stage with a swag aura and fierce expression in their faces, eyeing down Sana from the distance who’s very happy at them appearing. Her joy even had her dance a little in glee and send grateful waves at them as they walked down the arena. Miyawaki Sakura and Kim Chaewon aka LE SSERAFIM who is part of the lumberjacks assigned in the watch to monitor the two fighters and the duo slated to be the contenders for the Undisputed Tag Team Championships in JFF Retaliation pay-per-view event 2 weeks from today, glanced at The Myouis daringly and probably annoyed that they have to attend too. -------------------------- The match has already started and so far the odds are in favor for the babyface Jennie. She grabbed Sana who crashed in the corner and dragged her up before she pushed her again to the left corner. After Sana stood up, leaning her back in the turnbuckles; Jennie knuckle punched her in the forehead before she performed a loud hand chop to Sana’s chest which caused the dominated one to hiss a lot of sting from the impact. Sana slightly walked away from Jennie to move to the another corner but Jennie catches up to her again, giving her another unsettling hand chop to the chest. The crowd went ‘ooh!’ at the loud noise it created as Sana kneeled down on the ground, she coughed while holding her aching chest. Jennie grabbed Sana’s hair and pulled her up, threw her to the ropes but Sana clutched on it; stopping herself from getting bounced back to Jennie who’s ready to execute another attack move to her. Jennie noticed it and instead did the first move to charge but Sana avoided it, ducking below while pulling down the rope; making Jennie throw herself out of the ring although she remained standing still at the ringside.

The only problem she put herself in was that her former bestfriend Lisa Manoban along with her partners Kim Jisoo and Park ”Rose’” Chaeyoung also known as BLACKPINK was standing in the same area on the ringside she landed in. Realizing that she’s standing in between them, Lisa, Jisoo and Rose’ slowly approached her, target locked with dislike present in their sight. Jennie stared down at Lisa first, unable to be aware at Rose’s blindside clubby elbow strike to the back of her neck; causing her to bow. Lisa and Jisoo joined the attack, giving Jennie few punches to her back and arm before Lisa did the honor to throw and bump Jennie to the steel stairs placed on the ringside post and throw her back again inside the ring. Their actions brought all of the fighters to confront one another in pairs at each sides including LE SSERAFIM and another duo known as STAYC composed of Sim Jayoon and Lee Isa for the fighters who are face while The Myouis and BLACKPINK for the heels. (AN: In wrestling, “face” is the term being called for good guys while “heel” is for bad guys.) Minutres have passed, Jennie who’s weakness got taken advantaged by Sana after being attacked by BLACKPINK outside; managed to shot back at Sana with a headbutt. Sana became dizzy and went near the corner, allowing Jennie to see the opportunity to hit her finisher. “And Minatozaki Sana, about to head onto the danger zone as Kim Jennie looks to go solo here…” The commentator said, increasing the hype for Jennie who’s encouraging the crowd to boost her momentum up by counting down with them. 3… 2… 1!!!! Jennie was about to ran when Sana turned around but the quick awareness activated her to roll out of the ring and avoid Jennie’s rocket kick attack. Unfortunately, she didn’t noticed that Sana just led herself in front of Sakura and Chaewon who are standing at the ringside in front of the end of the ramp. “And Sana… didn’t got out from the harm’s way or pity here because she’s right there in front of-“ The commentator had to switch his tone to a surprised style when their attention got drawn to the Myouis giving double super kicks to Sakura’s face then went next towards Chaewon to attack her with punches and push her to the ringpole, restricting them from touching Sana as they laid beaten on the mat.

YN and Mina picked up their championship belts on the ground and slowly walked out of the ramp with cocky and satisfied looks in their faces, accomplishing the task that was given to them by Yuta earlier that they had to take his name and their family off of their filthy mouths. Their sneak attack has what urged the rest of the lumberjacks remaining in the ringside to gather and fight theirselves, creating chaos which distracted the referee. Sana tried to escape through the audience section but Jennie noticed it. She chases her and just as Sana when Sana jumped out of the barricade, Jennie catched her with a headlock; dragging her back in. As she placed her in the ring, all of the heel fighters teamed up to attack Jennie outside but the face fighters got alerted and rushed in aid to defend Jennie, letting her back inside while the heels got distracted. Sana once again rolls out of the ring, unbeknowst to Jennie who just stood up and unable to see her do that. She tried to find Sana around the ring but she was nowhere.

What stole Jennie’s attention rather was the brawl going on in the ringside. Without other choice, she just shrugged and ran in the ropes before shining her atleticism by jumping above the top rope and perform a spinning dive to the group of fighters outside; making them all collapse. Sana who is now successfully reached the audience section, slowly backs out as she double checks whether Jennie would try to chase her again. Through this, she made herself lose via countout as the referee declared it when she reached the 10th count, giving Jennie her another unfair win. As she made her way in the bleachers staircase, the general manager of the roster Bang Sihyuk appears from the stage with a microphone on hand. “Sana… Sana… Sana, never in all my years would I think it possible for someone to actually run from a lumberjack match.” GM Sihyuk said with disappointment to Sana who listened to him. “But then I should’ve known you. I’ll tell you what, next week I know this.” Jennie reentered the ring and stood in the center holding her back in pain as she listened also to Sihyuk’s announcement. “There will be NO RUNNING because you will go one on one again with Kim Jennie… IN A STEEL CAGE MATCH!!!” Sana immediately reacted negatively, lashing out in the middle of the staircase with the crowd beside her teasing and cheering for GM Sihyuk’s good decision. Even Jennie had to nod and smile appreciatingly to it. “Oh no Minatozaki Sana! You will be trapped inside the cage with the Korean Warrior! No escape!” The commentator Knight Yoo pitied Sana’s upcoming trouble she was placed in. The show ended with Jennie smiled devilishly at Sana who angrily exits the arena. 2 WEEKS LATER From the previous week on Friday Night Knockdown that was scheduled by GM Bang Sihyuk for Sana and Jennie to fight inside a steel cage, it went smoothly and the victory was earned by Jennie as she finished Sana clean with her finisher. Tonight’s the first week of May and the week after that match too, the Bloodline who was previously absent and rather showed up on Monday Night War to sign the contract with LE SSERAFIM on their upcoming match; are now currently present again in preparation for their one final face off with LE SSERAFIM and Kim Jennie on a segment tonight. In everyone’s surprise, Jennie was now included in the match when The Myouis and Nakamoto Yuta attacked LE SSERAFIM before they got to put their signature on. She came into help and lured the Bloodline away from the outnumbered duo. It was revealed later from the federation itself that after the segment, Yuta requested on Sihyuk for a change, turning the match rather into a 6 PERSON MIXED TAG TEAM MATCH at Retaliation PPV as he inserts himself and Jennie too. The six fighters will join GM Sihyuk later on as he leads another contract signing for them to make it finally official. Meanwhile, during the progress of the show; the camera switched to the backstage where the special adviser Park Jinyoung is seen walking in the hallway to return back in the Bloodline private locker room when he unexpectedly crossed ways with Sana who’s waiting for him. “Hey, wiseman! Good to see you!” Sana greeted Jinyoung who got taken aback at her sudden emergence. “Can I just talk to you for a sec?” He furrowed his eyebrows and squinted his eyes at Sana before he nodded. “Make it faster.” “Look, I consider myself a confidant of Yuta Nakamoto and the Bloodline much like yourself, okay?” She said, grasping Jinyoung’s shoulders. “And there’s something you need to know.” “As the locker room observant, I overhear and see everything. I did heard Jang Wonyoung earlier that she was talking about Yuta Nakamoto, talking about you, talking about the Bloodline. She hasn’t forgotten anything, she wants payback, she’s not letting anything go, and here’s what I want you to do.” Jinyoung kept on listening to her words. “I know he’s having a busy night. I know the Myouis too. I know the Bloodline does. They all are having a busy night. I’m trusting you with this.” Sana patted Jinyoung’s shoulder then proceeded doing gestures again to emphasize her statement. “You tell him, I will personally deal against Jang Wonyoung, okay?”

Jinyoung was astounded, he looked at Sana interestingly. A smirk and a clutch to his chest. “He doesn’t need to worry about it, okay? I will handle it on his behalf. I just need to make sure that you let him know soon, okay?” Jinyoung paused Sana, excusing her with a finger up. They leaned their heads closer, Jinyoung lowered his voice near Sana’s ear. “I’m gonna tell you something I really shouldn’t repeat.” “Well go on then.” “The Empire Chief…” “Yeah?” “…respects and appreciates your initiative.” Jinyoung proudly said with a grin. Sana brought her fists up, feeling uplifted. “That’s what I’m talking about! O-okay, I have to go now and prepare for Wonyoung later. Tell Yuta that I acknowledge him.” Jinyoung nodded and accepts Sana’s handshake before the fighter left, fully motivated to meet her mission later dedicated to her one and only Empire Chief.

#twicemina #twicemomo #twicesana #twiceminafanfic #twicemomofanfic #twicesanafanfic #twiceminaau #twicemomoau #twicesanaau #twicemisamo #misamo #twice #twicefanfic #twiceau #kpopfanfic #kpopau #thetaleofthebloodline

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