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adora-but-ginger · 1 year

Text

scrawled in sand

pairing: joel miller x gender neutral!reader

summary: a fight leads to a mistake that may be costly, and Joel might lose someone, again.

word count: 4.5k(ish)

warnings: typical tlou violence and the warnings that come with those, nothing in detail but some sexual thoughts so 18+, weapons/knives, mentions of the loss of children, joel is kind of being an asshole at some points, angst, fluff at the end though, reader is like a feral cat joining a group of feral cats, swearing, hallucinations kind of, spoilers for episodes eight and nine, talking of death, no y/n used, umm i think that's it

masterlist

a/n: please don't ask me what this is, i don't have an answer. i chugged it out on a whim yesterday and make some edits today to fit the story better, and i'm currently trying to fill the hole that the end of the show has left so here this is! pedro as joel truly makes my brain go brrr, this series is fr consuming my life oh my god. thank you for reading! <3

one more thing! don't repost my stories, because only those who don't cover their cough or sneeze do that, and frankly that's embarrasing.

enjoy!-ella

credit to gif owner!

Joel,

The letter started, and he felt the all too familiar feeling of guilt pool in his gut. The argument from earlier that morning back had ran through his head on repeat since you left him standing alone in the middle of the street, with nothing but the horses in the near distance remaining as his company.

He didn't know why he said what he did, or at least he didn't want to admit it. The ghosts of his past had been haunting his every waking moment the closer he got to you, after Ellie had asked you to come with them in Kansas City. To say you were a force to be reckoned with would be an understatement, and he frequently glanced to your features and saw the same fires that burned the kindle of broken memories in himself.

You were dangerous, fearless, and morally questionable. This meant that Ellie nearly fuckin' worshipped you, and that Joel followed not too far behind.

The fact that you were nearly breathtaking to him was also an added benefit. Had he met you before, Tommy definitely would've chastised him for fawning after someone so out of his league.

You were brutal, and had made your grand entrance by saving Ellie and his life when he thought he had failed once again. Even months after you had joined their little duo, he still hadn't figured out how he hadn't seen you in the shadows. You had gotten rid of the person holding the weapon to Ellie's head just as they were about to pull the trigger, the shock of this third unannounced party granting you the time to take care of the one suffocating Joel.

Apparently, you drew a line of morals somewhere, but the line must've been distinct only to you. You had introduced yourself to the two after making sure they were both okay enough to continue, and it didn't take him more than another twenty-four hours to know that somewhere along the line, you had lost a child too. He had never expressed his inference out loud, but only someone who personally knew the pain of losing a child like that would save a kid like that.

From then on, he could tell that his silent vow to protect Elle at all costs was shared with another--an unspoken agreement going between the two of you.

It didn't take long for his 'crush' (as Ellie called it) to develop for you, though he denied it at any and all costs. How could he not? You could take out a clicker in the most agile way he had ever seen, and still walk away looking saccharinely angelic. His angel of death, he called you, after a night of too much stale alcohol surrounded by the sounds of crackling embers and an audience of the stars. You had laughed, and it was the first time he had made you produce that sound.

To say that the thought made him a little weak in the knees would put it mildly, and he thanked the onlookers of dust and ice above him that he was sitting down.

You had told him that that was probably one of the nicest nicknames you had been gifted by another in the last two decades.

He responded with a small smile, one that hadn't seen the light of day in much too long.

You said you liked it, the way his eyes looked with the little crinkles, and got up to stand watch. He noticed the scar that adorned the length of your collarbone for the first time, and let his eyes travel downward for the briefest of moments, before he lectured himself on why he couldn't think like that, of you, of anyone.

Your guard slowly went down for him after that night under the stars, but that didn't mean that you were any less brutal. You plowed through infected with so much as a blink of an eye and a scoff, and could bring a person to their knees, in want of lust or life, often taking the latter.

You two had become close after the winter that he nearly died at the University and Ellie and themself had gone through some of the most trauma one could experience. In fact, the caring whispers you and him had shared during those weeks, well, he damn near thought he made them up out of how unreal they seemed. He remembers the feeling of your lips against his cheek, of you falling asleep on one side of him with Ellie on the other while he nearly bled to death.

He knew he loved you then, but chalked it up to his dying mind.

And then the incident with the hospital happened, and even though you had barely the slightest clue as to who these firefly folks were, you had informed him afterward that when you woke up and pestered Marlene into telling you what was happening with Ellie you blacked out--that there was a reason as to why he had given you that nickname all those moons ago.

Because even if these people thought they could make a cure, who was to say that it worked? These scientists, with barely any resources to perform the necessary tests, had no guarantee that they wouldn't fuck it up, or that they would even did the surgery right had they performed it. No practice on what to do, no clue as to if they even acquire the correct sample. In fact, the only thing that they could guarantee would be the blood of a fourteen-year-old on their hands.

Joel had met you halfway through his sweep of the first floor, the fireflies making the dire mistake of keeping you two on the same level.

He decided to lie to Ellie about what had happened earlier then, and you respected his decision to a point, but you told her that you couldn't speak for him, and that you had found the two of them through no innocent manner.

So now here the three of you were, in Jackson, Wyoming, with him head-over-heels for you, and you feeling quite the same. A home was given to you all, and Tommy had rightly taken up his role of annoying younger brother, reminding him that not only did he know those who were ordained within the town (should the time come for you to become him and Maria's sibling-in-law), but that it would contain the looks that those of all genders gave you.

Like he said before, you were breathtaking, and now he wasn't the only one who knew that.

You had let your guard down a little sine you all returned, but he could tell you were struggling with it. Acting as a parental figure to Ellie had come easy to you, which meant that Tommy wasn't the only one constantly pushing him to make a move on you. He wouldn't be surprised if Ellie and his brother had a damn bet going on as to who could get him to say something first. And even though you two shared a room and a bed, nothing was set in stone. You would only really go out when the other two were, besides patrols, which you damn nearly craved according to Tommy.

It was hard for you and him, but the effort was there. He would see a more relaxed version of you in the nights, with the musings spoken between you and him after the sun had set only heard when your arms were around him in bed and the lull of sleep was around the corners.

So, when you both came back after a significantly rough patrol and something within him snapped at your recklessness, the feeling so long subdued came out from the depths of both of your hearts.

"You need to start being more careful of your surroundings!" He had sharply huffed at you after you had gone in with your usual guard and lack of self-care. The shock at his sudden outburst on your face spoke for the both of you. He didn't know why he was so upset, this was nothing new, but his fears had started to best him.

"Pardon me?" You had said after removing the saddle from your horse.

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about." He gritted his teeth and crossed his arms, your actions soon mirroring his. "You can't just go into spaces we haven't checked alone all because you feel up to it."

"I went in there because I knew that there were infected, I don't get why this is anything different than the usual." The shock had quickly faded into confusion at his accusation. As much as he knew your readiness for conflict of the physical, he knew that you were never one for that of the verbal. That was one difference between the two of you--you insisted that problems were to be figured out and dissolved as soon as they arose, for there was no point in letting an argument brew.

"It's just--" he shut his eyes and took a breath, trying to keep himself in check, recognizing the fear that still remained from how fast you bolted into the abandoned barn. "We're a family now, you n' Ellie n' I, and you have to start caring more about what you do and your safety."

"I have been, Joel. So a stalker got a jump on me when I turned my back, but it's happened to the best of us. I wasn't bit, I'm okay." You had reached for his arm, but he moved his stance back just enough for you to halt your motion.

Something hardened in his eyes at that, feelings of what could've happened if you were bit flashing across his mind like a bad movie. "What if we hadn't been on your six? Huh? What would've happened if you did get bit? I couldn't live with myself, and you know damn well that Ellie wouldn't take the news well either. What you do doesn't just impact you anymore. That's all I'm saying."

You had sighed, nodding. "You have to see where I'm coming from too though, love." Pet names had flowed relatively frequently between the two of you since the beginning of the winter, but he still wasn't used to them. He liked em', loved em' even, but a little voice in his head always told him he was getting too close. You both hadn't said those three words, but he was terrified that he would push you away the moment they entered the air.

"I just, never mind." He turned to walk away, which was his first mistake. He knew you wouldn't let the subject just go like that.

"No, no, let's talk this through. You have done the same thing countless times, hell I've had to pry those fuckers off of your back more than I should, but you still continue to do it."

He spoke with his back still turned. "Yeah, but with me it's different."

Mistake number two.

You had both moved to the street now, the lights of early morning filling the colour palette surrounding you both.

"What do you mean it's different? What, you think I'm weaker than you or somethin'?" Your voice held more bite with the claim, and he screwed his eyes tight. He knew that your ability to hold your own was a touchy subject at best, after you explained your amount of loss long ago, but it didn't even cross his mind that his words could've been interpreted in a different manner.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." He was getting annoyed, he was tired, but he turned to face you nonetheless. It was too early for a disagreement, but alas, here you both were.

"Yeah? Because that's not what it sounded like."

"Listen," your name tumbled from his lips. "You know that I know you're not weak, I have never doubted your strength and I never will. Goddammit. I just think that you go in over your head sometimes, thinkin' that you can handle more than you can."

Mistake number three.

"I know damn well what I can and cannot handle, Joel." Your chest was starting to raise faster, and he could tell that you were getting fed up, but so was he.

"Can you just listen to me for once?!" his tone became louder with every word. Memories of his life before ran through his head, alongside your image. If you wanted to be so stubborn, he could too. Maybe that's why he said what he did next. "You know what? No. I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"For the past how many patrols, you've come back with some sort of scratch because you don't care about what happens to you, and I'm sick of it--"

"--I've been working on it, and you know that. This isn't an easy change for me."

"But you're not workin' hard enough!" his voice was raised now, and he saw your resolve start to break. The dam had opened, and now the flood was rushing in. "If you're goin' to go and get yourself hurt, go do it away from me. In fact, it might just be better if you go on and leave, save us the trouble of worryin'." The words were leaving his mouth before he could even realize what he was saying, and he regretted every word that he processed.

"You don't mean that." He could see your breath hitch, your chest stumble as you spoke.

"I'll be damned if I don't. Can't have us thinkin' you're not gonna make it back if there's no back for you to come to."

"Joel, I am trying to work on getting better at it." Your voice matched his tone now, the anger seeping through you. "You don't see me pointing out every one of your flaws, and goddammit you have your fair share. You know I love you regardless, and--"

Mistake number four.

His body tensed up at your accidental confession, and your eyes widened as you realized what you had said.

"What did you just say to me?" He was too fired up to process his emotions healthily, and all the alarms to run were blaring loud and far. Did he feel the same? most definitely. Did he know how to express that in the slightest? Not at all.

But you held your ground. You knew him and how closed up he was, hell, you were nearly on par with his level there, but you had said it nonetheless. "You heard me, and I've got the feeling that you've known it for quite some time now."

He couldn't stop though. "Don't come home tonight. I don't want you there. Hell, you should've gotten bitten, for all I care."

You cursed yourself for getting close to that old grump. You didn't mean to say it, but you meant it, and you thought he felt the same. You left him there, then, not allowing him to see just how his words affected you. It was ridiculous really, how you let him get to you, but you liked the normalcy of Jackson, no matter how bad you were at it. You felt bad for leaving Ellie, but you thought it was best. Joel was right in that manner, she deserved a guardian that could keep themselves alive.

So that afternoon you talked to Tommy about taking your horse for a little joyride that evening, and though he wasn't too happy with your push for it, he obliged. It was past midnight when you came into the building you used to call home. You got your little belongings together, those consisting of a photo of the three of you, some flasks of water, some flasks of a liquid that was not water, some food, some weaponry, a journal, and went downstairs.

You scribbled a little note for Joel and went on your way. You couldn't look back, because if you did, you'd stay. Part of you broke as you imagined Ellie's reaction come the morning, but you continued on.

You didn't know where you were going, but you didn't really care.

After talking with Ellie that afternoon about what happened once the guilt had consumed him, Joel sought you out. You hadn't come home that night, and though in his fury he told you to do exactly that, he didn't expect you to actually do it.

He had checked the spare bedrooms but found only empty spaces. His heart started to drop as his hopes to see you dwindled. It was when he walked to the kitchen table was he met with someone. Ellie sat there, eyes glued to the small piece of paper in her hands, a tear slipping down her face. At the presence of Joel, she whipped her head towards him.

"I thought you were going to fucking talk it out." Her eyes were red, and she spoke with a bite. "Go get your fucking stuff, we're bringing them back." She stood up and went to go gather her stuff he assumed, leaving the paper on the table. He walked over and picked it up, the guilt returning as he read his name in your handwriting.

Joel,

Guess it really all was just one sided. You were the first person in years that I let myself care about, and I guess I'm facing the consequences. Like you said, you can't worry if I don't come back if there's no back to go to.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he felt his heart become erratic.

Ellie,

I'm sorry. I hope you forgive me for leaving, but please don't hate me for it. If I were to stay, it would just be awkward between Joel and I, and eventually you probably wouldn't see much of me anyways. Love you, kid.

I'm sorry.

Yeah, this was a mistake. You'd been with people for too long that you grew to be rusty by yourself, and it was costing you, big time. You had been on foot for who knows how long now, but it was dark and sleep was slowly lulling you to its call, so you didn't hear that someone caught onto your trail and began to follow you. It wasn't until a twig snapped no more than fifteen feet behind you that you caught on, and by then it was too late.

A short fight later, death had found another, and there was a nasty stab wound in your shoulder.

You had thought to bring food and water, but why you forgot a med kit was beyond you. So, here you were, your horse waiting by the creekside, while you tried to find something that would hold enough pressure to prevent you from passing out. That was quickly coming to no avail though you realized, and you cursed at yourself for being so torn by rage from your fight with Joel to prepare properly.

You could see drops of your blood reflect in the morning dew that coated the grass. This wouldn't be lethal if you found a way to patch it up, but you were losing hope by the second.

Being agitated enough to find a solution, you decided to press on the wound with your hand, causing your sight to briefly black out in pain. A groan surpassed you, and you begrudgingly dragged yourself to your horse, doing your best to keep the reins in place via a bigger rock, and slumped down against it. If you could rest for just a few minutes and regain your breath, then you could focus better on what was around you that could help. Just a few minutes, you promised yourself, and the darkness overcame your shutting eyes.

It was the sound of another horse that jostled you from your unconsciousness. Looking around, it took you a half a moment to recognize where you were, a part of you aching for the comfort of your shared bed. But that's when everything came flooding back.

Joel. The fight. The note. The stabbing.

You looked skyward and groaned when you saw the paint of warm colour canvasing the blue. With a curse and a deep breath, you pushed yourself up, barely making it to a standing position before the pain overcame you again. You risked a look to your clavicle, and to your dismay, it was looking a whole (no pun intended) lot worse. You figured that you should've known that sleeping it off wouldn't heal a literal stab wound, but what the hell, it was worth a shot. The blood loss caught up to you making you lightheaded, and as you stumbled to your horse, you thought you were hallucinating, because you could swear that you heard Joel's voice.

The version of him that your mind had cruelly made up was coming closer, and jesus christ you were hallucinating Ellie's voice now too. The trees around you started to spin, and when you saw them turn towards the crest of the hill you looked up from, you actually laughed.

You were about to possibly die, and your mind had to punish you for it.

Calling up to the false images, you got their attention with slurred speech. "Shit, you can't even let me go in peace, can you?" Another sour laugh followed your accusation, and the hallucinations had their own conversation before rushing down to you.

Getting off Callus, Ellie slapped Joel's chest at the sight of your shoulder. "Holy fucking shit, guess we know what the blood trail led to." She moved to you after that with Joel not too far behind, but you put all the remaining strength into stepping back from them.

"I know you're both not real, but I don't know why you're still here." This must have been the precursor to death's entrance because that could be the only rationale for this. "You clearly got your way, Joel, now go away so I can please die with some closure."

It was a shame that this is how you went really, with a wound from a dirty blade, but alas. Fake-Joel crossed the distance between the three of you, grabbing onto your good side with eyes wide, examining the injury. "When did this happen?" His eyes sought yours, and you rolled yours in response. "Ellie! Get the bandages from my pack!"

You gave a poor attempt at backing away. "Can't you just leave me be? You told me to go and made it quite clear how you felt about me." You were slipping, and could feel the darkness whispering your name.

"I'm real, this is real honey."

The little amount of push in you snapped, because you scowled in response. "Don't call me honey." You glanced at his hands, noticing that they were moving to the wound. "Plus, if you were real, I wouldn't want to speak to you. So what, I said that I loved--" A gasp caught the end of your sentence, the pain clearing your sight as he started to put pressure on your shoulder. "--love you, but you knew it anyway. We were a family, like you said, and I let my guard down for you--" You had used more energy than you thought on that last sentence, with nothing more than a whisper allowing itself to get through for any other words you had.

Ellie had given Joel gauze by then, and he started packing the wound as best he could. "El, get the horses together, we're takin' them back." He spoke your name then, and you wanted to cry out to the universe for making you think this up. "Bet that felt real, yeah? Listen, I know I said some things earlier, but I really didn't mean them. I'm not that good with bein' vulnerable yet, and I'm still learnin', but I shouldn't have acted that way." Your name spilled from his lips again, and why was he saying all of this now? He continued to talk, but you didn't hear anymore, your eyes unfocusing and starting to shut, the darkness finally coming to claim you.

It had been nearly a full day that you were out, and even though Joel knew that it was partially due to whatever the doc had given you, he was damn near terrified. All of the day's events seemed like a blur, and by the time he was given the okay to stay in the room with you, he had had his fair share of tears. Ellie sat next to him in the chairs he brought up from the dining room, the temporary cot in his room that held you looking extremely out of place.

He had apologized to you more times than he could count while you were out, but the guilt that still racked him rang strong. He had failed, again, this time because he was too bull-headed to talk it out.

Ellie's nudges brought him out of his train of thought, her voice saying your name as your eyes opened. A string of cusses flowed from you as you came to, and he couldn't help but chuckle. Once he had offered you some water, he saw your features twist into skepticism.

"If I'm dead, this is not what I was expecting."

Of course you'd say something like that, trying to diffuse any awkwardness of the situation. Joel played off of it, because he'd prefer this to anger any day. "Yeah, we're actually angels."

That got a snort out of Ellie, and a weak smile from you, one of his own following not soon after.

A few seconds passed in the welcomed silence of each other's presence, but all too soon things became real again.

"I don't know how much you remember from out there, but you gave us a real scare." His hand gingerly reached for your arm, silently asking for permission to hold it, sighing a breath of relief when you nodded. You weren't one for physical touch, especially after an argument, so this felt like a hopeful sign "I really am sorry about what I said to you. I shouldn't have, and I didn't mean a lick of it. I care about you more than I have for nearly anyone else, and I--" The words caught in his throat, and your eyes followed his as they searched the room for an answer.

"Joel," you murmured, eyes on him. "Shit happened, we can talk about it all later, yeah? You don't have to give any confessions now." You kept trying to break the tension there, and he could assume it was due to Ellie being there.

He pushed through though, because Joel Miller was a stubborn man, and damn it if he hadn't been working up the courage to say it since you all re-entered Jackson's gates. "No, no, I want to say it, and I mean it."

"I love you too."

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller apologist #joel miller angst #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction #ellie williams #the last of us spoilers #tlou spoilers #tlou hbo spoilers #pedro pascal

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mysteria157 · 4 months

Text

Chapter 14

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~13k

CW: explicit sexual content (oral sex), profanity, childbirth.

Summary: A birthday, a confession, and a new baby.

Notes: No more angst for awhile! Thank you to all who have been supportive. It means a lot. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

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It Had To Be You Masterlist

Kento, despite all attempts to prove you otherwise, was a snorer. It was never loud and boisterous as you probably made it seem, but he was never silent when you would wake up to him next to you. It was a common occurrence, a section of your bingo card that you had scratched off with glee, storing it in your memories forever.

During the week, you normally woke to the sound of the shower or him in the kitchen, a product of waking before the sun rose to go for a morning jog before he got ready for work. But you caught him in the act on the weekends and on days where he just didn’t feel like it going a jog, or when you would find him leaning his head back on the couch, legs spread and mouth shut tight, you could hear the almost silent rise and fall of his chest, his breath rubbing against his throat, throwing off almost quiet snores into the air.

You had joked that he snored as if he hadn’t slept in weeks, just to see the flicker of annoyance color his features before they were smoothing away and he was throwing you a dramatic eye roll.

But since that day he had finally given in, the day he had pressed his forehead into your skin and collapsed silently for most of that morning, his morning jog schedule became lax and he chose to sleep in as much as he could. Catching up for lost time you supposed and if that is what he needed to heal, you would never question it. Only two weeks of neglect and lack of sleep and it had torn him down until there was nothing left. So he chose to hit snooze on his four am alarm almost every morning, grumbling into his pillow before he would wrap his strong arms around you and pull you further into his chest, burying his face into the soft skin of your neck and sleeping until it was time to get ready for work. He needed the time, needed the peace. Craved it but denied himself for so long and now he was finally giving in.

Including sleeping in on his birthday. With your due date right around the corner, he had finally taken advantage of his gratuitous amounts of PTO and once the baby was born, he would go on paternity leave. Kento never worked too hard because he didn’t need to; he was good at his job, competent and intelligent to the extent that gave him his position that he has today. And while he did take time off occasionally to do what he wanted; he never felt the need to do so for his birthday until this year.

He pulled in a deep breath before exhaling a eucalyptus tinged grumble into the skin on the back of your neck, weaving his much longer and thicker legs in between yours and yanking you closer. You still hadn’t gotten over just how clingy he can be; always wrapping his arms around you in the kitchen. Pulling you flush against him on the couch as you both caught up on The Kardashians. After sex when he performed his vigorous after care routine of pulling you in the shower with him, moisturizing your skin, braiding back your hair before throwing on your bonnet, and massaging the muscles of your body until you were passing out against him in bed. For as quiet and introverted as he was, his hands were always reaching for you.

You felt one of his large hands pull you closer to him, his long fingers splaying along the skin of your lower stomach, cradling the baby that was practically knocking at the door to come into the world.

The first time Kento felt her kick, he had pulled you to bed, yanked your shirt up and spent almost an entire night splayed on his stomach, both of his large hands cradling your belly and his eyes unblinking as he waited for it to happen again.

You didn’t mind really, at the end of the day, you were content to play Animal Crossing on your Switch to entertain yourself while he stroked the skin of your stomach. He had only gotten another kick or two before he began to speak to her, just small things about his day; what he ate for breakfast, musings on what her favorite foods would be, what books he had ready to read to her. It was the low timbre of his voice against your stomach that had your daughter outright extending her legs, pressing against the sides of your stomach and stretching the skin. While it was mildly uncomfortable for you, Kento had widened his eyes in equal fascination and amused horror, concerned for your wellbeing but also hesitating with the urge to see it again.

As he slowly came out of the fog of his grief over the last three months, he found himself immersing more and more with preparing for the baby. He ignored all of your protests of trying to help with the technology that would be needed. He picked and installed the most expensive baby monitors, put together the baby rocker and bouncer, baby proofed the entire house and scoured every crevice of your abode for any signs of contamination or security breaches. It was his own form of nesting you wanted to guess.

He was protective of her just as he was of you, especially considering you had been on bedrest for the past month. You should have known that it was a possibility. You were tiny; only an inch below five feet and with your history of ligament pain, Dr. Williams issued the bed rest order to you for the last month of pregnancy as a precaution and a threat for you to stay off your feet. Kento was the perfect type of person to make sure you complied. He made you take breaks from throwing, ordered you to lay down a few times a day and outright refused for you to be on your feet for more than thirty minutes.

You had tried to rebel at first, the stubborn part of your brain planting hard in your years of independence as you refused to take a break from your throwing the first day of the order. Kento didn’t argue with you, didn’t glare and didn’t pester and it was only forty minutes later when you were wincing in pain and hobbling to the couch, ignoring his knowing looks that you realized he wanted you to learn the hard way.

You hated it but you knew it was for the best.

It was because of the bed rest that you had planned his special day ahead of time.

You rolled over to face his sleeping form, practically plopping over from the heavy weight against your ribs. His eyes were hazy with sleep when you looked up at him, eyelids heavy as he blinked blearily in your direction, his blonde hair disheveled and plastered on his forehead and temple.

“Sorry, I’m sure me moving my large and swollen form woke you up.”

He hummed in reply, the sound deep and gravelly with sleep and warming the place between your legs instantly. You groaned internally, no matter how horny you had gotten recently, you just couldn’t have sex. The bed rest was one thing but with your swollen body the thoughts could be as lewd as they wanted, you hadn’t been in the mood. You both had tried before and the second you hissed in pain from sudden discomfort, he had been too terrified to try again.

Kento stroked a thumb along the skin of your cheek, lifting a sleepy brow before he rolled his eyes and exhaled further into his pillow.

“Stop lying, it’s too early.”

“It’s nine am.”

He threw you a silent glare before shutting his eyes and burying further into his pillow, his blonde hair sliding against the soft skin of his forehead.

“You need to get up anyway.” He grumbled into his pillow in reply, unmoving and refusing to listen, his naked chest rising as he pulled in a breath. “I have things planned for you today…special things.”

Even though his eyes were still closed, and he offered no response, you could tell he was listening, refusing to entertain you in a growing common display of playfulness, but still listening.

You bit your lip, gathering a small bit of courage, your small hand spreading on the hot skin of his chest. The freshly manicured nail of your pointer finger pressed into his skin, pillowing around the relaxed muscle as you dragged it slowly down his chest. You watched with delight as the muscles of his abdominals twitched from the stimulation, your finger sliding along the wispy blonde hair of his happy trail before playing with the hem of his pants. You slid your eyes up to his face, containing a giggle from his already heated and even gaze.

“Are you gonna go back to sleep?” You purred up at him, your fingernail dancing along the thin skin above his hem, slow and teasing, reveling in the sight of his almost unblinking eyes and steady rise and fall of his broad and muscular chest.

Kento had long ago stopped being ashamed of his reaction time to you; only a few seconds of your hands on his skin and he was hard in his pants and ready to get it in whenever you would let him. He could last only a short time before he was perverted and grabbing at you, licking at your skin and reveling in the way you sounded for him.

You hummed at his lack of reply, using your finger to lift the hem of his pants and slide your hand inside, wasting no time fisting his already throbbing cock. You watched the slight twitch of his eyelids as they slowly began to droop, the rising and falling of his chest picking up in speed as you pumped him languidly, the pads of your fingertips sliding along the large vein on the side of him.

Suddenly you were sitting up and climbing off the bed with a pillow, his heart dropping just a little in disappointment from the feel of you leaving him and then picking up again as he watched you gently and carefully sag onto your knees on the floor, the pillow cushioning your knees. You lifted a brow in his direction, beckoning him toward you silently as you threw off your bonnet and let your curls cascade down your back. He followed your call without complaint, scooting to the edge of the bed and allowing you to settle in between his spread legs. You slid your hands up his clothed legs, digging your fingernails into his skin as you trailed them up his shins, around his knees and up the muscular meat of his thighs.

“How about you slide these off for me, hmm?”

He was obeying you almost instantly, the throbbing of his cock pumping all the blood from his brain and taking over all decision making as he watched you throw his pants a few feet away from you and eye the length of him between his legs. It always astounding to you every time you saw his cock, thick and the perfect length, a pronounced vein along the side, connecting to a man who knew how use it to make you a begging, sobbing, moaning mess.

But you had never gotten this far. He never let you even get your mouth close enough.

“Why is it that you never want me to suck you off?” You found the question leaving your mouth as you thought it inside of your head. You slid a finger along the vein of him, reveling in the sight of his abs bunching in response, his fingers digging into the sheets behind him. “You don’t think I’ll do a good job? That’s a little insulting.”

You wrapped your hand around him, your fingertips barely able to touch each other as you stroked him slowly, squeezing just a little and making him shake out a breath, his stomach curling in heat.

“While I love head, I like to give more than—” his voice caught in his throat as you pumped him with a firmer grip, twisting your wrist along his head and bringing a bead of precum down with your hand, lubricating the glide. “more than I receive.”

That wasn’t the complete reason. Kento did love to give, loved the taste of your pussy any day of the week, loved to feel your gummy walls around him and milking him for all he was worth as you dug your fingernails into his back and moaned without abandon into the air. Watching your face pull and twist in pleasure, your back arching and hands digging into the sheets as you took everything he willingly gave you…that brought him the most pleasure, got him so turned on that he had to think of the most boring things occasionally just to keep himself from blowing his load too early.

But as much as he loved to give, he knew his nature. He knew the minute you got your mouth on him, he would be hooked, captivated with the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock and struggling to take him with teary eyes as he came down your throat. He couldn’t handle the thought of it so he tried to keep you away as much as he could. It made no sense, he felt like an addict when it came to you. Even with a normal tryst in the bed, he could get nasty and salacious fast.

He loved to fuck you nice and sweet and slow, loved pulling you apart by the seams as he poured every ounce of himself into the slow thrust of his hips and the heated touch of his lips on your skin, even if the words he whispered in your ears had you blushing red all the way down your neck, shaking your head in embarrassment even though you loved every minute of it.

But he also loved to fuck you rough. Loved to hear you moan without restraint from the force of his thrusts, loved to watch your beautiful brown eyes glaze over as you became delirious from pleasure. It always mystified him with how much you just didn’t care when it came to sex. You could throw that clouded and fierce gaze his way, demanding he fuck you harder, dig into your hips tighter, fuck into your pussy deeper. Or you could gaze up at him filled with unashamed innocence, giving up all control and letting him yank your hair back and dig his teeth into your skin, make you blush and your eyes fill with tears of pleasure as he praised you for being such a good girl, taking this cock just like I knew you would.

Some days he hated just how depraved he could be, but you loved it. And it only made him throb harder in your hand at the thought of knowing this was you while you were pregnant. As soon as you were free of pain and discomfort, as soon as you were a little more relaxed and you had both settled into a routine and your daughter was at a good enough period of development to be babysat, he would take you on a proper date, wine and dine you like he’s always wanted, and then bend you over every surface of the house and show you just how much he thought about you.

And right now, you were right where he wanted you, so close to unlocking a side of him he had tried so hard to keep away.

“I already know you’re a nasty man, Kento. No need to be so coy.”

You stroked him a little faster, collecting each bead of precum to make your grip on him slicker and more wet, the obscene sounds and his heavy breathing carrying through your large bedroom. You caught the slight pinch between his brows and the subtle twitch of his eye, his fingers tightening into the sheets as he leaned back on his hands.

He held his breath as you stuck out your tongue, long and wet and flattening against him as you slid the wet muscle up his cock from base to tip, gliding along his thick vein and moaning softly against him, his head falling back as he hissed harshly into the cool air of your room. You pressed your tongue along the underside of his mushroom tip before you were licking along the top and dipping your tongue into the slit of his cock. He grunted harshly in surprise, his head snapping back down to watch you stroke his shaft and kiss along the underside of him. His eyes were half open, blonde hair from his head shadowing them as he looked down at you, thighs and biceps jerking with barely contained restraint, stomach bunching with every teasing touch as he begged you silently for more.

You answered his plea, giggling softly as you hovered over his cock, extending your tongue and letting saliva slide down the wet muscle and drip onto him. It was absolutely vulgar, the nastiest thing he had ever seen you do, his eyes widening just a little in disbelief. The thought that this was you had him throbbing to the point of pain and groaning long and deep as you finally wrapped your lips around him and sliding down in one smooth motion.

He thought you would need a minute to adjust to the girth of him, even when fucking you had to adjust slowly. But not now. There was no buildup or need to inch your way down, you were opening up your throat and burying your nose at the base of him like a pro, transfixing him and making him think desperately about marketing templates and content schedules just to keep from shooting too early down your throat.

Your mouth was everything he dreamt it would be, hot and wet, your tongue sliding along the underside of him as you worked him in and out of your mouth, your fingers on his thighs jumping from the feel of him twitching beneath you. He fought the nasty thoughts, pushed away the urge to run his hands in your hair and hold you in place while he fucked your throat. But you were making it so hard, moaning against him as you worked him for all he was worth, digging your fingers in his thighs, never faltering as he felt the tip of his dick hit the muscle of your throat over and over.

He moaned softly from the back of his throat as you pulled up and off of him, his cock leaving your mouth with a pop and the saliva from your sloppy work dripping along his shaft. He couldn’t help carding a hand through the soft tresses of your loose curls.

“Keep your hand there.”

You left no room for argument and he tightened his hold in response, squeezing a little more as you smacked his cock against your tongue and went back to work, a hand reaching to grip at the lower part of his cock and twist with each upward stroke, your mouth moving in the opposite direction as you sucked him off.

The pleasure was pooling at the base of his spine, boiling slowly from the wet and sloppy glide of your mouth on him.

“Fuck, yes.”

You let his words wash over you, ignoring the pulsing heat between your legs as you worked him faster in your mouth and deeper down your throat, moaning against him and relishing in the sound of his panting above you, his abs bunching with each stroke. His eyes were locked on you, soaking in the sight of your lips stretched wide around him, the shine of spit along his shaft and down your fingers, the sheen of sweat on your forehead and the baby hairs along your hairline sticking to your skin.

You pulled your hand from him and slowly slid back down to the hilt, peering up at him through thick lashes as you swallowed around him and pulled a sharp groan from his throat as he looked down at you, marveling in the feel and sight of you on him, eyes misty from the stretch, throat closing with every downward stroke, taking him as if you did it every day.

You pulled off of him, using one hand to fist the top of him while you kissed down the rest of his shaft, turning your head and wrapping your tongue around the side of him. He moaned softly at the sight of you, unashamed of how he sounded as his eyes watched your pink tongue wrap and slide down his thick cock.

He was losing his mind, his stomach squeezing, pleasure scorching his veins, mind clouding to the point of delirium as he felt the embers of his orgasm begin to roar to life. He should have done this sooner, should have never smacked your hands away every time you tried to grab at him. He was such a fucking idiot.

You knew your panties were soaked and even from the view of him above you, panting with ruddy cheeks, blonde hair fluttering in front of his eyes from his breath, eyes heady and low, steely and locked on yours, you could probably cum just from his cock down your throat.

You pulled away from him, using the small lapse in time to catch your breath, your hand stroking him at a steady pace as you looked up at him, your chin a little wet from your saliva, tendrils of your curls sticking to the sides of your face, a seductive glint in your eyes that had him pulsing against the quickening stroke of your hand.

“Am I doing well?”

You truly wanted to know. Even through the haze in your mind, you craved to hear the praise that naturally fell from his lips.

He groaned in the back of his throat before smiling down at you, reeling against the feel of you pumping him as he leaned down to kiss you deeply, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip before making a home in your mouth and pulling away with a hot smack, the hand in your hair sliding down to stroke the side of your cheek.

“Doing so well, angel. You’re a natural.”

You pressed your free hand against his abdomen, pushing him so that he was leaning back on his hands again and looking down at you with his overwhelming gaze. You slid your tongue back down his shaft, tantalizing and slow before you were teasing a heavy ball and sliding it into your mouth.

He cursed harshly into the air, his eyebrows furrowing sharply and stomach pulling taut as the fire in his veins licked down his spine, the blood pumping hard and fast in his ears, his chest panting harshly down at you as the pleasure had his hands clenching hard and shaking from the force of the orgasm pressing against his lower abdomen. He was almost there, so close, so fucking close to being submerged in ecstasy.

You chuckled as you licked back up and slid him back in your mouth to the hilt, pouring everything you could into what reserves you had left, using the twitch of his muscles, the shake of his arms, and the dark look in his eyes to bring him to the edge that you could practically feel in your mouth. You were unhinged, bobbing up and down his thick length, ignoring the pain in your jaw as you kept gagging from the feel of him deep in your mouth, the tip of his cock bruising your throat.

He could see spots in his vision, his heart thrashing in his chest, blood roaring in his ears and drowning out the sound of you moaning and gagging and slurping. You reached down, using one of your small hands to fondle the balls that had drawn tight against him, ripping the seal off the bag that was holding his orgasm in as he groaned hard and loud into the air.

“Yes, yes, yes—oh fuck!”

You watched with barely concealed delight as he drew taut against you, practically freezing for a second before his stomach was drawing impossibly tight, his thighs spasming and his eyes rolling into the back of his head before he was throwing it back, groaning harshly towards the ceiling as his cock twitched violently in your mouth and he was spilling down your throat. You moaned through it, swallowing every last drop, sliding him out of your mouth and using your tongue to lick any remains off him.

He was still reclined back against his hands, panting up at the ceiling and shaking as his orgasm faded away and the sensitivity of your tongue had him looking down at you slowly. Even with your curls pressed into your sweaty skin, the trail of spit along of your chin and the crease of the skin on your cheek from sleep, you were beautiful.

Absolutely, undeniably beautiful and all his.

You pressed against the bed and carefully stood up on your feet, ignoring the pain in your lower back before you were wiping your chin with the back of your hand and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Happy Birthday,” you purred at him, relishing in the open aired chuckle that pressed against your skin as he smiled softly at you and pecked your lips in return.

“Thank you, angel.”

***

“It’s been half an hour, time to take a break.”

You rolled your eyes from the sound of Ome in your ears. Your hands were wet and covered with clay, pressing against the side of what would soon to be a vase of your own creation. Your first client, Hina, had thankfully given you free reign of her commission. She only asked for a vase she could have in a minimalist living room, not too big to be overwhelming, but prominent enough to make a statement. You had spent the past three months working through countless iterations, using the opportunity to pull a still grieving Kento into the studio with you to get him out of his thoughts and within your field of vision while you worked. He was a great sounding board, even with his lack of experience with the nuances of ceramics, he was able to point out the finer details of texture and size in a way you were thankful for.

Kento was currently out for his birthday, a plan of your own design that allowed him to enjoy his day with his friends while you rested and used what little time you were allowed to be on your feet to finish your commission.

But that was proving to be incredibly difficult thanks to the narc in the form of your best friend, arms folded across her hoodie covered chest, a curvy hip resting against the door of your home studio. She lifted an elegant brow, silver liquid eyes matching your intensity as she gave you a knowing look.

“Put everything down and take a twenty minute break off your feet. Get up before I come over there and make you.”

You whined at the honesty in her words as you stood slowly from your cushioned stool and made your way over to the sink Kento and Yu had installed.

“It looks really good.”

Her tone was impressed, deep and raspy but you could practically feel the corners of her lips curve into a gentle smile as you washed and dried your hands and waddled behind her out of the studio and to the living room. She helped you onto the cushions, cradling an elbow as you sank down and sighed almost instantly at the release from pressure in your lower back. She tsked, clicked her tongue against her teeth as she fussed over you.

“I know you want to finish this before she is here, but I need you to actually be able to deliver her.”

“Ome I—”

“You wanna have her in the hospital? You want to have those people poke and prod on you, downplay your pain and practically walk you into a coffin? Because if your placenta detaches because you failed to obey Dr. Williams orders, I will kill you myself.”

You sighed in defeat, your eyes misting from her words. You weren’t really that upset with her, you had practically grown up with her way of talking. Direct and blunt was all Ome knew, and while she never intended to hurt, she relied so much more on her ability to cut straight to the point to make people see reason. Especially with you. But the influx in hormones over the past week and the growing, swelling and pain and general anxiety…you were incredibly uncomfortable and ready for her to be out. You loved being pregnant, truly you did. But you had finally reached the stage where the discomfort had outweighed the joyful feeling of bringing life into the world.

“I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean it. I just…I worry and I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here.” Ome rubbed your shin absentmindedly, her eyes on your leggings as she thumbed and stroked the fabric. “Just thinking about it makes me nauseous so—so I need you to stop fucking around.”

You snorted in response, rubbing the side of your stomach as you felt your daughter kick a little harder than usual. You groaned softly in reply, ignoring the admonishing gaze from the woman across the sofa.

“Why don’t you go check the guest room? Make sure everything is together for me, please?”

You watched her leave, ignoring the urge to groan again as you felt your daughter land another kick to your side.

When you began to really nest, you spent the better part of a week turning one of your guest rooms into a birthing suite. A bed with absorbent sheets, an inflatable pool ready to be filled with water, a kit of medical supplies for emergencies, receiving blankets, clothes for yourself, snacks and even a space for the midwives to relax, you felt as ready as you could be. You had opted to not have your doula at the birth. Two midwives and Kento would be more than enough support and people that you could handle.

It was odd to think about, in only two weeks—if everything went according to plan—you would be a mother. A part of you ached at the knowledge that you had no role model to build anything from. Your mother was excellent at giving you the best money could buy as long as it strengthened your chances of status, wealth, and a man who would give you a child to carry that on to the next generation. You had learned how to work hard, but she never taught you the ability to set healthy boundaries.

She had yet to call you since that day you left Sendai. Had yet to text you or even pass a message through Rory. It hurt. It hurt more than you thought it would at the fact that your daughter would probably never know her grandmother. But it gave you the strength and resilience to realize that you would never leave your children around her. You would never allow her to expose your children to the trauma that you suffered.

But even with the absence of your own, you gained a mother through Chiyo. She was everything you had always wanted, and it brought you peace to know she would at least have one grandmother and grandfather to show her nothing but love.

The vibration of your phone, pulled you from your thoughts, blinking down at the device and smiling gently at the name of the contact. Your greeting was already queued up when you answered the phone.

“Kento, I’m fine. Please no more calling unless you are dying.”

The quiet huff through the phone had your stomach fluttering in response, your chest warming on its own.

“What a very crude thing to say—”

“So you’re not dying then? Impaled on a stick? Your pants fell down and now you’re about to stroke out from the mortification?”

“You’re insufferable.”

You giggled softly, absentmindedly rubbing your stomach as the sound rumbled up your throat and out of your mouth.

“I’ll stop teasing. I promise I’m doing well. Are you having fun—”

“Nanamin, get off the phone!” Gojo’s voice called from the background. Kento sighed deeply into the receiver, his annoyance permeating through the speaker and onto your cheek and ear. He muttered a quick and solemn goodbye, asking you to call the police if he did not return tonight, before hanging up the phone.

***

“How much will you charge for this?”

Ome watched in fascination as you pressed the wooden rib against the side of the wet and quickly spinning clay. While it was marvelous to sit and rest your body every forty-five minutes, it had proved to be a chore that only tired you out. You refused to acknowledge the heaviness in your eyes, even more so when Ome threw more knowing glares in your direction. You had to finish this commission today or you probably wouldn’t have the strength to do so before the baby came.

“I worked out a few quotes with Hina. I’ll make a pretty penny but nothing excessive.”

The low tones of R&B played through the small speaker on your large concrete table in the middle of your studio. Your belly was full from miso soup and egg rolls that Ome had practically dragged you from your stool to eat. The night was drawing to a close and Kento would be home soon.

“I haven’t received one text from Gojo. Kento must actually be having a good time.”

You threw her an eyebrow from her words, smirking softly as you pressed a wet sponge to the side of your clay, the grey brown color shining slowly with each pass.

“Are you going to finally tell me how things are going? I’ve been trying to remain respectful but—”

“Things are going well.”

Her interruption made you look up at her. Her eyes were locked on your spinning work of clay, silver irises watching each rotation and trying not to look up at you. You held back the quip on your tongue as you really took in her expression. For the first time in a while, she looked vulnerable. It wasn’t as if it was rare from her, at least when it came to you. Ome had no problem expressing how she really felt around you, her honesty was the one thing that would never fade or change with time. But when it came to men, that was a different level of openness that was hard for her.

She despised them; she hated their manipulative behavior, the nonchalance to take and take from women who were largely preyed upon and taken advantage of. She hated that every man she had given a chance in her life had stepped on her time and time again. It made it hard to trust them. It made that wall she kept around her heart icier and only fueled her hostile behavior towards them.

And it wasn’t as if they didn’t deserve it. In your honest opinion, men never deserved much. But a part of you had always felt that Ome deserved to be happy, deserved to have a happy marriage and maybe a few children if that’s what she wanted. She was doing surprisingly well, until her ex decided to cheat and cheat and cheat some more without any regard to the world around him.

The back and forth that you saw from Ome and Gojo was comical at best, but deep down you could see that twinkle in her eye grow with each day, with each insult she threw up at him and with each laugh he shot down at her.

So to see her react so strongly, to not even bark at you with an insult with no heat to it, it was unexpected.

She cleared her throat, pursing her lips before flickering her eyes up to you.

“It’s going really well, actually. He’s been—he’s proving to really be someone I can depend on. As obnoxious and fucking annoying as he is, he cares about the people closest to him.”

You hummed softly, caressing the makeshift vase with both of your hands.

“So…do you think he will live up to the mark? For you?”

You kept your eyes on your work, watching the clay bend as a response to the press of your fingers on its sides. The music played softly between you both, gentle notes floating around the room and settling on both of your shoulders.

“Yea…I think he does. Or I think he will.”

“Hmmm, Ome Gojo. That has a nice ring to it—”

“I give you an inch and you take a fucking mile!”

Your giggles pealed through the dense room, ricocheting off the walls and hitting Ome’s back, the force of it causing her own shoulders to shake as her raspy giggles joined yours.

You had used the wire cutter to separate the bottom of your work from the wheel when you heard the lock of the front door turning, the door swinging open and Gojo’s loud voice tearing through the calm atmosphere of your home.

“The birthday boy is here!!!”

Ome rolled her eyes as she washed the remnants of clay from your throwing wheel, loading a curse on her lips as his tall form sauntered into the room. Even disheveled and windblown, his beautiful white hair made him look like the hottest catalog model you would ever see. Round sunglasses had been pushed up, bringing his bangs with it and casting alien blue eyes about the room as he loomed over you and leaned down to press a quick peck to your cheek.

“Beautiful as always, how are you doing?”

You rolled your eyes in reply, a smirk splaying on your face as your eyes took in Yuji and Geto as they walked into the studio as well. Yuji’s already large eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets as he took in your studio, not even offering a hello as he began to walk around the room, pulling a softly chuckling Geto with him as he began to throw out a barrage of questions.

“I’m doing well. I’m sure Kento made you ask me.”

Gojo scoffed playfully, a hand pressing to his chest in dramatics as he spoke loudly.

“Can’t I care about my friend and godchild? Who do you take me for?”

“A whore.”

Gojo gawked down at you, face red and mouth curling into a devious smile as Yuji’s chuckles rang from the background.

“I’m not a whore. Ome wholeheartedly believes in castration as a punishment for insolence. And the last thing I need is someone trying to cut off my hefty, throbbing, veiny co—”

“Finish that sentence and see what happens.”

You heard his voice before you saw him, deep and low, wafting into the room and wrapping around your body. Your eyes caught his form, tall and imposing as he walked into the room and leaned against the door frame. He looked incredibly relaxed, even the threat that he had thrown Gojo’s way was surprisingly without bite. His blonde locks were windswept and carded out of his face, loose tendrils falling from the hold to rest against his forehead. A pair of black jeans and a nice short sleeved shirt that hugged his shirt in the most delicious way, his Cartier watch shining against the bright lights of your studio, the smell of his cologne not even strong but still seeming to drift through the room and slide up your nostrils, and brown eyes filled with a heavy look had your heart picking up in speed.

God he looked good.

Gojo rolled his eyes theatrically, turning around to stick out his tongue at his friend before he was strolling over to Ome to hound her instead.

It only took a few minutes of pestering from Gojo and relentless questions from Yuji before Ome and Geto were ushering them out, wishing us both a goodnight and Kento a happy birthday before the house was empty besides you both.

You were beautiful. He probably said it to himself at least twenty times a day but right now it hit him harder than before. You were washing your hands at the sink, your heavy curls pulled up into a messy bun, your body dressed in black cotton overalls and a white short-sleeved shirt, your throat humming a tune to the song playing through the speaker. He recognized it, a song he had heard in passing once years ago that had made him buy the entire vinyl not even an hour later. You turned toward him as you dried your hands, a smile growing on your features as he walked closer to you. The shea butter from your cinnamon skin wafted up his nose, making him a little more lightheaded than what he already was. Your cheek had a smear of clay, something that he was surprised you hadn’t noticed but had his chest thumping in an almost uncomfortable way as his heart soared in his chest.

“Did you have a good birthday?”

Gojo, Yuji and Geto had shown up at your house that morning, dragging a more than reluctant Kento out of his house to at least do something for his day. A small hole in the wall bakery that you had found a few weeks prior and had remained untouched by Kento was his first stop that morning. His eyes displayed his excitement almost as soon as he saw the bread behind the thick glass windows and he showed his enthusiasm by getting more than one melonpan, smacking Gojo’s greedy and sticky hands away at every second.

He was shocked but filled with warmth when he had been surprised with a private tour of a whiskey distillery from his favorite company. An entire hour drinking different notes and tastes of his favorite alcohol had his stomach fluttering and his cheeks tinged pink. His words were a little looser as they dined at the best Korean BBQ establishment in Nakameguro. He had been treated to a private booth for him and his friends, away from the loud and yelling crowd of people but still immersed in the atmosphere of good food, excellent service, and the best whiskey he had ever had. Gojo had been less obnoxious than usual, Geto more boisterous as a way of universal balance, Yuji more loud but always respectful of his sensei. Always questioning, always curious, always loving to everyone and the world around him.

His day had been spent around people he loved doing the things only he enjoyed.

You had planned it all for him, content to make sure he spent his day loved and happy.

By the time he had walked through the door of your house, he was confident and finally accepting of that weird feeling in his chest that he had spent months trying to either decipher or push away.

“I had an excellent birthday. Thank you for treating me to a great day.”

You shrugged in nonchalance, your smile growing and then faltering as he pulled you close to him with what your stomach would allow. He brought your hands up to wrap around his neck, his own falling into the soft flesh of your waist and his feet falling into a step that you realized was a gentle sway to the music in the background.

You looked up at him in denial, an eyebrow throwing up to your forehead as you settled into step with him.

“You know this song?”

“Yes. In fact, I happen to like this song.”

You couldn’t help the bark of laughter, the sound heavy with disbelief. He hummed down at you, playful admonishment rolling off his shoulders and onto your face.

“Why must you be in denial when you find out trivial things about me? As if I am some creature that walks your halls.”

“You’ve always been such a mystery to me.” You giggled to yourself, ignoring his questioning look. “I do this thing when I find out weird things about you. I treat it like a bingo card, each new block is a trait or quirk that I never would have expected. Reality television, your R&B collection, your love of romcoms, and even the fact that you snore. All of those things that would seem ‘normal’ to any other man have always been odd when it comes to you. You carry yourself in a way that makes you a man who likes to stay in the background, but who you are only makes you stand out more. You’re unique and compiled of a web of ropes and knots that would take only the closest to you to help unravel. So no, you’re not some creature. You’re just a man I never expected to know, let alone be with.”

He simply hummed beneath his breath, his lips pursing as he swayed with you.

“It’s a compliment, Kento. So take it.”

“Ah yes, anything you wish. Please forgive me.”

You giggled into his chest, pressing your cheek into the fabric of his shirt.

“I hope you realize that I feel the same when it comes to you.”

You didn’t respond to his statement, choosing instead to listen to the rumble of his words in your ear as his chest vibrated with sound against you.

“You were a mystery to me. I could never understand how a woman as hardworking and as kind and caring as you could have a mother who could never acknowledge your existence. I could never understand how someone who could take command of almost any conference room she walked into, secretly loved to be covered in clay and paint and create the most beautiful things with her hands. You insert yourself in everything you do, and you have an innate talent to always hit the mark.” He chuckled to himself absentmindedly, his eyes flitting about the room as he took in all of your work. “I have this theory…similar to your bingo card. In my mind, I only have a certain amount of chairs for the people in my life. My intern, Kugisaki actually thinks the same way…The seats are already predetermined by me, already situated in my head and dusted off for those to sit. My parents, Aiko, Kaya, and Yu were automatically given those seats. Yuji enthusiastically asked for his and while it took me awhile to accept, I gave him one. Gojo and Geto and Shoko demanded their seats, shook and pestered and annoyed me to the point where I couldn’t deny the care and love they had for me and I relinquished my hold just to appease even though I secretly was happy with my decision…But not you.”

The song had faded away and been placed with another, equally as soft as you both disappeared within each other.

“You pulled up your own chair. It was your own, crafted of your own design with a simple cotton cushion and sleek mahogany corners. You drug it across shiny hardwood floors, scratching the surface and plopping down in front of everyone. In front of my parents, Aiko, Yu, Geto, Gojo, Shoko, Yuji, everyone. You sat right in front of me, demanding my attention—commanding it and only promising me wonderful things if I accepted you. The more I denied, the more I was mean and indignant, the more you backed away and the more I hated how it made me feel. But I’m glad I stopped fighting.”

He exhaled softly against you, your head rising with the movement of his chest.

“You are the very best thing that has happened to me. You love those around you with every fiber of your being. You are the smartest person I have ever met. You have such a beautiful talent that I’m only lucky enough to witness. You are the first person in my life that has made me laugh this much…and—and I think what makes me pull you closer the most is that you’ve made me…decide to finally be me. That night when you yelled at me, when you were so angry and desperate for me to acknowledge myself, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone actually see me. I’ve never had someone force me to eat, force me to bathe, force me look at my grief and my flaws and show me that I could take control of it. It was an overwhelming feeling and you are the only person who has been able to make me see that. I’m sure I sound very sappy saying this but, you mean everything to me. And to know that you also are giving me a child that I’ll soon get to meet…I am unbelievably lucky.”

You were quiet as you let his words soak in, as they fell from his lips and leeched into your skin, making your blood pump faster and your stomach flip and twist in a manner that had your heart racing.

“Careful Kento, such strong words. You talk as if you love me.”

You had meant for your words to be lighthearted, to serve as a distraction as you tried to calm the frantic beating of your heart which was only increasing in pace the longer he didn’t answer, you both still swaying to the music around you.

“What if I do?”

Your heart took a sudden lurch, flipping in your chest painfully as you pulled away to look up at him, your nerves a live wire as you took in the implication of what he was saying. Even though his eyes were dilated from a slight buzz and the ruddiness of his cheeks made him seem more playful than usual, you couldn’t deny the fierce seriousness in his gaze. It was unmoving, unyielding, completely honest and locking you in place. The corners of his full lips curved just slightly.

“What if I am talking as if I love you? What would you say then?”

You opened your mouth to speak, your mouth gaping like a fish as you realized that yes, yes he was saying exactly what you thought. There was no denying it now. There was no need to. Over time, Kento had slowly began to cut himself open for you, letting bits and pieces of himself fall at your feet until only the most personal and vulnerable parts of him were left.

Love.

Your mind was reeling, struggling for the right words, your ears throbbing with the sound of blood thunderous through your veins. You slid your hands from around his neck, trailing them down to rest on his pectorals as you bit your lip harshly and ignored the sting of tears in your eyes. You cleared your throat, relaxing further into him.

“I…I would say—I suppose I would ask that you look at me and say it again. Just so I can determine if you’re truly honest.”

A chuckle; deep and gentle against you, mirth and warmth suddenly pungent and heavy between you both as he silently commanded your attention by placing a finger beneath your chin and tilting your head up to look at him.

“I love you.”

It was effortless. Without nervousness or anxiety or tension. Three words that fell from full lips like water, simple and common place as breathing but still carrying the intensity and deeper meaning of them. You expected it to hit you like a train, to shock your system with force and cold water and make you rigid and anxious against him.

But you found yourself exhaling softly, relaxing further into the gentle hold he had on you, your eyes fluttering as you tried desperately to stop the tears as quickly as they were coming.

“You do?”

The words had slipped out before you could stop them, the last bits of your nerves falling from your lips and down to the floor. He didn’t offer a different reaction to your response, the serious and vulnerable expression on his face had remained unchanged, resolute, and firm.

“Very much so. Do you doubt me? I’ve told you this so many times, you shouldn’t say things that do not make sense.”

The wet giggle shooting from your mouth shook your chest, rattling loose those tendrils of anxiety that had plagued you for years and for once letting them dissolve away to be ignored for hopefully a long time. You shook your head, sliding your arms back up to wrap around his neck and meeting his gaze again. Your real response was surprisingly sitting comfortably on your tongue, ready for what felt like months. However, he interrupted before you could speak.

“No teasing remarks? Quips about my words? I’m shocked, truly.”

You couldn’t help the way you laughed again, the sound wet with building tears as you sniffed softly and gently pinched the skin of his nape.

“I love you too.”

He pulled the words in, let them collect in the back of his throat before sliding down to his belly and settling in a delicious way that had his cheeks a little warmer than before. The corners of his smile grew just a little bit more, hints of pearly whites flashing before he was bending a head down to press his lips to yours, sealing the connection between you both. He had thought it would be incredibly dramatic filled with tears and nauseating and continuous professions of love. But the interaction was something special that could only represent you both. Simple with a hint of nostalgia, a small trace of teasing to bring you a little closer to him.

“Let’s get you off of your feet. I’ll rub your back, I’m sure its hurting. Would that be alright?”

You bit your lip, your eyes swimming with tears again as you began to realize he had probably felt like this for some time. Every day, every interaction that he had given you had always been filled with care, protection, and just a little bit of love. At first small but still there in his own way until it was everywhere all at once.

You blinked quickly, clearing your vision just a little so you could see him better as you nodded up at him.

“Yes please.”

He pressed another smooth kiss to your lips, the smell of his cologne settling in your bones and reaffirming your tiredness. He pulled away from you and made his way for the door, lacing his fingers in yours and taking you with him.

***

She knocked at your door a day before your due date, an intense contraction that pulled you from your sleep in the early hours on July 14th that grew and grew until you realized there would probably be no stopping it.

The first midwife came when your contractions were pretty far apart and your water had broken, helping Kento fill the birthing tub and get general supplies ready for you as you did your best to breathe and distract yourself from the pain. The contractions weren’t too painful at first, almost like a very intense period cramp that you had familiarized yourself with at a young age. They were manageable, annoying but manageable.

Kento did what he does best, love and support you. He didn’t hover, didn’t obsess over you even though you could tell every flicker of pain made him feel more helpless than ever. He rubbed your back, helped you through each contraction by talking and breathing with you, brushed the curls over your shoulders when they got in the way and even made sure you were walking and moving when you could.

He was spiraling. On the outside, he was cool and collected, offering you every bit of support you needed without being too much. But every grunt and moan of pain, every squeeze of his hand as your face contorted into expressions he never wanted to see, every continued flicker of pain was enough to have his stomach in knots. He knew you wanted to do this unmedicated. In fact, he completely agreed and respected that decision. But he hated that bringing life into the world had to be so much, so hurtful, so risky. He would do anything to take the pain away.

But he had to be strong for you. Because right now, the fact that you were going through immeasurable pain to bring an actual human into the world, you were the strongest of anyone in the room.

By the time your contractions were almost three minutes apart and his hand was almost broken, the second midwife showed up. They took control of the room, offering you the right guidance without overshadowing Kento’s presence as well.

“Kento.” You had practically groaned out his name, your face covered with a light sheen of sweat as you sat in the warm tub of water with only a loose sports bra on. He was already next to you, rubbing your shoulders intermittently as you groaned low and long into the air. “Maybe we can…maybe we can go to the hospital. Ask for an epidural? Ask to be admitted?”

He hummed against your temple, kissing the skin.

“Is that really what you want? We can try, but is that what you want?”

You knew he was right. For as much pain as you were in, you refused medication, refused to have doctors you didn’t know touching you, refused to be neglected. You moaned softly in acquiescence and listened to him chuckle softly as you felt him pull your curls into a high bun and wipe the sweat from your neck.

You were at your wits end, your body riddled with pain to a degree that it was hard for you to even comprehend. Your lower stomach ached, your back was on fire, your thighs felt as if they would fall from your body, you could feel your resolve and strength slipping as you gripped one hand with a midwife next and one hand of Kento’s as he sat outside of the tub on the other side, praising you softly in your ear.

“I can’t. I can’t, I can’t I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

You shook your head frantically, looking over at Kento with tears in your eyes as your body worked of its own accord. You could try all you wanted to make it stop, she was coming one way or another.

“I can’t Kento—”

“You can. You’re doing so well, angel. So, so well. You’re almost there.” You shook your head in reply, breathing harshly as your muscles began to bunch and twist with what you knew was another god awful contraction. “You’ve spent almost a full day, working hard to bring her here. Don’t you want to see her?” A harsh nod. He smiled softly at you, his own eyes filled with exhaustion and excitement as he wiped your forehead again. “Almost 24 hours and no medication, no hospital intervention, just you and trusting your body. You’re so much stronger than you think. I’ll be right here, I promise. Through every step. Just focus and breathe and she will be here soon. Can you do that for me?”

A wet exhale and moan, your eyes filling with tears as you nodded softly at him and turned back to the second midwife at your waist, her eyes assessing every contraction.

It was probably another hour when those contractions began to shift into the need to push. But you were there now, you could almost feel the end in your body, could practically taste new life in the air even though you were sweating out of this world, shaking in pain and squeezing Kento’s hand in a way you were sure would need a brace later.

“Keep breathing with me, baby.”

“Your hand—”

“Is perfectly fine. The only thing I’m focused on are you and her. My hand will survive.”

You were a sobbing mess, pushing again and again with the midwife’s instruction and growing more desolate as it felt like you were making no progress. You knew you were; the midwife had kept you updated enthusiastically with every push. But god did it not feel like it.

“We’re in the home stretch now. Give me more pushes but bear down a little more, give it your all for me. Nanami, keep doing what you’re doing. Keep her focused for me and she will be here soon.”

Just those last few words seemed to be the motivation you needed, the pain still there but instead fueling a strength you were surprised began to bud in your bones. You listened to each instruction, bore down with every contraction, soaked in Kento’s words in your ear as you got closer and closer.

“She’s right there! Give me one more honey!”

Kento gripped your hand tighter, kissing your temple before you were moaning harshly in pain and bearing down with all you had without forcing her out.

The feeling was odd, an intense pressure and burning that caught you by surprise and only spurred you on further as you practically felt her leave.

At 12:25 pm on July 15th, she was born.

The first thing you felt was oddly empty, a connection and warmth between you and her almost severed instantly. You collapsed against Kento, crying as you loosened your grip on his hand, your lungs burning as you caught your breath. You could hear the praise against your temple as he kissed it, his words uncharacteristically wet as your mind quickly snapped to the thought of her.

“You did so well. So, so well.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, your neck and then the side of your cheek, his own emotions raging and out of control as he tried and failed to blink away the wetness in his eyes.

The second thing you felt was pure, overwhelming and unbridled happiness as the sound of her cries filled the room. Your eyes darted down to the midwife at your waist, wide and transfixed even though you were still crying as she nestled the screaming baby onto the skin of your chest. You were instantly alert, quickly forgetting about the sharp aches of your body as she wiggled against you.

She was a little pale, her entire body practically wrinkled, but her face as smooth and expressive as ever. She had what looked to be his nose, buttoned and a little blunt at the tip. Her eyes were closed but the eyebrows were long and faint. And her hair, so much hair splattered to her head, wet and damp but still light enough that you could tell would be a lighter brown than yours.

Even screaming, with a set of lungs you were sure would be you and Kento’s downfall, she was everything.

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with tears before offering him a shaky smile. His eyes were locked on her, misty with a large smile on his face before he looked to you and smiled further.

“Look at her, isn’t she perfect Kento?”

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips before he was reaching down to wiggle a soft wet toe on her feet, her cries dying down, only offering a disgruntled whimper every now and then as her senses were overwhelmed with the world she had been thrust into.

“Absolutely perfect, she’s beautiful.”

They let Kento cut the cord, his face the most unguarded you had ever seen as the scissors cut through the umbilical. You had pulled off your bra a while ago, using any opportunity to hold her close and get her as much skin contact as you could. Once the afterbirth was delivered, you gave her up to be assessed and cleaned up, and one of the midwives helped you into the shower. By the time you were clean and wearing a long t-shirt, the pool had been emptied and put away and Kento was waiting for you to guide you back to your room.

You were unbelievably tired. So, so tired. But the pull of her kept you going, kept you walking down the hall and crawling into your bed before a midwife was nestling her now bundled form into your chest, congratulating you softly on a healthy and strong delivery.

You hadn’t realized the midwives had gone until Kento was sliding into the bed next to you, pulling you both close and resting his chin on your shoulder, his brown eyes looking down softly at his sleeping daughter.

“One of them will be back tomorrow to check on you but they left their contact if anything comes up for the rest of the day.”

You were humming in reply, not really listening as you stared down at her, tracing a smooth and chubby cheek with one of your fingers. Now that she was dry you could really see the light brown color of her hair, so much of it that poked out from under the sage green newborn beanie and curled just slightly at the ends. Her skin color probably wouldn’t settle for a few more months and when she did open her eyes, there was no mistaking the deep brown that looked at you. She was you and Kento’s daughter in every way.

“Are you sure you would like them to come see her? You’re not too tired?”

“I am, but I want them to be here.”

You turned to him, offering her silently and watching warmly as he wrung his hands and opened his arms, letting you set her gently in them. He exhaled instantly; his eyes locked on her as he took her in. The sight was almost comical, a baby so small nestled in the muscular arms and large stature of her father. You would probably have to fight the mothers off with a stick if you let him out in public.

“Oh she’s wonderful.”

His parents were the first to show up, tiptoeing into your room quietly and Chiyo’s eyes immediately filling with tears when she saw the bundle that was still in her son’s arms. They washed their hands without you asking, and even Santo was filled with excitement, his odd green eyes practically dancing as he looked down at her. Chiyo walked over to your side of the bed, pulling you in a gentle hug that was warming you instantaneously.

“I’m so proud of you, honey. How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”

You blinked away the tears again, soaking in the maternal aura from her and nestling it deep inside before you were pulling away and shaking your head.

“I’m tired, but I feel okay. I need nothing I promise.”

You watched as Santo cooed at her from over his son’s shoulder, a large smile on his face as he soaked in the sight of his granddaughter. Santo spent almost twenty minutes holding her, rocking her around the room and talking absentmindedly as Kento collapsed against you, resting his head on your shoulder—a growing trait of relaxed nonchalance that you hoped would follow into fatherhood—as he talked to his mother.

Chiyo was patient through it all, but you could feel the impatience radiating off of her as she glared at her husband. You held in the urge to laugh as you watched her eyes tic before practically holding out her hands and beckoning him to her. Those brown eyes were misting immediately as your daughter whimpered a little in her arms, opening matching eyes to look up at her grandmother before closing them and falling back into slumber.

“Oh my, oh honey she’s beautiful. She’s so beautiful. Of course, she would be. Have you thought of a name?”

Kento elbowed you softly, burying his face into your neck. He had given you full control over her name, content to agree with it no matter what.

“Ulani Chiyo Nanami.”

His mother widened her eyes and looked up at you, shock coloring her features as she took the name in.

“African American families and most American families have a middle name. And…you’ve been someone in my life that has shown me nothing but love and belonging and a care that I should have had from my own mother. I want my daughter to have a name from someone who means a lot not only to me but to others around her and who cares about everyone.” She was silent as she took the words in, the growing silence making you nervous and antsy. “I hope I didn’t overstep—”

“You didn’t. It’s…it’s perfect. I’m honored and so, so happy.”

She chuckled and reached a hand over to stroke the skin of your cheek before pulling away and looking back down to your baby. You felt him bury his nose further into your skin, breathing the natural tones in deeply as his heart swelled in his chest.

Your friends had thankfully not crowded around you when they made their way in your room an hour after Kento’s parents had departed. Yuji, who’s expressive eyes had remained locked on the bundle in your arms, remained quiet and frozen as Ulani was passed around and cooed to. Gojo was practically fighting off a tantrum as Geto talked softly to her, his calm deep purple eyes watching the slight pucker of her lips with a smile.

“You’ve held her long enough, Geto. It’s my turn.”

Geto ignored him, instead walking over to set Ulani back in your arms.

“She’s wonderful. I’m a proud uncle.”

You thanked him, your eyes still on Yuji’s frozen form against the wall. After a little encouragement from Kento at his perch next to you, Yuji made his way over slowly, sinking onto the bed at your side. He held her carefully, stiff and ramrod straight as Ulani nestled further into his chest. He relaxed quickly against her, rocking her small form before he began to shoot off hushed and random questions about her measurements to you and Kento.

Gojo was practically in shambles by the time Ome had walked into your room. Everyone had a turn with her, everyone was able to hold her and gaze down at her softness, but by the time it was his turn, everyone else had gone and only he and Ome remained.

Her eyes were already swimming with tears as she sat down by your waist. Uncharacteristic tears making her silver eyes already luminescent as Gojo sank down next to her, looking over her shoulder as you handed your daughter to her. Ome’s eyes fluttered happily, a large smile breaking on her face as she chuckled gently down at Ulani.

“Look at you…so lovely and you’ve only been here a few hours.”

The pure adoration in her eyes was hard to miss and even Gojo found himself soaking it up as much as he could.

“Kento and I thought…we were wondering if you both would like to be her godparents?”

Ome’s eyes widened to a degree you would have never expected, her soft expression already vulnerable and only beginning to crack more as she shook out a small sob, nodding profusely and unable to produce any words.

Gojo however held a look of confusion, his cheeks rosy in surprise.

“I don’t understand…I’m sure you would have wanted Yu to be the godfather. I’m not upset, I expected you to always choose him. But I know you are only choosing me because Yu is gone.”

Ome threw him a vicious glare but Kento spoke up before she could chastise him.

“While that may be true, the fact of the matter is that Yu is gone now. Even when he was alive, I wanted you to be in her life. But besides Yu, as much as you drive me absolutely insane, I know you would do anything to protect and love her. I understand if you are upset, I can’t take away that feeling. But I want you to know that you are the next person I would have chosen to step up to the plate. If you do not want to, then of course we both understand.”

Ome finally slid your daughter into Gojo’s arms, her small body practically eclipsed by his tall form. His white hair fell down from his face, casting a shadow over his eyes as his full lips grew into a wide smile. He stroked her chubby cheek with a long finger, trailing it up to circle a light brown curl before he was giggling softly.

“Of course, I would like to be her godfather. I know I was only joking before when y/n was pregnant but, I think secretly I wanted to be tethered to her in some way. I’m honored. And Nanamin, I’ll do a good job, I promise.”

“I know you will.”

Ulani chose that moment to yawn, her small mouth opening wide and stretching her squishy face, a whimper and babylike noise gurgling from her throat before she was nestling further into her blanket and falling asleep.

“Obviously I’m the best choice for the job.”

Kento rolled his eyes harshly, shooting him a small noise of indignation.

“Give me my daughter and get out.”

Gojo stuck his tongue out at his friend, choosing instead to look back down at your daughter and disappear into atmosphere of her for the time being. Ome used to lapse in time to fuss over you, fixing your bun, picking at your clothes, and asking if you had eaten. She rejected all words from Kento, insisting that she wanted to help at least a little before leaving and disappeared into the kitchen to make you both lunch.

You weren’t sure if it was from the sudden movement of the bed, the slight increase in volume of voices, or just mother nature’s timing, but Ulani instantly began to fuss in Gojo’s arms. She wiggled in her blanket, whimpered until she was outright crying in his hold. You felt your body instantly react, your stomach twisting and chest practically pulsing in discomfort as Gojo opened her blankets to check her over.

“She’s wet. Let me go change her and I’ll be right back.”

You held back the urge to protest, whining softly in your spot as he disappeared out the door with your crying daughter.

“He’s trying to butter me up.”

You smacked Kento’s chest in response, snorting up at him before shaking your head in admonition. You knew he was joking, could practically feel his euphoria and happiness radiating from him and seeping into the pores of your skin.

By the time Gojo returned with her, she was still crying but not as intensely as before. He brought her to you, gently setting her in your arms.

“Thank you, Gojo. She’s probably hungry.”

“I’ll go help Ome in the kitchen.”

Kento helped you situate yourself in the bed as you pulled out a sleeve and helped her latch onto you. Your midwives had truly thought it latching for you would be a little bit of a struggle, but Ulani of course took to it like a pro, catching on instantly. You relaxed into Kento’s chest from behind you, his warm muscles cradling your back as his large form hugged you closer, molding you both together as your daughter nursed in your arms.

Her expressive eyes shined up at you, trying to make out what she could see in front of her as her eyelids drooped occasionally from being fed.

“We did good, huh?”

He chuckled softly, pressing a smooth kiss to the crease of your neck and resting his chin atop of your head.

“We did great. You did great.”

You scoffed softly, your eyes still locked on the deep brown of her irises as you spoke.

“I suppose your seed helped. Even drunk and wrapped in a condom, you somehow got through my IUD and knocked me up. Your father says that strong sperm runs in the Nanami line.”

“He is as crude as you are.”

You tried to hold in as much of your giggle as you could, careful not to jostle her.

“Thank you…her middle name. My mother is over the moon, as am I. When did you decide on it?”

“I knew her first name after only a month or two. I had an urge to give her your mother’s name as well, but I didn’t actually feel confident until the baby shower. She’s the best mother I could ever have and she’s a wonderful woman. A strong woman. To give that to Ulani was something that felt right to me.”

He hummed appreciatively against you, a large hand coming up to caress the light brown curls that poked from under her beanie. She reacted to the touch, her eyes shifting over to look up at her father, lips puckering quickly as she nursed from you. She probably couldn’t see much, but the thought of her recognizing him had Kento smiling down at her, his heart growing ten times in size as he cradled you both closer to him.

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dabislittlemouse · 10 months

Note

Everytime I listen to "smack that" I get lost in this fantasy so like

Imagine an alternate Dabi, where he accepted the whole Shouto thing

But point is, Dabi is very much successful and basically a huge celebrity who still very much has attention issues and hates the flashes of paparazzi but loves the attention and humiliating these paparazzi as well (this is an au because if Dabi was that easy to spot then he would've been caught along time ago you know, but I know hes perfectly capable of doing it as himself anyway)

So imagine him, seeing how far these paparazzi are willing to go, getting curious and little by little becoming a tease

Offering interviews if people did this or that but like, within the bounds of legality

Small at first, grabbing those colored popsicles and out loud saying "whoever can get the furthest gets a close up picture" and such

He knows damn well he's ruining his pops career and that just moves him forward as he, on top of seeing several paparazzi (men and women) humiliating themselves trying to down this popsicles for him, reading up on people questioning his father's actions as to why his son is so sexually inappropriate and such

One by one escalating more and more on this thrill

Eventually Going into fucking sex shops Infront of everyone of these paparazzi

And picking out the loveliest of dildos coming out of this sex shop as he does kicking the door closed and calling out

"whoever steps up to shove this down their throat, gets a personal interview"

And there you are. Hungry for that fucking interview, this opportunity, this would be a banger especially now since people are so desperate for more info, why is he like this, what does he want? An interview on top of pictures as well? And your favorite celebrity of all people?

You had to take this, every choice in life has led to this moment this opportunity to get close to Dabi.

And so you stepped up knowing full well you'll be humiliated but a hefty yummy paycheck would be waiting for you as well as an amazing memory, who cares about morals?

So you go. And with the straightest of faces and a huge lump in your mouth and your belly filled with anticipation

You get closer to him and see his face as it moves in surprise and intrigue as well as superiority in his features looking at you as if you were the most pathetic creature on earth

But what you don't know is that, he's oddly intrigued by your boldness. You're willing to put everything on the lines just for this? An interview? A picture? Were you really that desperate? No that determination in your eyes spoke something much different. So he's really curious and putting his arm over your shoulder he gets close to your ear and asks in a whisper "are you really willing to do this?" with that fucking smirk of his as he holds the box close to your face rotating in front of you

You can feel as a flame lights up in your belly, how hot you feel and even in such a weather you find yourself sweating

And as you go to grab it he moves it away from you "ah ah ah, I need to hear it doll we wouldn't want a controversy of me forcing my power onto a pretty girl like you" he grabs a hold of your face and forces you to face the crowd who are taking pictures of your little ordeal

"gotta let the crowd hear, you'd be willing to fuck your throat Infront of all these people" he gets closer to the cruve of your ear "for a five minute interview"

And you, in the heat of a moment, sweating bullets, do as he said and his face lights up and with a clap and a throw of the brand new fucking box of the dildo (which people squirm for to try and probably auction it)

He laughs as he wraps his arm once again around your neck and tells you "guess you've earned yourself an interview"

Long story short

Our handsome celebrity fucks his cute little paparazzi's ass into the floor not sparing a single minute of your time together.

Oh and you got your interview. And a nice paycheck.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

🐗🐗🐗

ANON I THOROUGHLY ENJOYED THIS AU A LOT OMG

Celebrity Dabi who is such a jerk, humiliating his dad at any chance given, playing around with his fans and paparazzi too is just UGHHAJDBSNDNDJFNSKFJSJDJDJD

Pleaseee he is such an asshole I want to fuck him in this au so bad now, thank you for blessing my night with your delicious ideas once again 🥵

#B’s inbox🦋#🐗🐗🐗anon #this was so juicyyyyyy #i’m so feral rn #god i’d humiliate myself for this man idc just to get some of his attention i would do it #fuck morals what even are those #dabi #touya todoroki #mha dabi #dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n

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love-kurdt · 6 months

Text

This is Me Trying (byler): 2

word count: 10,471

warnings for this chapter: maaaajooorrrr depression!!! brief sexual content, homophobia, underage drinking, panic attacks, driving under the influence, near-death experiences, suicidal ideation. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

Mike’s eyes danced across the ceiling of Carter’s bedroom where, surprisingly, no one had come in and tried to kick him out. He detested popcorn ceilings. They were so… textured. Texture should not belong on ceilings. Maybe it was a good thing that things didn’t end up going any further with Carter, because then, he would’ve been staring up at a goddamn popcorn ceiling while Will Byers’ doppelgänger had his way with him.

He laid on his back with his skinny legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and folded his hands together over his stomach as he got lost in the travesty that was the popcorn ceiling. He tried to imagine that the endless expanse of polystyrene was actually just extremely puffy clouds, a bowl of cooked white rice, or freshly fallen snow that had recently been compacted together by a winter boot. His eyes trailed to the junction between the ceiling and the wall, which was adorned with a string of multicolored lights. He liked those kinds of lights, even if they kind of reminded him of the ones Joyce used to communicate with Will in the Upside Down. Over the years, slowly but surely, one of Vecna’s various torture mechanisms became simply Christmas lights again.

Fuck, Christmas break was coming up soon. He needed to get Nancy and Holly gifts before making the trek back to Hawkins. He hoped he’d have enough room in his car for everything, since he wouldn’t be returning after break. The realization hit Mike out of nowhere; since he no longer had a school to attend, he’d never have an academic “break” ever again. The last one he’d participated in was Thanksgiving, and he’d wanted to have one last memory of his parents being proud of him before he became the full-fledged failure of the family. It was evident, from the way his father had made multiple homophobic remarks aimed directly at Mike from across the dinner table, that he’d already failed. He chose to keep his mouth shut about potentially dropping out, at the risk of making things even worse. Now that his college career was officially over, though, “Christmas break” would be just “Christmas” from here on out.

He wondered if Will would be back in town for Hanukkah. He hoped so. The holiday season would be different this year. Mike would get the fuck over himself and leave the house. He would repair his purposefully neglected friendships. And he’d finally get the chance to see Will again, face to face. Though chances were slim, maybe Will would hear him out. Maybe Will’s hatred for Mike had faded a little bit. He still couldn’t quite comprehend the complexity of what exactly happened within the past year, and how what Mike already assumed to be pretty damn bad became even worse, considering how well the new year started off.

As soon as Mike had arrived back at his dorm in January, he diligently thumbtacked the post-it detailing Will’s phone number on the wall above his headboard. He wasn’t normally someone who believed in karma, omens, manifestation, or any of that hippie crap (because Mike was obviously a realist and a pessimist by nature), but he truly believed that seeing Joyce at Melvald’s was fate in its finest form. Forgetting his school supplies (along with his reluctance to just go back home and grab what he needed from his room) resulted in essentially coming out to Will’s mother. And that was one step closer to getting Will back. Now, all he had to do was call that number.

The post-it stayed on his wall for three months. Elvis hadn’t mentioned or questioned it; they weren’t official, anyway, so Mike was free to see whoever he wanted. Except Mike didn’t just want to see Will. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Will. If only Mike could pick up the goddamn phone.

It wasn’t that Mike didn’t want to call; he wanted nothing more than to hear Will’s voice enveloped in grainy audio. He longed for the day he’d get to say Will’s name out loud instead of just writing it. But Mike was waiting for the right time to do it. He couldn’t call in the morning, because Will had insisted for years that, in the words of his stepfather, “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation,” and refused to be disturbed before 9am. He couldn’t call in the afternoon, because Will would most definitely be in class, or at work if he had a job, or hanging out somewhere with his new friends, and Mike didn’t want to impose upon that. And he couldn’t call in the evening, because what if the conversation went south? He didn’t want Will to go to sleep angry or upset, especially at him.

In reality, no time was a good time. Mike knew that confrontation was inexorable, and whether it came across as offensive or not was dependent upon how the conversation began. Mike, ever the strategist, prepared himself for a multitude of scenarios, from worst to best case; it turned out that predicting all possible outcomes during a supernatural war would help him immensely in this process. Ultimately, he chose to pick up the phone and call Will on the least problematic occasion he could think of: the date was March 22nd, 1990– also known as Will’s 19th birthday.

Mike had parked himself in the middle of his mattress, sitting criss cross on top of his navy blue comforter. He’d pulled his phone, monstrous, pale yellow, and with a spiral cord, off of his bedside table and into his lap. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions to be in, and Mike’s back was slightly killing him (hunching over a notebook for hours on end all day probably didn’t help either), but it was the optimal setup for either an hours-long phone call or for slamming the handset back in place and hanging up as soon as the other end of the line picked up. But Mike knew he wouldn’t ever hang up. Never on Will.

Mike drew his eyes up the headboard of his bed and onto the wall until they met the post-it, in all its glory. Mike inhaled so hard he thought his lungs would spontaneously combust from the pressure in his chest. He feared his heart would stop the second the dial tone emerged from within the earpiece. Mike knew he had to do this now, or he never would. He’d already procrastinated doing this for too long. He gulped, his finger hovering over the rotary dial, and tried his luck.

The ringback tone went through once, twice, and–

One of the Christmas lights in the otherwise dark room flickered, causing Mike’s body to snap up to attention. He rose to defend himself from any monsters in his vicinity, ready to fight the– woah, he stood up way too fast. He was, apparently, still quite intoxicated. He sat back down on the bed, eyes still glued to the string of bright, colorful lights lining the perimeter of Charlie’s… Christopher’s room? Whatever. It started with C. After a few minutes of engaging in a staring contest with a fucking lightbulb, he let his shoulders go lax. Tension that he hadn’t realized had built up released from his neck as he rested his head on his palms. He wasn’t in danger, not anymore. Well, at least, not in the paranormal realm of things. The only monster he’d have to fight was himself.

More specifically, the raging… situation that had yet to go down in his obscenely tight shorts. Cadence had done a number on him, even though it only lasted for approximately zero-point-five seconds. Mike shut his eyes tightly, not sure of what to do. He could wait longer, and run the risk of being caught with a very obvious boner by someone if they entered the room unannounced… or he could make a run for it and try not to be sidetracked by anyone he knew.

Mike opened the bedroom door a crack and peeked through, and thankfully, it didn’t look like the escape would be too arduous. He rushed out of the room, pushing through the multitude of bodies in search of the exit. The room was extremely hot, likely due to everyone’s combined body heat and the space heaters stationed in the corner of every room, which made it difficult to breathe. He hadn’t been much of a fan of the cold ever since he and Will got stuck in the Upside Down during the Vecnapocalypse. They’d ended up staying there for longer than initially anticipated; having almost kissed at one point, Mike freaked out and ran away, stupidly tripping on a vine and causing an entire side-battle in the Upside Down, nearly ruining the Party’s chance to defeat Vecna. So, no, he wasn’t much of a fan of the cold, but right now, Mike needed to escape the sensation of molten lava that crept up and slowly wrapped around his throat. His eyes caught a glimpse of the front door, and relief flooded through his veins.

But that feeling was short lived, because a vine curled around Mike’s wrist before he could take another step. He whipped around to see that the vine was actually a hand, and noticed that he vaguely recognized the hand’s owner, who was a girl from his Quantitative Literacy class. “Hey, Mike!” she smiled. She had black hair, light brown eyes, and a septum piercing. She looked badass. Bitchin’, as El would say. However, her bright teal eyeshadow, even in the dark, served as both a boner killer and the source for Mike’s impending migraine. So it was a blessing and a curse, really.

He tried to remember the girl’s name, but didn’t want to disappoint her when he’d admitted to not knowing it, so he uttered a painfully generic, “Hey! How are you doing’? Good to see you!” and gave her a rather light, impersonal hug. She appeared to be satisfied enough with his greeting. She pulled Mike down by his shoulder so she could talk in his ear without everyone hearing over the music.

“My friend over there saw you earlier and was wondering if you were single,” she said, pointing over to a group of two guys and two girls who were all huddled on the sectional couch. Mike raised a quizzical eyebrow. This conversation could go one of two ways. Mike hoped he wouldn’t have to make it awkward, but then again, he knew he probably wouldn’t ever see her again after that night. So that made him feel a little better in that respect.

“Oh,” he hesitated. “Uh… which one?”

“Shoot, I should have led with that!” she laughed. Mike laughed along, but his voice felt hollow. Luckily, she didn’t pick up on it. “The one with the blue hair! Her name is Chelsea.”

Mike looked over at the group, and made eye contact with the girl with the blue hair. He watched as she blushed and looked away. She was shy. She looked sweet. Damn it, Mike, now you’re gonna break yet another heart. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be normal?

“She’s pretty interested, you know,” the Girl With No Name said, unknowingly twisting the knife that rested permanently in Mike’s stomach. The lava curling around his throat became even hotter, burning through his skin.

“Yeah, totally, uh… that’s so cool!” Mike remarked passively. And yeah, it was cool, in theory… but hopelessly incompatible in practice. He glanced at the door, then back at the girl before telling her, “I hate to break it to you, but I’m straight as a circle.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m gay, like, really gay.” Mike blurted, probably loud enough for the entire room to hear. He heard someone whistle, and a few others cheered him on, but Mike wanted to burst into flames. The girl stared at Mike, stunned at his sudden outburst, seemingly at a loss for words. Mike felt himself choking on air. He needed to get out of there, and quickly.

“Okaygottagoseeya!” Mike forced out in a single breath, not leaving any time for a response from anyone before he bolted through the crowd and out the door, successfully fleeing the scene. Grass met the soles of his Chuck Taylors as he continued to run across the campus quad, his breathing quick, ragged, and uneven. The frigid December weather did nothing to soothe the burning sensation throughout Mike’s body, which by now felt like it was burning from the inside out. His feet loudly slapped the pavement below him, and Mike was proud that he hadn’t slowed down or stopped yet. If one good thing were to come out of his time at the University of Indianapolis, it was his improved stamina from all the sex. Well, that’s fucking sad… and kind of hilarious, Mike thought.

He sprinted a few blocks, not caring to look for any oncoming cars. If he got hit, cool. Awesome. He’d thank the driver as he bled out in the street. But no one came to take him out of his misery. So he kept running, and running, and running. Mike’s long legs screamed as his practically nonexistent muscles struggled to carry him. The prickly, thin air he breathed in through his mouth reminded him of the sensation when he’d chewed a piece of mint gum and drank water right after. It was so fucking cold, but he was so fucking hot. Like, there was sweat dripping down his face. Or were those tears? Was he seriously fucking crying again?

Up until last year, Mike had never been the type of person to openly cry. He wasn’t raised to share his feelings or emotions. That was part of the reason as to why Mike had been so uncomfortable with the prospect of going to therapy. He never opened up to anyone, because he hated the feeling of defenselessness, and even more so despised the idea of being seen as weak. He prided himself on being the “fearless leader” of the Party. For fuck’s sake, he’d been the one to stare Vecna down as he thrust a sword straight into his heart. He’d proven his strength as a leader time and time again. But what would happen when Mike Wheeler let his guard down?

It turned out that Mike didn’t have to let his guard down; Will broke it for him. Will’s departure broke the dam of emotional repression that Mike had worked so hard for years to maintain. Mike suddenly became unable to stop himself from crying. He’d always silently envied Will for being able to express his emotions so freely, but now that Mike could do so as well, albeit uncontrollably, he didn’t envy Will at all. He wasn’t sure how Will had done it for all those years; the migraines, the exhaustion, the dehydration… It was awful. And Mike felt even worse when he recalled all the times when he was the reason for making Will cry.

Mike had also gotten accustomed to panic attacks. He had his first one on the day Will left. His mom came into his room to check on him. He’d looked up at her with scared, red-rimmed eyes, and his shoulders violently shook as he hyperventilated. His mom swiftly jumped into action, meeting Mike where he was at, grounding him, and helping him come back to earth. She’d held Mike in her arms as he sobbed, comforted him, and didn’t pry. But… she knew. He could never express enough gratitude towards his mom for what she did for him that day. Little did he know, though, that it only got worse from there. The second one happened after The Phone Call™, which led to his initial downward spiral. The third one happened in Warren Blakeley’s car after he’d been drugged and assaulted at that one party. And the fourth one… ‘twas a-brewin’.

Mike found his car despite his impaired vision, nearly ripped the driver’s side door off its hinges with how roughly he opened it, and slammed it shut behind him. He collapsed his entire body weight against the steering wheel before letting out the loudest, most guttural scream that he hadn’t even been aware he was capable of. He reached his hands up into his scalp, pulling fistfuls of hair with his hands as his surroundings melted away. Mike genuinely felt like he was going to die. Everything he’d said, done, and experienced within the past year and a half had been slowly building up inside him, and this was him finally cracking under the pressure.

Dear Will, I hate you. Dear Will, you broke me. Dear Will, I crave you. Dear Will, why? Why, why, why– Dear Will, fuck you. Dear Will, go to hell. Dear Will, I’m sorry. Dear Will, I miss you. Dear Will, I love you. Dear Will—

Mike turned his keys in the ignition, and the engine came roaring to life. He lifted his head up to the rear view mirror, rubbed his eyes a few times, and took a look at his reflection. The person staring back at him looked absolutely horrendous. He looked as if he hadn’t fully slept through the night since 1983. And that wasn’t far from the truth; Mike could count on a single hand how many a good night’s sleep he’d had since the day Will was first taken by the demogorgon, and all of those times, Will was there, by his side.

Mike shifted gears and turned his headlights on, pulling out of his spot and drifting out into the street. He knew what he was doing was a bad idea. Driving drunk was, first of all, illegal, and secondly, dangerous to not just himself, but to others. But he couldn’t give less of a shit; he’d figured out what he needed to do. He slowed down to a stop at the red light of the intersection where he’d have to take a left to go home.

“When you’re… different, sometimes you feel like a mistake. But you make [me] feel like [I’m] not a mistake at all. Like [I’m] better for being different. And that gives [me] the courage to fight on. If [I] was mean to you, or [I] seemed like [I] was pushing you away, it’s because [I’m] scared of losing you, like you’re scared of losing [me]. And if [I] was going to lose you, I think [I’d] rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

The light turned green, but Mike didn’t turn left. He tapped his fingertips against the center console, drove straight ahead, past the light, and turned on his right hand signal.

He swerved onto I-65.

“Hello?” a familiar voice answered. Mike felt his breath hitch. His voice was deeper than Mike remembered. It was like he’d gone through a second puberty, if that were even possible.

“Will! Hi!” Mike exclaimed, sounding far too enthusiastic for his own good. He waited for a reply, but could only hear Will breathing on the other end of the line. He went to speak again, but Will beat him to the punch.

“… Mike?” Will said his name in a tone that Mike could only label as nostalgic dread. Oh god, he shouldn’t have called him. He shouldn’t have called him, but he did, and Will was on the phone, and had just said Mike’s name for the first time in a year.

Mike reclined onto his comforter so he was lying on his back with his knees bent, wrapping the cord around his finger a few times as he spoke. “Yeah, um… I was just calling to wish you a happy birthday, and to tell you that I miss you.” Well, that was vague, Wheeler. You can do better than– “And love you. So much.” …that. Fuck. Too far.

He heard Will gasp, then try to cover it up by clearing his throat a few times before responding. “How’d you get my number?”

Friends don’t lie, so Mike told him. “Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”

Will exhaled. Mike always savored that sound, and would have been content if that was the last sound he’d ever hear. But… that specific exhale didn’t convey contentment; this one was laced with light exasperation. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

Mike begged to differ. She most definitely should have done that, and Mike would be eternally grateful that she did. In the eleventh hour, where all hope appeared to have been lost in the most abysmal Christmas break to ever exist, Joyce Byers saved Mike Wheeler’s life. She’d given him a reason to keep on going.

“And you probably shouldn’t call me again.”

The color drained out of Mike’s face. His stomach churned with anxiety that seemed to exponentially increase by the second, and he suddenly felt the urge to throw up. This was the worst case scenario, but he didn’t think much of it. It was only a hypothetical, it wasn’t supposed to actually happen! Will was pushing Mike away. Again. But why?

“What have I ever done to you, Will?” Mike heard himself ask, his voice small. He felt like a kid again. At the end of the day, he was still a kid. He’d had to grow up too fast, a powerful disquiet having annihilated a majority of his childhood. He’d been so uncertain of where he’d end up after the war was over. And the one time Mike was sure of himself, sure of his feelings, and sure that Will Byers was his heart, he–

“Enough. You’ve done enough,” Will’s voice, followed by the sound of the dial tone made Mike’s blood run cold. He set the handset back into its cradle, and continued to lay there on his twin-sized mattress, the rest of his body completely frozen. He felt his facial features involuntarily crumpling in upon themselves as the grief consumed him.

This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. Mike rarely prayed; he only did in life-threatening situations, where the probable end result was dying. But right now, Mike prayed the hardest he’d ever prayed in his entire life. Please, God, help me wake up. Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, whoever the hell you are, if you even exist at all… if this is real life, please kill me. I can’t live like this. After a minute or so, he opened his eyes. Nothing. Mike huffed a quiet laugh to himself; it was so typical of him to place responsibility on others, let alone God, to deal with his problems. He’d have to face this alone. He was always alone. And he fucking hated it.

Mike hated that he would never have Will in the way he wanted him, no, the way he needed him. Mike hated that he could never seem to get the closure that he believed he deserved. Mike hated that Will wouldn’t just be honest with him! You’ve done enough. What the fuck did “enough” even mean? Had he done something else? Did he do something other than that one time in August? Something during his first semester, or over Christmas break, that he couldn’t remember due to his steadily consistent, months-long intoxication? He couldn’t think of a single thing, which made him even angrier.

He wished he could just… fall out of love with Will, or something. Maybe Mike could fall out of love with him. What was the worst that could happen if Mike picked up the handset again, and dialed the number written on that cursed post-it? What if he said to Will, “Actually, I don’t love you. That was just me being crazy”? Crazy together, that’s what would happen. He’d be reminded of the young boy who recognized his more-than-platonic love for Will; a version of himself that he could never get back; a boy who would call him out for lying to both Will and himself, because friends don’t lie. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that Will had hurt Mike badly enough to justify a grudge. At least he thought so. Then again, Mike hated grudges, and the person he became when he held them. Scratch that, he hated the person he’d become, period. He didn’t recognize himself anymore.

He’d started at the University of Indianapolis entirely heartbroken, but on the other hand, he’d finally discovered his identity as a young gay man. He met some new people, and fucked a lot more of them. But parties have to end sometime. Mike would lay in bed, covered in the sweat and cum of a random guy asleep next to him, and would get weirdly emotional when his mind would, as always, drift to Will. He’d sometimes close his eyes and pretend the guy was Will, and he’d fall for his own brain’s tricks, if only for a minute. After that minute was up, and he’d remember that Will hated his guts… he would drink. A lot. He was the life of the party… with a side of alcoholism. His temper got worse, his fuse got shorter, and his overall outlook on life became so cynical that he sometimes even contemplated dying, and not the kind of dying involving bones snapping and eyes exploding. But he’d never followed through with anything in his entire life, so he knew he wouldn’t be able to kill himself even if he wanted to.

The tears that previously poured out of his eyes like waterfalls had dried up, their presence remaining evident in the stiffness on the surface of Mike’s cheeks. He hiccuped, the sharp intake of air causing him to develop a cramp under his ribcage. He grimaced in pain, sitting up and lowering his feet to the linoleum floor. He shuffled to his wardrobe and opened it, sifting through some oversized sweatshirts, a windbreaker, and Will’s godforsaken yellow sweater before he found what he was looking for. It was over. This was it. He’d had his chance, and he lost Will for the third time in his life. He picked up the bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap, and raised it to his lips. Fuck Will Byers. Fuck everything.

The sun had traveled up and down across the horizon a few times following The Phone Call™ when he’d startled awake to a shrill ringing in his ears. He checked his alarm clock to see the time, and he rolled his eyes. He extended his arm out to grab the phone without having to move the rest of his body. “Bitch, I swear to God, you better be either pregnant or broken up with by Nathan, because it is two o’clock in the goddamn–”

“Mike. It’s El.”

Mike sat up then, his eyes wide with conviction. “El? Jeez, I’m so sorry for that incredibly blunt greeting. My friend Alex tends to call me around this time with all her latest life crises, so… I just kind of assumed.”

El hummed in understanding. “It’s okay. Let’s hope your friend Alex doesn’t actually get pregnant or broken up with, though.”

“Yeah, that would not be good,” Mike agreed with a laugh, leaning back onto his pillows and staring at the ceiling. He’d missed the sound of El Hopper’s voice. It had been way too long. “So, uh, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” El replied, and Mike’s reminiscing came to a full stop. Of course Will had called El. They were siblings who told each other everything. Even back when they were kids, especially after Joyce and Hopper finally got married, Will and El were joined at the hip.

“What happened?” she asked him, and Mike scoffed, lifting his free hand to run it through his hair, regretting it immediately when his fingers got caught in one of the many knots, since Mike hadn’t washed his hair in nearly a week.

“Wouldn’t it be counterproductive for you to hear the same story twice?”

“I want to hear it from your perspective,” El told him, and Mike clenched his jaw.

“Okay. Fine. Where do I start?”

“From the beginning would be great.”

So Mike told her. He started at the beginning, all the way back to when Will and El had just moved back to Hawkins in April of 1986. He told her about how he and Will hadn’t spoken for the whole six months that he’d been in California. He told her about how he had, in fact, written letters to Will; he’d just never sent them. He told her about the distance that Will carefully maintained between the two of them throughout the entire duration of the Vecnapocalypse, up until when they’d almost kissed in the Upside Down. He told her about how Will–

“And then a few days ago I called him to wish him a happy birthday and… El, I genuinely think he hates me. He hung up on me and… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I can't undo the past, and I can't get him out of my head.”

El remained silent for a few seconds, and Mike feared that their call might have been disconnected and he’d been talking to no one. But then, he heard the faint sound of El breathing, so he continued, “If any of this gets back to Will–”

“Why do you think I called you, Mike?” El cut him off, and Mike sat there in silence, unable to reply. “I called because I care, and because I want the best for both you and Will. Not just Will. I think you did the right thing letting him know you’re still there if he wants you to be.” Well that was… unexpected. And really kind, considering that this was the first time they’d spoken since she moved to Nashville. He truly had no idea why El still gave a shit about him after everything. He’d been a shitty boyfriend and a shitty friend, and these reasons alone were appropriate grounds to cut him out of her life. But El stuck around.

“Oh,” Mike whispered. “Thanks.”

“I just…” she trailed off. Oh no. What now?

“Just what?” he pressed, and he heard El sigh. Greeeaaaaat.

“I just think you shouldn’t have called so soon.”

“So soon?” Mike repeated, horrified. “El, it’s been seven months since I last spoke to him! When do you think should I have done it?” Should he have waited until they were out of school for the summer? Should he have waited until they were both out of college? Should he have waited until Will had forgotten about him?

“You should have let him call you,” El said to him, her voice strangely calm. “Or not called him on his birthday of all days. I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas out there.” Yeah, no shit. Mike reached over to his bedside table again to pick up the bottle of whiskey, which still had about half left, and took a gigantic gulp, instantly regretting it when it scorched his esophagus.

“I don’t see how the fuck this is helping, Eleven,” he spluttered, wiping his mouth roughly with his sweatshirt sleeve. Sometimes, Mike wished El’s powers extended beyond telekinesis and telepathy, and, like, contained the key solution to all of his problems. That would be ideal. But no, she had to be all vague and mysterious and just throw ideas out there.

“Okay, well, if you want to be that way, then fine,” El’s tone turned cold. “I highly recommend you consider hashing it out in person.” She had no idea what she was talking about. The Will she had spoken to must have been a figment of her imagination, because Will had made it abundantly clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with Mike. As far as Mike was concerned, he’d never see Will again. But then El spoke once more. “I hope you and Will can eventually get your heads out of your asses and admit that you still love each other.”

With that, the line clicked, and Mike was alone with his thoughts. Or rather, one lone phrase, as the rest of his mind faded to nothingness: You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. Those words played on a loop in Mike’s mind as he finished off his bottle of whiskey. From that moment on, “sobriety” and “Mike Wheeler'' would not appear in the same sentence, not until—

Woaaaahhhh! Livin’ on a prayer!!! The key change of the Bon Jovi song woke Mike back up with a start. This had already happened a few times, but thankfully, the loud rock music on Will’s mixtape would startle him awake each time he nodded off behind the wheel.

Mike concluded that he couldn’t blink anymore. Though his eyes were incredibly dry, due to lukewarm air blasting through the vents and directly hitting his corneas, blinking would cause Mike’s heart rate to lower and the rest of the world to move in slow motion. If only for a few seconds of his life, he’d trade out the mental torment, the anger, and the loneliness for tranquility, quiet, and warmth… then his eyelids would droop closed.

Mike pressed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal, trying not to get distracted by the corn fields that seemed to sway to the music with him. Hopefully Mike would get his third wind sooner than later (his second one was fleeting, and died out as soon as it began). The sun was coming up, which was definitely going to help keep him awake. The song ended, followed by a few seconds of suspended quiet between songs before a familiar guitar riff met Mike’s ears.

“Oh, fuuuuck me. Goddamnit,” Mike indignantly announced to the universe, gripping his fingers tighter on the steering wheel. The voice of Joe Strummer began to shout alongside the wailing electric guitar. Now, Mike was very awake. His mind became a film reel, playing back memories he thought he’d blocked out a long time ago.

Darling you’ve got to let me know / Should I stay or should I go?

Once everyone had been debriefed on what was happening in Hawkins, Will and Jonathan immediately went to work on making customized mixtapes for everyone. Mike sat on his father’s La-Z-Boy in the living room and watched in awe as the brothers put their minds together and churned out each tape as if it were second nature. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Will’s extensive musical knowledge, for one, as well as the strong sibling bond they shared. Having grown up surrounded by sisters, Mike often felt like the odd one out. His parents shamelessly and openly favored his sisters over him, which further excluded him, whether it was intentional or not, on their part. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if they ever found out he was gay. That would be a disaster.

If you say that you are mine / I’ll be here till the end of time.

While Will and Jonathan were out getting more cassettes, Mike got a hold of and sifted through everyone’s handwritten lists. He had no idea Dustin enjoyed metal music so much; most of his list consisted of songs by Black Sabbath and Metallica. It wasn’t much of a surprise to him, considering how much of an impact Eddie Munson had made on the two of them. He still couldn’t believe he was gone. Part of him refused to accept it. Eddie could still be alive. He was just in the Upside Down somewhere. They could still save him. There was still time. There had to be time. Mike’s subconscious must have known he’d needed a distraction from the subject of Eddie— not dying— yes, dying, because he found Will’s list. To Mike, this list was a small glimpse into Will’s mind, so he decided to memorize it. He’d do anything to get closer to Will, even if it meant racking his brain in the process.

“You like my mix?” Will’s deep vocal timbre demanded Mike’s attention, and he swiveled his upper body around to see Will leaning over his shoulder, his hands planted on either side of Mike on the back edge of the chair. When did he get back home? That didn’t matter, because Will’s arms looked amazing in Mike’s blue and yellow striped shirt, stretching the short sleeves in all the right places. Was that a vein on his bicep? Mike gulped loudly, becoming flustered at their very close proximity. God, he needed to get ahold of himself. Pining over his best friend like this was not—

“I can make you a copy if you want,” Will said, and Mike’s eyes lit up in surprise. Will would really do that for him? Mike realized then that he hadn’t said any actual words during this entire interaction, and borderline blushed at the thought of Will rendering Mike speechless, but he needed to talk. Now.

“Really?” he asked, and Will nodded. “That would be amazing! Thank you!”

“Of course. I’ll have that ready for you in about an hour,” Will smiled, pulling out of Mike’s space, but not removing his hand from the recliner. Mike took this moment to shift in his spot to face Will, placing his hand atop his friend’s before he could walk away. Will turned back in Mike’s direction, eyes frantic yet welcoming.

“You’ve always had the best music taste of the Party. I’ve missed it,” Mike had a sentimental streak, what could he say?

“You have?” Will squeaked out, seeming surprised at Mike’s confession.

“Uh, of course! Why wouldn’t I have missed it?” Mike asked, and Will shrugged.

“I dunno, just… you’ve always liked synth pop stuff more than punk rock. Like, your first song on your list is ‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat… which I’m not entirely shocked by? But I always thought you liked that kind of stuff over my taste.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Byers, because your music has always been my favorite to listen to,” Mike quipped, his voice infected by his ever-growing grin. “You taste top tier.”

Wait, did Mike just… What did he just say? He said, quote, “You taste top tier.” As in Will Byers, as a person… tasted top tier. What if… Mike’s mind meandered into treacherous territory as he wondered what Will tasted like– NO! Not now! He was just about ready to pass away right then and there. Mike could just imagine his headstone; Here Lies Michael James Wheeler. Cause of Death: Inability to Formulate a Fucking Sentence.

“Oh, do I, now?” Will raised an eyebrow, a smirk lifting a corner of his gorgeous mouth. Mike nearly fell off the chair. Could his egregious mistake have given him a little bit of leverage in the flirtation department? Will seemed to think so.

Mike played it off casually with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Will remarked, placing his other hand over both of theirs, sandwiching Mike’s hand between Will’s palms. So Will liked being (accidentally) flirted with. Note to self, Mike thought, fuck up more often.

Mike smiled so big that his mouth nearly fell off his face. “Cool.”

So you gotta let me know / Should I stay or should I go?

It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and Mike was lying on the basement couch with his legs hanging off the edge. His eyes were closed, and he wore his headphones which were attached to his Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as Mike had from the second it fell into his hands back in 1986. He felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. He cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when he registered that it was Will who was entering his space.

“Mike, we’ve gotta talk.”

It's always tease, tease, tease / You're happy when I'm on my knees

“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” Mike sat up, pulling his headphones fully off his head and resting them around his neck. Then he saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.

One day it's fine, and next it's black / So if you want me off your back / Well, come on and let me know / Should I stay, or should I go?

“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. Mike’s eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. How did he–

“SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW!!!” Mike cried out, cranking the window down with his free hand and letting the wind rush through his long, black hair. His sobs broke into a maniacal, rueful laugh as his hair violently whipped into his eyes. He lifted his left hand and extended it out the driver’s side window, feeling his fingers being forced apart and back together by the rippling sea of oxygen and carbon. Rock bottom felt like the top of the world.

“IF I GO THERE WILL BE TROUB-ALLLLLLL,” he yelled through the thick strands, spluttering a bit as some pieces made their way into his mouth. He tugged them away, but to no avail, as the wind obviously had a mind of its own, but Mike continued on with his tirade of near-incoherent screeching, face full of loose curls. “AMIFF I SHTAY ISHWILLBEE DUBALLLL!”

The road took a slight bend, and Mike obliged to the demands of the pavement. The sun was bright enough that it burned into his retinas. He pushed his hair out of his face once more to view the scenery, only to be met with a pair of bright yellow headlights belonging to a tractor trailer. Only now did he perceive the loud noise of the truck’s horn; his car radio had been blocking it out. He also noticed that he was in the opposite lane, and about to collide head-on with the trailer if he didn’t move fast enough,

With enough adrenaline to fuel a thousand demodogs, Mike swerved to the right and dodged the truck with only seconds to spare. He took a moment to process the fact that he could have died. He knew his hands held the steering wheel, and his foot was still on the gas, but the rest of him was thoroughly detached from reality. “Should I Stay or Should I Go” blared on through the speakers, but Mike could only feel the vibrations rumbling from the floor of the car. He could have died, but he didn’t. But he felt his heart stop, and it felt simultaneously comforting and cataclysmic..

Mike knew that he couldn’t continue on, not like this. As if the road could read his mind, a small lookout area appeared within his vicinity, and he took this as a sign to pull over onto the shoulder to regroup. He parked his car, turned the music down, and clasped his hands in his lap, waiting a few more seconds before turning the car off, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door.

The actual sun had begun to rise. The air was crisp, and the wind chill slightly nudged it into even colder temperatures, sending a shiver down Mike’s spine. He hastily cowered back into the lingering warmth of his vehicle, searching the passenger side for… there it was. He pulled a crimson colored University of Indianapolis sweatshirt from behind him and shoved it over his shoulders, zipping it up. He did a double take at what the block-style letters spelled out, rolling his eyes and laughing bitterly to himself at the sheer irony. He continued to laugh as he opened the car door once more, heading towards the lookout.

Mike stood at the top of a steep cliff, guarded by a rusty guard rail that looked like it would fall apart with the next gust of wind that hit it. The trees below him were bare, their branches contorting every which way, slicing the air around them like an army of spears. Beyond the line of trees he could see the miles-wide stretch of farmland, and the miniscule house that sat on the corner of the property, chimney smoking. In an atmosphere as peaceful as this one, Mike stood idly at the edge of the lookout, thinking about how this would be a beautiful place to die. If he were to lift just one leg over the rail…

Mike, don't do it! I don't need my baby teeth, twelve year old Dustin’s voice echoed from the back burner of his mind. Seriously, don't do it, man! Of course his thoughts traveled back to that time at the quarry. How could he ever forget? Even as a child, he’d been completely wrecked without Will. If this memory proved anything, it proved that history repeats itself.

Dentist's office opens in five, young Troy’s voice began, and Mike glanced down. This time, he wouldn’t be able to turn back. Four… This time, El wouldn’t be able to save him. Three… This time, no one would be there to grieve for him. Two…

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?”

“No, Will, I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

“But I did mean it!!!” Mike screamed into the silence, startling a flock of birds below. He lifted his hands up to his face, covering his bloodshot eyes. He heaved out a low growl, raising his voice until it hit the top of his range, cracking with an agonizing shriek. “I meant all of it! I love you! I always have! Fuck, Will, why couldn’t you just see that?!”

He let out a quiet sob, but no tears followed; he’d cried the rest of them out over the course of the past few hours. His throat felt like it had been rubbed with coarse sandpaper. He took a step back from the ledge and kicked a few of the rocks at his feet, watching them fall. Mike decided he didn’t want to die that day; not by alcohol poisoning, not by tractor trailer wreck, and not by jumping off a cliff. The only way he could die was if he did all he possibly could to get Will back. He turned his back on the trees, briskly walking back to his car.

I’m gonna make sure you, William Jacob Byers, know that I meant every single word.

About half an hour later, Mike walked into the convenience mart of a gas station. His hangover headache was beginning to form, and his intermittent yawning had become more and more frequent, so he figured some coffee would solve both of those problems. He stopped at the entrance, looking down at the stack of newspapers to his right. Mike recalled himself making a mental note back at the frat party to check his horoscope, so he leaned down to pick one up, searching for Aries when he found the page.

December 15th, 1990: Do expect some appreciation for the efforts you've put into recent days, dear Aries. However, do not get your hopes too high, because your actions may not lean towards gratification if you expect too much.

Well, Chicago Sun Times, it’s a little late for that, Mike thought, tossing the paper back onto the pile and walking to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, and then to the coffee station. He filled a cup and dumped about seven packets worth of sugar into it before capping it off and heading to the register.

The clerk behind the counter, an older man, looked like he’d been having the best goddamn morning of his life. He beamed from ear to ear, and Mike could feel the positivity radiating off of this man from a mile away. When he got closer, he noticed a singular studded earring on his right earlobe.

“Hi, how’s it going?” The man smiled at Mike, crows feet forming in the outer corners of his eyes. Mike tried to mirror the expression, but failed miserably.

“It’s going,” he sighed, setting the water and coffee down on the counter and watching the clerk type in the prices on the register.

“Looks like it. You look rough, kid,” the man sympathized, pulling the money Mike slid onto the counter towards him and counting the bills. Mike shifted from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for the cashier to hand him his change so he could get out of there.

“Wanna talk about it?” he quirked an eyebrow, and Mike stopped his fidgeting. He looked up at the clerk, took a deep breath, and–

“Yeah. God, you don’t know the half of it. So I’m gay, right? And, like, that’s cool. And I’m in love with this friend of mine who I’ve known since kindergarten. He’s… he was my best friend. For years. And we went through this major thing that nearly killed us, but somehow it didn’t, and that was great, because then I was able to tell him how I felt. Right? Wrong. So, like, he moved to fucking Chicago without any kind of warning, or maybe, I don’t know, a Hey Mike, you hurt me because you said or did A, B, and C, and this is why I’m leaving. Something that could represent ‘the end’ to me. Because I’m not that great at picking up on when to quit beating a dead whore– horse. Horse. Jesus. I’m not beating any whores, I promise. But anyway, I went to U of Indy, and that was fan-fucking-tastic, because I was finally okay with who I am. I’m pretty good at the gay thing, and other guys seemed to really dick– uh, dig that. And by that, I mean, well… you can put two and two together, right? Right. Okay. So, even when I was with all these guys, I always thought about Will. All the time. He’s a part of me, you know? I couldn’t imagine life without him. So when I called him up on his birthday in March, which was about seven months into the not-talking-to-each-other thing, which I never signed up for in the first place, he basically told me to fuck off and never speak to him again. And then I realized I had to live without him, so I kind of spiraled, and now I can’t fucking sleep without drinking, and I can’t function without some form of physical touch from another man, but I’m never fucking fulfilled because it’s not Will who’s doing the physical touch, and I fucking love him, and I need him more than he needs me, and now I’m fucking driving to Chicago to find him and… Oh my god, I literally just poured my heart out to a stranger. I’m still kind of loopy. I’m so sorry.”

“That you did. I’m happy to listen, though,” the cashier merely chuckled, waving his hand in friendly dismissal. “You’ve really been put through the wringer, kiddo.”

“Well… thank you,” Mike softly smiled as he took his change from the counter, and shoved it into his pocket before turning around in preparation to leave.

“Best of luck in your travels! Go get your man!” the clerk called after him, and Mike laughed as the glass door slowly fell shut behind him.

Pulling onto the campus of the American Academy of Art was not something Mike had expected to be on his Sunday agenda, but here he was, pulling into a visitor parking spot next to the Admissions office building. He got out of his car, slamming the door, and smoothing his jeans over his thighs, feeling slightly self conscious about how they’d been crumpled up in a ball in his back seat after his most recent midnight excursion with Wyatt Bowman. Although, if he were being honest, anything was better than those denim cutoffs. Especially considering the mission he was currently on. Speaking of.

At first glance, this was not a traditional campus. There was not a single quad to be seen. There were no outdated buildings or directories, let alone any form of indication of a college campus, aside from the little rectangular flags with the school’s logo that hung from every other lamppost lining the sidewalks. All of the academic buildings were dispersed amidst other buildings belonging to different businesses and companies within a specific limit of blocks, which would make it much more difficult for Mike to figure out where the hell Will could even be within this organized chaos. Mike figured it would make the most sense to head into the Admissions office building first, so he could at least get a map.

The interior of the building was bright, with students’ art framed along the walls. He walked over to the nearest painting in the room, pausing to admire the work. There was a Monet-inspired landscape closest to the door, and a cubist portrayal of a still life stationed beside it. Mike could see why Will chose this school. They cultivated the talents of their students and turned them into true artists. Nothing could have prepared Mike for the next piece that caught his eye.

It was him. It was Mike; large in scale, vibrant, and full of life. Mike held his breath and stared back at the incredibly detailed, realistic portrait. He knew he didn’t need to look at the label that was tacked to the bottom of the painting to know whose work it was, but he couldn’t help himself. His eyes dragged downward and nearly passed away when he read the title: William Byers (b. 1971), “The Heart” (1989). Oil on Canvas. Mike’s chest swelled with pride, but quickly deflated at the looming, deafening voice in his head that routinely reminded him of what he’d lost. But that’s where everything stopped making sense.

The label stated that Will had painted “The Heart” in 1989, the same year that Will left Mike without turning back. He’d begun attending the American Academy of Art in September of that same year, leaving only three and a half or so months of the semester to complete the painting. So why would Will, after he completely erased Mike out of his life, still refer to Mike as the heart? And which heart was Will referring to? His own, or the one he’d shattered? Mike hadn’t realized he’d zoned out, so when a middle aged lady appeared next to him, he nearly leapt out of his skin. Her outfit, a floor length dress paired with a shawl, made her look quite ominous out of the corner of his eye.

“This is one of my favorites,” the woman stated.

“Yeah… mine, too,” Mike hummed, unmoving.

“Have we met?” she began, but didn’t give him a chance to reply. “Perhaps you’re one of my lecture students, I can never quite put a name to a face. But I must say, you look quite familiar,” she told him, turning back to the painting with her arms crossed over her chest, deep in thought.

“Probably because I’m the guy in the painting, heh.”

“Oh gosh, silly me!” the woman exclaimed, flushing red as she put a palm to her forehead. “I didn’t even make the connection! So I assume you’re close with the artist, then?”

“Yeah, I know…” Mike began, then cut himself off with a grimace. “Knew him.”

“How nice!” Luckily, she didn’t pick up on Mike’s vacant expression. Instead, she continued on, “If you’d like, I can connect you with some students if you’re interested in touring the school.”

“Uh, no thank you, ma’am, that’s alright. I was just wondering if I could have a map if there’s one available?” he asked, and she nodded, turning on her heel to open a drawer of the front desk.

“Of course! And no need to call me ma’am, Miriam works just fine.”

“Well, thank you very much, Miriam,” he smiled at her as she handed him two pieces of color-coded, glossy paper; a campus map, and a map of Chicago.

“You’re very welcome, Mike. And when you see him, tell Will that I ordered those brushes he needed.” He didn’t recall ever telling her his name, or mentioning Will in their short conversation, but Mike became hyper aware of the fact that Miriam likely knew something he didn’t. Will had evidently told her about him. Apparently it wasn’t too slanderous, though, so he felt cautiously optimistic.

“Um… I… okay,” he rushed out, backing out the door as politely as he possibly could. “Thanks! Bye!” As soon as he was out of the Admissions office building, he ran down the street. He was so close to finding Will. Now, all he had to do was find the dorms.

Mike looked down at the map in his hands, then up, trying to find the building number, then back down again to confirm if he was even on the right street. The map said the boys’ dorms should be there, but all he could see was a brick wall in front of him. He was just about to rip all his hair out before he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He turned to see two girls looking up at him, concern etched on their faces. One of the girls wore a ski hat over her blonde hair, paired with a pink windbreaker, while the other girl donned a sherpa denim jacket and a beanie that still allowed her to show off her impressively long box braids that cascaded down to her hips.

“Hey man, are you okay?” Sherpa Girl asked. His gaze traveled down to notice their intertwined hands and he blinked, looking back at the two girls and nodding. At least he was amongst friends. He gripped onto the map in his hands for dear life, hoping they’d just leave him be so he could be disorientated in peace.

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine,” he shook his head, forcing out a smile. “Thank you though.”

That didn’t seem to cut it for Sherpa Girl, because she shared a knowing look with Windbreaker Girl. “Do you think he looks fine, babe?” she looked up at Mike with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think he looks fine.”

“No,” Windbreaker replied to her girlfriend, “He most definitely does not. Also, he shook his head ‘no’ while saying he was fine, so… busted.”

“Okay, what of it?” Mike waved his hands around in the air in frustration, pacing in a small circle before returning to face the two girls. “I’m just walking around this… very complicated campus.”

Windbreaker let out a giggle at that, leaning into Sherpa’s shoulder to muffle her laughter, which melted Mike’s heart a little bit.

“You’re obviously lost, dude,” Sherpa pressed. “At least tell us what you’re looking for, maybe we can help you.”

Mike let out an exhale of defeat, awkwardly shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. “Any chance you know of a guy named Will Byers?”

Sherpa’s worryful expression shifted as she exclaimed, “Oh yeah, Will? He’s the cleric in our D&D club!” Mike’s brain short-circuited at the weight that sentence held.

“…He still plays D&D?”

That was when Windbreaker Girl’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait… are you Mike?” Mike felt like he was being charged with a crime, but he nodded anyway. “Thee Mike? As in Mike Wheeler?” she asked again, and he couldn’t refrain from feeling a bit embarrassed by the implication that her vocal inflections gave off.

“Unfortunately,” he muttered, but was completely caught off guard when Sherpa did a little jump in place, her face splitting into a wide grin. Wait a minute. They didn’t despise him? He was so confused.

“No. No, this is great!” Sherpa elaborated, letting go of Windbreaker’s hand in order to reach into her purse. Huh? “I’ll give you his address.” Oh.

“He lives off campus with our friend Kate, but she’s usually at work all day on Sundays,” Windbreaker explained while Sherpa found a fancy, expensive-looking art pen and scribbled the address onto a grocery receipt. She handed it to Mike, who read it, then had to read it one more time to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. 7 Maple Street, Chicago, IL.

He gulped loudly, peeling his eyes away from the piece of receipt paper. He nodded in thanks, as no words seemed to come out of his mouth when he attempted to speak.

“My name’s Ivy, by the way, and this is my girl Hannah,” Sherpa– Ivy– said, wrapping an arm around Windbreaker– Hannah’s shoulders, pulling her into her side as they walked past and away from him. “Tell Will we said ‘you’re welcome’!” he heard her call back to him. He wouldn’t even try to decode what the fuck that meant.

Mike eventually found his car after wandering around aimlessly for a few more minutes than he’d have liked to admit, and landed in the driver’s seat with a thud. He pulled the map of Chicago out of his pocket and dug in his middle console for a pen, locating Maple Street in seconds. It was about a fifteen minute drive away. Okay. He could do this.

As he drove, Mike thought about what to say. How could he even begin to explain why he was there, on Will’s doorstep? How could he justify his batshit insane motive? I got drunk for a year and moaned out your name while hooking up with a guy named Carter? I was driving under the influence and decided to come to Chicago instead of going home? I almost killed myself on multiple occasions on the way here, but made it out alive just to tell you that I love you? Mike groaned. He didn’t want to be a stuttering mess, so he figured he’d at least try to plan out his… speech. But he had never really been much of a planner in respect to his social life. Give him a few monsters, and he’d be golden. But his crumbling social life was far from an apocalypse, and Will was no monster. He’d just have to wing it.

Will’s house was pretty. It was a small Cape Cod style, yellow with blue shutters. It had a small plot of grass in front, with a few stairs leading up to the doorway. The doorway that Mike stood in, lifting his knuckles to the door.

Mike knocked.

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eleni-cherie · 10 months

Text

a thief's end ✨ || bts • myg - chapter 0.6

"so eager to be in a headlock again?"

"only if it's by you."

he thought he was done with the criminal life and ready for some peace and quiet. but his plans collapsed in the form of a strange girl who was in trouble.

»»»

masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburn, mutual pining, strangers to lovers s2l

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

»»»

"You aren't concentrating," Yoongi stated plainly while grabbing on the mannequin Soyeon had almost pushed down with her bokken.

She frowned at his statement and looked down at her hands. Indeed, they were clasped tightly around the shaft. Something she wasn't supposed to do. She breathed, loosening the grip on it.

Like a paintbrush, she reminded herself.

She went back and repeated the exercise, hitting the blue dot perfectly this time without actually pushing the dummy.

"Better. But you're still not fully concentrating."

His words frustrated her. Not because they weren't true but rather because they were. She wasn't concentrating. She was overthinking again. Lost in her thoughts for a moment to notice him walking up to her and snapping his fingers in front of her eyes. Offering her an empathetic smile.

"Tell me, what's going on in your head."

She let out a shaky breath, looking up into his soft eyes. How was she supposed to explain what was going on inside her? The best way to describe it probably being -

"Exhausted. I'm exhausted."

His eyes grew round for a moment before he nodded, immediatelly understanding what she meant. "Your situation is quite exhausting after all.. But you can't let this influence you in a fight," he said then and heaved the wooden sword that was still in her grip, "You've got to blank out any emotions and only focus on the moment."

"I know.. but that's easy for you to say, you've got years of practice," she whined, laughing tiredly and he couldn't object since she was right. Still, he was determined to help her.

"Hmh, yes. Without my training I'd be full of worries and uncertainties all the time," he admitted then with a hint of shy embarrassment in his voice, "And I still am, sometimes. But it's unfavourable during a fight. Trust me." He observed her lips parting a little, only to be pressed together again.

She sensed a story laying behind his word which she wasn't going to question now. Waiting for him to bring up on his own, maybe, some day. A sulky pout spreading on her lips then and he laughed under his breath at how adorable she looked.

"Isn't there any way for your mind to stop thinking and just be in the moment?"

Her eyes blinked at this, considering his question as she was in a sincere search for an answer. Her gaze falling to the side. "Usually when I listen to music. Although.. there was another thing that made my mind go blank recently.."

He arched a brow in anticipation, seeing her continuing avoiding his glance along with a mischievious smirk. His scowled turning into an amused laugh, being certain to get the not-so-subtle hint. "Is that your way of asking me to kiss you again?"

It'd be a lie if he said he hadn't permanently thought about the way her lips had tasted ever since.

"Technically, I was the one kissing you," she countered. The smirk widening.

It wasn't a lie though. A cheap way to get to kiss him again? Most likely, but not a lie. Because when kissing him, she hadn't thought. She'd just felt. Repeating the way he'd been holding her tenderly in her memory like a broken record.

It was interesting really. After the kiss, they had stayed a bit longer up there. Observing the last splashes of colour disappearing and fading into dark blue. And they had continue talking. It had flown so naturally, the conversation. It'd been mainly her curiosity continuing getting satisfied by asking him about his life as a thief. Making him tell her stories about heists and his friends.

Not once had it felt awkward afterwards. It was weird how things weren't weird at all between them. They had rather been like always, like before. As if the previous evening had never happened.

This was the first time one of them mentioned the kiss. And it ignited a new kind of excitement in her.

"You know, in a fight you won't be able to listen to music or kiss anyone," Yoongi tutted, "You'll have to find another way to block out your thoughts." A teasing grin creeping onto his features as he stepped even closer to her. Gently grabbing her chin between his fingers, he began leaning in only for Soyeon to withdraw suddenly, stepping away from his touch. Taking him aback with her smirk. "You're right, in a fight there won't be time for this."

Yeah, she was desperate to kiss him again but that didn't mean she was so easy to get. Besides, he wasn't the only one who enjoyed messing with others.

Laughing under his breath, he shook his head and threw a crooked smile her way when his phone's ringing echoed from the living room. He'd get another kiss, eventually.

He jogged out, leaving her back in the practice room to continue the exercise. His amused smile dropping when seeing the caller ID. A uneasy feeling spreading inside his chest, replacing the giddiness from before. "Hello?"

"Hey, so I got some interesting info after all.."

Yoongi swallowed at Seokjin's words and slowly took a seat on the couch.

"So, Jimin was right with the 18th century and Europe."

"Figured."

"But not just anywhere in Europe, it's from Florence. Italy. It belonged to a very wealthy family there called Rossi. An old family. Their roots go way back to medieval times."

His eyes widened. He could already sense where this was heading to. His gut feeling having been right after all, although all this time he kept hoping it wasn't. Ever since she had showed him this necklace, however, something inside him simply knew. Of course he knew, it had been his own profession all these past years. So when Seokjin continued talking, it didn't came as a surprise.

"It was stolen from them 40 years ago. The thief never got caught, nor do they know who it was. Obviously, technology back then wasn't as advantaged.. The only clue left at the crime-scene was a small wooden cat figurine."

"Cat figurine?"

"Yeah," Seokjin breathed, "First I was confused as well but then I did some digging. Turns out similar figurines had been found at various crime-scenes of jewelry theft all around the world at that time."

There was a small pause, none of them wanting to say out loud the obvious. "You said she got it from her grandfather and that some guys were after her?"

"Yeah.."

"Well.." the older guy sighed, "Either her grandfather somehow got it from the original thief or.."

"Or he was the thief." Another heavy silence followed, Seokjin not knowing what to tell him further and Yoongi not knowing how to handle that information.

"Will she get in trouble?" Yoongi eventually spoke up again with concern in his voice. "She doesn't know anything, she honestly doesn't."

The agent on the other line smiled sympathetically. "No, obviously not. She didn't know it's stolen goods and besides, limitation period for robbery is twenty years in most countries. Not even her grandfather would get in trouble anymore."

He exhaled in relief when hearing this. "Alright, thank you."

"Wait, there's more!"

He perked up. "More?"

"Yeah, you told me about these guys who were after her, right?"

"Right."

"The info was quite sparse but I think I know who they're working for. At least I can imagine.."

He added a dramatic pause, making Yoongi roll his eyes.

"Remember that wealthy family in Florence whose necklace this was? The youngest member and the one who's gonna inherite most of the fortune, he got his own interpol file."

"He's into illegal activities?"

"Yeah." The sound of pages rustling could be heard from the phone. "Seems like he caught our suspicion for art smuggling and being in contact with crime organisations all over the world, including East Asia."

Yoongi huffed. Of course, So he asked his gangster friends to hire some goons to retrieve his family jewels. "Thanks, pops, appreciate your help," he mumbled, ready to hang up when hearing Seokjin's chuckles from the other line.

"You know, if you think about going to Europe now to settle things.. I'll catch you."

He paused, a dry laugh leaving his lips. "Didn't you say you stepped down and are merely a paper-pusher now?"

"I did and I am, but that doesn't mean I won't get back to business if you guys get back to business."

Shaking his head, he huffed out a small laugh. "Don't worry, I'm not thinking about going anywhere."

"Hope so. Don't feel like leaving my wife trying catching you bunch."

Right, Jimin had mentioned Seokjin ending up marrying that woman Jimin had pushed onto him while trying escaping during the luxury cruise heist.

After they hung up, Yoongi's head hang low. Contemplating as concerns began crawling his mind. The type of concerns he usually successfully suppressed by meditating.

How was he supposed to explain anything of this to her?

Still, there was a small hope her grandfather hadn't actually been involved in the theft and ended up in possession of it in a different way. The wooden figurine perhaps being a lead to uncover the truth. It seemed like a signature and only a handful of thieves would use one that is so random and bold.

And there was someone who knew most of them thanks his own family affairs.

He unlocked his phone again, dialing a number.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Hey.." he paused when hearing his friend's cheery voice, "Have you heard of a thief that left wooden figurines back after a theft?"

Jimin audibly perked up at this, shuffling in his seat. "That rings a bell, I think. My grandpa, that geezer, was friends with one who had a foible of leaving stuff behind. I think during one period it was wooden animals."

Of course his grandfather as one of the most infamous thieves in the world, knew and was friends with other thieves as well. He shouldn't be surprised that Jimin probably knew some of them as well, despite him and his grandfather having had a complicated relationship and his father doing his best to keep him away from this kind of life. Unsuccessfully.

"And do you remember his name or what he looked like?"

His younger friend thought for a moment, trying remembering any details from his childhood. "Hm, not really. I only met this guy once. You know, I didn't like hanging out with my grandpa a lot."

Yoongi hummed, unsure whether to feel disappointed or not.

"Actually, there's one thing I remember. He was wearing a golden ruby ring on his pinky finger."

"Of course you remember that," he scoffed to which Jimin exclaimed in mock-offence, "Hey!" before chuckling as well. "Why are you even asking about my grandpa's old friend? Does it have anything to do with that necklace you showed me?"

This guy.. Taking a breath, Yoongi folded his lips. "I asked Seokjin about that necklace.."

"You called pops? What did he say?"

"The necklace was stolen from a rich italian family. And there's a chance your grandfather's friend was the one stealing it."

"Oh, okay." He paused, realisation hitting him. "Wait, and she got it from..?"

"Her grandpa."

"So you believe he was -"

"Yeah."

"Damn." A small silence followed before Jimin spoke up again with apprehension in his voice. "Look, if you need any help just tell me, alright?"

He smiled, of course he knew he could count on his friends. Although he also knew they had far more to lose than he did. "Thanks. I will," he lied with a rueful smile and hung up. Tossing the phone on the table when hearing delicate footsteps.

"I actually think when eating I don't think much either, but I guess eating while trying defending yourself is highly unlikely either." Soyeon's oblivious giggles faded when seeing Yoongi looking up at her over folded hands. His afflicted expression causing her face to instantly fall.

She walked up to him, tilting her head inquiringly.

"Is everything alright?"

He pursed his lips and straightened himself, letting his hands fall back down to his lap. "There's something I gotta ask you.."

She frowned, the tone of his voice sounding as if he was apologetic or even pitying her for something he knew but she didn't. And she didn't like that.

Slowly sinking, she took a seat beside him and he mindlessly grabbed her hand, caressing it softly with his thumb. In any other moment she'd have enjoyed that gesture, but not right now with the shift in the atmosphere.

"Did.. did your grandpa wear a golden ruby ring?"

Her eyes shot open at his unexpected question. "N-not these past years, but he used to."

He sighed deeply, feeling his heart sinking more. "And.. and did he wear it on his pinky finger?"

"How do you.. Yoongi, how do you know this? W-why are you asking this now?"

He softly squeezed her hand in his, glancing at her with the same sorrowful expression again. He wanted to prepare and comfort her at the same time. He hated it. This irony. How she'd got in trouble because of a thief, and how it'd driven her right into the arms of another one. Having to trust a thief to help her with what another thief had burdened her.

"My friend, the interpol agent called.."

He felt her hand curling into a fist. She inhaled sharply, looking him straight in the eyes.

"Don't leave anything out."

His lips parted at her determined expression. And he thought she was truly brave in that moment.

And so he told her everything. What Seokjin told him. What Jimin told him. Not leaving out any detail. Because she deserved to know everything, for once.

While he was narrating their conversations, Soyeon was just sitting there with a straight face. Staring into nothing in the distance. Making Yoongi almost believe she wasn't listening, as if her mind was somewhere else.

However, as soon as he finished, she looked at him again. And in the light of the afternoon sun he could see a single tear brimming from the corner of her eyes down to her cheek. Her voice small, almost inaudible. "I believed him and I were close.. I believed.. I knew him." She swallowed the lump in her throat and went silent.

Yoongi didn't say anything. Not only because he didn't know what to say to console her but also because he felt any words would be redudant. So he wiped the tear from her cheek and continued caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

Her eyes fell down to their interwined hands and she sniveled.

"And you're sure about this.. about.."

"Everything points to it.. so it seems likely."

She nodded, pressing her lips together. "Then I should simply give it back, right?"

She looked up at him in anticipation, seeing his brows rising.

"You mean the necklace? Why-"

"Isn't that the most logical thing to do? He stole it from that family and they want it back. It wasn't his and certainly it's not mine, so giving it back should end this all, right? "

Her question sounding like a desperate plea.

He breathed out, brushing a streak away that had fallen into her pixie-face. "Soyeon, we don't know for sure these guys were indeed sent by that family. They could be after it for different reasons. And besides, they were ready to hurt you or even worse, for that thing. You think they'd let you walk away just like that?"

"W-why not? I didn't know it was stolen after all," she quietly said, the exhaustion having multiplied by now. She just wanted to be over with it. "If that's what they want, giving it to them should appease them. After all.. after all I don't want to keep something that belongs to someone else."

Yoongi wished it'd be as easy as she described it, but having already dealt with plenty of similar situation and similar people, he knew from experience that an encounter most likely wouldn't end up successful or even peaceful. These type of guys usually didn't want to leave any type of witnesses or wanted revenge - or both.

However, he didn't have the heart to tell her. He didn't want to scare her any further and moreover, she seemed so convinced. Perhaps it was that simple after all. No matter what, though, he wouldn't leave her side until it was indeed over.

"Alright, we can try it," he said, making her smile faintly as she wiped under her eyes.

"I'll go get it from the bank tomorrow." She paused, furrowing her brows as she conemplated. "But I need to go back to my rented place.."

His eyes widened in alert. "W-why?"

"For the key to the locker and my passport. I left both there," she sighed.

His jaw clenched, thinking about all the possible dangers if they went there. They could be lurking somewhere around, waiting for her to return after all.

"I can go fetch them."

"You won't find the key though, I hid it pretty well," she smiled sadly.

"Alright tomorrow we'll go together."

Soyeon shook her head, hesitating to speek out her thoughts. However, she had to. Her guilty conscious was pushing her to. "I think I should get them now so I can go to the bank first thing in the morning, right when it opens. And besides.." She nervously bit down on her lips, sensing his hand stiffening around hers. "The few things I own are all there and I feel like I overdid my stay here anyway. You don't know how thankful I'm for your help.." She tried her best to convey her honest and genuine feelings, hoping he wouldn't think she didn't like his company, because she did. More than he could ever know. However, this was her mess and she had to clean it up herself instead of dragging innocent people into it. And she also didn't feel comfortable with simply staying at his place like this. "I just feel like I'd impose on you. And I don't want that."

-Because I really like you.

Yoongi remained silent.

It was careless wanting to return there and even more to stay there all on her own, but he didn't want to seem pushy and forcing her to stay with him if she didn't want to.

"You know I don't mind you being here, it was my decision to bring you here in the first place," he said then. Trying a last time to convince her to stay.

"Yeah, because it was dangerous to return to my place and I didn't have anywhere else to go. You were just being nice and tried helping me." Her free hand wandered to his cheek, curling around it as she placed a peck on it.

He didn't agree at all, he wanted to object. He needed to, for her safety. "And it probably still is dangerous. They might be waiting for you there."

Smiling at his stern expression, she stood up. Pulling him with her as she tried to be positive. She had to. "We'll obviously first make sure they aren't!"

He sighed in defeat and let go of her hand, going silently to the practice room to get his sword in case they encountered a situation it was needed. And Soyeon could feel in the way his eyes weren't looking for hers anymore and his hands avoiding her, that he disapproved with her idea. Even if he tried his best not to make it this obvious.

»»»

With a heavy heart, he eventually drove her back to her apartment. Not able to say a word during the whole drive.

Before entering the building, he drove a few rounds around the block. Making sure there wasn't anyone suspicious waiting in a car or standing near the entrance and observing it. After deeming it safe enough, he parked nearby and accompanied her inside. Him walking ahead and entering the apartment first. Making sure it was clear, despite it being a quite small place and any intrudor would've been spotted by now.

Hearing her gasp behind him then when seeing the mess left in front of them. Scattered objects covering the floor along with pulled out drawers. "They really did a good job searching for it." She sighed, picking up a broken frame. She only hoped they didn't find the key and made connections. She had hid it pretty well, but who knew.

When heaving a cushion, she found her polaroid camera underneath and picked it up. Turning to Yoongi who was inspecting the other rooms.

"Say cheese!"

Confused, he spun around. Hearing a clicking followed by her giggles when lowering the camera. She pulled the candid photo out then, fanning it. "So I got a memento."

She smiled and for a moment he smiled as well, something inside him breaking at the thought she'd need it so he wouldn't completely fade from her memory in the future.

An orange object caught his attention then, his eyes spotting some tangerines spread around. He picked one up, scrunching his nose.

"My poor tangerines," he heard Soyeon frown behind him, also picking up one and unpeeling it. She plopped half of the fruit into her mouth then. A happy noise leaving her lips as she munched on it. Her brows rose then when she saw his amused expression, offering him the other half which he surprisingly accepted. Both eating their halfs in silence.

"I like tangerines."

"Me too."

They smiled.

Remembering something then, she turned around and rummaged in a drawer before pulling out something. And he recognised his shirt in her hands. The one he had put on her that night before sending her off to call police. He had almost forgotten about it and now she was holding it out to him, neatly folded in her palms.

"I washed it, don't worry," she grinned and he nodded, reaching out for it. "You didn't have to.." His fingers clutching around the material in her hands before heaving it and sliding it over his t-shirt. The scent of jasmin filling his nose. "..but thanks."

She gave him a simple nod, going back to checking around the place before he noticed the effect that shirt had on her.

She heaved her backpack, examining it. At least her passport and the rest of her few belongings were still in there and she put the rest of the tangerines inside. Meanwhile, Yoongi drew the curtains close, in case someone was watching from another building.

"Keep them closed, just in case," he mumbled and she hummed. He turned around then, avoiding looking her in the eyes as he made his way to the door. It'd only make it harder for him. "Alright, everything seems to be okay. If you want I can accompany you to the bank tomorrow.. or not. Whatever you want. But.. if you need anything, call me." He was was about to turn the doorknob before saying something more, something he'd regret when sensing her tucking on his arm. And he stopped in his tracks, glancing over his shoulders only to see Soyeon standing behind him with a sad smile.

"Won't you tell me goodnight at least?"

Yoongi breathed out, the gleam in her apologetic eyes making him forget his intent. Holding each other's gaze like in a trance, before he leaned in. His hands cupping her head as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Her eyes fluttering closed, her fingers wandering up to his wrists.

And again he managed making her mind go silent.

"Goodnight, Soyeon."

"Goodnight, Yoongi."

She didn't let go of his arm, though. Not immediately at least. Breathing deeply as the ache in her chest grew. His hands let go of her and he slipped through her finger as he turned around and opened the door. Stepping out, about to close it behind him when she finally realised what was happening and regretting it.

She didn't want him to leave. Not yet. Not like this.

"Actually -"

Her voice made him halt in his moves once again and he glanced over to her. His heart pounding when seeing her run her tongue over her lips while delibarating her next words.

"What if these guys show up after all?"

She didn't actually believe they would, no. So she hoped and prayed her eyes would be enough to convey her true intentions. The true meaning of her words, between the lines.

And Yoongi stood there for a moment, observing her intently. Her hopeful glare along with the glint of desire staring at him, the small pout on her kissable lips, and the way her chest was rising and falling by her quickening breath. Causing his own pulse to pick up.

It was a reasonable concern.

He couldn't possibly argue with that.

"Yeah, what if they do."

And with that he went right back to her. Kicking the door shut behind him. His arms wrapping around her smaller frame, feeling her hands on his jaw as he pressed his lips on hers.

»»»

sht is about to get down in the next chapter :))))))))

next chapter: 0.7 here

Don't forget to like, reblog & leave feedback!♡ It motivates me to keep writing :)

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bedlamsbard · 11 months

Note

Hi there!

I just finished reading Queen’s Gambit, for the first time, and first off, I wanna extend my personal compliments. It’s probably some of the best Star Wars anything I’ve ever read, let alone one of the best fics I’ve ever read. Excellent job.

My actual question is this: was the plotline with “our” Anakin/Obi-Wan/Padmé (aka the versions from the Wake the Storm-verse) ever officially continued anywhere? I found the posts outlining what the sequels to Queen’s Gambit would have been, but I can’t seem to find anything for the other versions if the characters. I’m not necessarily asking for fic or demanding anything, I’m just genuinely curious if there’s anything out there about potential plans.

Thank you so much and I hope you have a lovely day/evening/whatever time of day!

Thank you for reading, I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the story!

To the best of my memory, I don't have any posts up about what would have happened in All Along the Watchtower, the third Ouroboros story -- there's some concept writing posted well far back in my cut scenes and concept writing tag that dates from when Gambit was in progress, I believe. At a later point in time I planned to use the Watchtower 'verse, the 'verse that the Wake trio ends up in at the end of Gambit, as the same universe that Ezra ends up in during The Starry Crown, though I left the fandom and stopped working on that story before that was revealed; there's some concept writing that shows a later incarnation of that universe from Ezra's POV.

The three alternate universes in the Ouroboros trilogy -- the OT canon universe (as of 2013) in Wake, the Gambitverse in Gambit, and the Watchtower 'verse in Watchtower -- were designed to be mirrorverses for each of the three trio members, so the outcome of each character's worst case scenario. Canon for Anakin (he was responsible for the death and destruction of everything he loved), Gambitverse for Padme (she was the tyrant responsible for corrupting a Jedi and launching the galaxy into civil war), and Watchtower for Obi-Wan (he lost control, fell to the Dark Side, and was unable to help when the Jedi were slaughtered because of circumstances outside his control). I don't remember exactly the precipitating factors now, but Obi-Wan had ended up on Dooku's side here (I think he was captured by Maul? and tortured and later rescued by Dooku? it's been a long time now), and Dooku was able to manipulate him into turning on Palpatine, killing him early and allowing Dooku to become emperor. There was an Order 66, but it wasn't as successful as the canon one; a large portion of the Jedi Order was able to escape and regroup under the grandmastership of Mace Windu. (Yoda having been killed.) Anakin was one of them. Padme and a number of other Jedi allies remained in the now-Imperial Senate; Padme specifically was spying for the Jedi. She had had Luke and Leia, but gave them both up (Luke to Anakin and the Jedi, Leia to the Organas) so that they wouldn't be vulnerable to Dooku. Dooku started -- I can't remember what I was going to call it, an Order of Sith Knights, maybe, sort of like the One Sith from the comics, which Obi-Wan headed up. He and Padme were having a sexual relationship, which Anakin was aware of; uncertain if he and Anakin were also involved but they might have been. The galaxy had fragmented pretty significantly; Maul was still running around, Dooku didn't have as good a grip on recalcitrant systems as Palpatine had, so there were various independence movements.

The Wake trio had all gotten dropped into different locations in the galaxy about, uh, ten years or so onwards from the divergence point? Padme we see at the end of Gambit; Anakin ended up on Coruscant and goes to contact that universe's Padme, who is understandably a little freaked out but does help him. I can't remember where exactly Obi-Wan was, but ultimately he ends up on Tatooine with that universe's Ahsoka, who is at this point a Jedi Knight representing the Order during an auction facilitated by the Hutts for major weaponry, at which a bunch of other political groups in the galaxy are also present, so we meet various Mandalorian groups (Sabine is a junior Protector), rebels/terrorists (Hera is there representing Free Ryloth), and Maul's apprentice (Kanan/Caleb, who had gotten kidnapped from the Order years earlier and has been believed dead for years). This is also where the Ezra of The Starry Crown ends up (as seen in the concept writing linked up above); when I was writing Crown I was still leaving it up in the air if I would use that to crabwalk sideways into actually using the Wake trio there too.

As early as 2016 or 2017 (Gambit wrapped in 2015, I immediately started working on Backbone that summer with the intention to go back to Ouroboros after I finished, I thought it would be a quick project ha ha ha Backbone didn't wrap until 2018), I had been planning to integrate Rebels plot points into Watchtower; I don't remember all the details now, but it involved a plan to use the Malachor temple/superweapon (which I have postulated elsewhere was actually a massive starship) and a counterpart on Coruscant to do Bad Things. The Malachor end got shut down by Hera, Kanan, Crown!Ezra, and that universe's Ezra (masterless Jedi padawan nicknamed Rat, the Jedi had to change up some of their Process because so many of them had died in Order 66); this is also where the Malachor holocron is destroyed and absorbed by Crown!Ezra, which is seen in Crown. That universe's Anakin went to deal with the Coruscant end, fought and killed that universe's Obi-Wan, and was fatally injured destroying the Coruscant superweapon, dying there.

This obviously doesn't leave a lot of room for the Wake trio to do anything but observe, which isn't that different from what they do in Gambit (and which gets a lot of criticism). But that is, as I remember it, the plot. Because it never got written and finalized, it's changed a lot over the years, but many of the fundamental details of the universe remained the same; like I said, I at one point planned to use it for Crown after I'd decided not to write Watchtower itself, but it was always the same plot, just with a larger cast of characters.

I say this pretty regularly because Wake/Gambit are always picking up new readers, but there aren't any current plans to pick up Ouroboros again -- I have gotten a regular amount of vitriolic comments on both fics for the better part of a decade now and it's completely killed any desire of mine to work on them. Also left some permanent scars and fundamentally changed the way I write, plot, and interact with fandom, which I complain about regularly in my talking about feedback in public tag. (Wake went up in 2013, so we really are coming up on the ten year anniversary. Watchtower got hate mail EVEN BEFORE it ever went up.)

#sailor marinara22 #bedlam replies #ouroboros #all along the watchtower

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liquidlizards · 1 year

Text

so it goes

pairing: lizardhat

summary: when she reluctantly calls black hat as a last ditch effort for a ride home after an online date goes horribly wrong (she ends up having to stab him with a dinner fork), demencia finds out that her boss thinks more highly of her than she was led to believe.

rating: nothing truly explicit, but there is some spice! a piping hot pile of sexual tension!!

(ao3 link)

Demencia eyed the blistering oranges and reds beyond the gloam of the night sky, snubbing out her Newport on the sidewalk with a stomp of her boot. She sneered at the laughter coming from inside the restaurant and reached for the pack in her purse, fingers searching for the last smoke at the bottom. She sure as hell deserved it.

Thinking back on the past 24 hours gave her whiplash, and she desperately longed for an ice cold shower along with an ice cold beer to cleanse the lousy memories away until she had no recollection of them. How could she possibly think that Evil Singles™ was a good idea? Its infamously seedy reputation only spoke of B-list henchmen seeking out a quick fuck in the shadows of the night and nothing else. She was under that disreputable impression up until an alright-looking lackey calling himself “Torpedo” messaged her and opened with an actual goddamn courtly question about how her day was going and how if she wouldn’t mind him saying this but her eyes looked absolutely dazzling in her profile picture, did she have a map, because he was getting lost in them. Right away she knew that was bullshit because nobody in their right mind would look at that clouded yellow haze in her one eye and call it dazzling, but she gave him points for trying.

Demencia presumed that she was acting out, but she never really knew for sure if that outweighed the curiosity. Veiled by a thin layer of almost drunken stupor, her hands hovered over the keyboard, clenching the air. What she did know for sure was that as soon as he gushed about how lucky Black Hat must be to have her on his crew, she lost it and typed out an invite to a local restaurant. Their crab cakes are killer, she told him, you’re totally gonna flip out. If you don’t like them, I’ll probably have to take you out again another time ;)

She thought that was funny, because in the end, she was the one who totally flipped out, when he brought up her devilishly frustrating enigma of a boss and how fortunate he was to call her part of the team. All she could do was flop around like a fucking fish out of water and pathetically ache to type out, Oh, he definitely is. Lucky to have me, that is. In fact, he tells me every day how absolutely positively friggin’ lucky he is to have an ace like me. I kick ass and take names, just how he likes it!

But she knew she would be lying to Torpedo, and to herself. So she thumbed through the unruly file cabinets of her mind and decided to rebuff with talk of seafood and good-natured, flirtatious jibes.

Now that she considered it, there was only one historical recording of verbal praise from Black Hat, and she only knew this because it was dated and stamped in her diary as something of a milestone for her. She kept it under her mattress with a padlock smacked on top of it. Lately, she’d been dreaming about a place where Black Hat acknowledged her and Flug’s work more often, one where weekly progress reports came in and their grueling efforts were recognized. Christ, not that they weren’t paid generously, because they were, as generously as Black Hat could manage. He was just as much a bloodthirsty mogul as he was a bloodthirsty hellion. And contrary to popular belief, she was a woman who cared about her career. She knew she did a good job— she knew she knocked it out of the park and then some— but sometimes Black Hat’s taut, gruntled nod just wasn’t enough.

Demencia knew she was on the team for a reason. She supposed she would’ve been kicked to the curb if she was shit at what she did. It’s just that she could never tell what he was thinking, and that truly pissed her off. She wanted to hop inside his head and pull his thoughts out like one of those never-ending magician scarves. He puzzled her, mystified her. He was a paradox of destruction, 6 feet of ancient eldritch in designer slacks and shiny shoes, and she longed to open him up like the dusty book he was. A biblically ghoulish entity like him had to have some secrets, maybe even a weakness. Everything was a show to him; he was a theatrical individual. So perhaps the truth was closer than Demencia thought, laid out in the most obvious of places.

She herself even put on a show, diamond-studded in nature, where on the outside she played the part of the silly air-headed henchmen who could kill you in the blink of an eye, unruffled by the world around her. Whereas on the inside, she longed for everyone to like her, to commend her triumphs, to fall into raptures about how she was the best in the field, Black Hat being the first to do so. Flug would say that was called "mental illness," but she could put a pin in that for later.

Demencia wasn’t afraid to admit this to herself, but somewhere deep in her bones she had a thing for praise, and hearing it from her own deathly delectable demon boss would absolutely send her careening hornily across the whole town. Settling for the next best thing— a seemingly pleasant, nice evil guy she found online who complimented her from the get-go— she expected to get totally worshiped tonight. If they hit it off, that is. A girl had needs after all.

That obviously didn’t play out the way she had hoped. She sat down and the slimeball immediately looked down her shirt when she reached for a breadstick. He didn’t even try to hide it. Not that Demencia wasn’t used to people ogling her— in fact, she quite liked it— there was just something about this guy’s leer that put her on edge. Like she owed it to him to sleep with her just because he planned to buy dinner. A real creepshow. The moment he grabbed her thigh under the table she had him in a headlock, her other arm burying a fork in his back. So much for hoping.

Reality came rushing back in a jolting wave when her gaze suddenly caught the golden headlights of Black Hat’s antique 1920s Ford Model T. She squinted past the brightness to see two floating eyeballs and a sharp row of teeth glowing in the dark like a beacon of malevolence. His silhouette seemed to pulse against the shadows, a phantom of his own design, the one and only manipulator of the murky blackness called night.

Black Hat shifted into smoke and appeared on the other side of the car, the click of the door sounding foreign in the breezy undercarriage of the moon. Holding it open for Demencia, he stood solemnly like a royal guard, unreadable as always, waiting for her to make the next move. He looked to be in no rush, and Demencia gathered that getting in was her choice.

Dressed to the nines at 11pm at night, Demencia couldn’t help but let her eyes rave over the tightly tailored suit vest wrapped around his torso, or the way his thin legs looked alarmingly alluring in the pale gleam of the street lamps. She gulped and took a step forward, trying not to trip.

His car hummed and so did Demencia as he extended a hand to help her over the curb of the sidewalk and into her seat. He watched her the whole time, eyes flashing, hand squeezing hers so lightly she thought she imagined the firm, steadfast press of his fingers to her palm. Then she blinked and he was next to her in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the parking lot and into the night without a word.

Demencia never prided herself on being a quiet person, but that night she sat there, unashamed, unbothered— a little bit smug— that her prim and proper eldritch boss had to slip out of his cute little PJs and nightcap to come fetch his wayward crony. Flug didn’t answer his phone, and she sure as hell wasn’t trekking two miles back to the manor on foot, so she called Black Hat. The lizard had his number on speed dial, always expecting to play Russian Roulette because she knew how much he hated technology and being inconvenienced, but knew how much he liked driving his car. Demencia found she didn’t even have to beg for him to come. Through the receiver, she heard he was already out of bed and on the move. She was surprised, to say the least. But she didn’t question it.

Even though she was trying to appear apathetic towards him, Demencia wanted Black Hat to ask her what happened, if she was okay. Flounce and fawn over her like they were two teenagers going steady and some douche catcalled her at the bar so he had to teach him a lesson, even though she could handle it herself, and she did. But he stayed quiet, and so did she. Yet, she didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on her fishnets, her thighs tan and powerful beneath the wispy black fabric. A shiver carried down her spine, her face growing hot. His gaze didn't come in the form of a leer, heavy and expectant. Instead, it engaged her, drew her in, tugged her forward like it had his own magnetic field. She supposed that very well could be a possibility.

A couple minutes into the drive, Demencia came to the conclusion that she couldn’t handle this balmy, soupy silence they created between the two of them, pressingly intimate. She felt like the air was charged—almost wired— which made her mind wander to places it probably shouldn’t, fantasies she had yet to unlock. She reached ahead to click on the radio.

Black Hat broke out of his hardened layer of stillness and shot forward, like he was a toy action figure and someone just gave him a fresh new pair of batteries. “Demencia, you imbecile, my mobile is connected—!”

The catchy chorus to ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” erupted through the bass, Flug’s modern modifications to the car slapping them both in the eardrums with a rhythmic shock wave.

A beat passed, and suddenly all former claims to Demencia’s night flew out the window and she was slapping a knee, wheezing as Black Hat struggled to switch off the bluetooth while keeping one eye on the road. It was definitely a hilarious sight to behold. Black Hat, The Black Hat, supreme super villain who caused worldwide famine and brought on wars, cursing and fumbling with his radio’s settings while a beloved 1970s Europop disco hit he pretended not to like blasted through the speakers. Demencia likened the view to a giant, flailing butter knife.

He wailed, smacking the touch screen with his fist. “Why are you laughing? This is modern pop music at its best!”

She yelled over the piano. “This song is almost 50 years old.”

Her boss garbled out another string of obscenities before huffing and flopping back into his seat. Demencia muffled a giggle behind her hand, her forgotten cigarette in the other. She went to take another drag, but it was abruptly plucked from her grip by an exasperated Black Hat and thrown from his claws out the window.

“Dude, what the hell?” she spluttered, dramatically throwing her hands up.

He grunted, turning down their street. “I don’t want you stinking my car up and killing yourself. Flug told you nicotine reacts horridly with that reptile DNA nesting inside your body. You’re an important asset to this team, and me, for that matter. Plus, your breath positively reeks of rancid tar fumes, it’s truly disgusting.”

Demencia froze, blankly watched as the manor grew before her eyes, the garage door opening up with a squeak, the row of candles on the cement floor flickering to life. Black Hat refused to pay for electricity outside his house, not that he used it much inside. His Victorian, borderline Gothic Revival tastes traversed over the whole expanse of the estate, but she found it to be quite endearing.

She sat rigid, staring at the dancing flames, paying no mind to the casual insult. Her brain was still stuck on how he admitted that she was, in fact, important.

Important.

The word spun around her head and she outstretched a hand to grab it and bring it closer to her heart. She beamed at him, her whole body brimming with warmth, her grin stretching from ear to ear. The way he said it had left her thrumming, pure giddiness shocking her system, rendering her dizzy.

Black Hat narrowed his eyes at Demencia and leaned back to hold her gaze, but she caught the corner of his lip twitching up in amusement. “What, why are you looking at me like that? What’s got you all smiley?”

With a sly look painted on her face, Demencia laughed. Her shoulders relaxed and she noticed her legs parting on their own, knee bumping into Black Hat’s. He didn't move it. “Oh, nothing, it’s just that you need me. You, horrible destroyer of worlds and ABBA enthusiast, need me, hottest hitman on the block. No take backs, I heard it clear as day, dude.”

A different look crossed over his face suddenly, eyes hooded under the brim of his hat. They flicked to her lips, then back up to meet her stare. Almost immediately, Demencia ceased her giggling, heart thundering against her chest like a tidal wave being pulled by the moon. Held in the small space between them, it was the only sound.

Black Hat pushed his knee more firmly against hers, voice gravelly. He said it as if it were obvious. “I do. I do need you.”

Demencia caught the double meaning in his voice, breath hitching in her throat, thighs squeezing together. His teeth glinted in the dark and he lowered his head in a way that made her think he'd been wanting to do it the whole way home, lips ghosting over her temple. Her whole body was tingling, aching.

“My dear, you are simply a powerhouse.”

The fire in her belly burned white hot, the redness of her cheeks traveling down her neck to her chest, heaving up and down. A wave of boldness swept over her, and she took hold of the reins with ease. “Maybe you should show me how much you need me.”

Black Hat, chuckling darkly, hooked a claw in Demencia’s shirt and tugged her close.

#live laugh love lizardhat #i haven't written them in 3 years so hopefully this is an adequate comeback #my love for them never left my bloodstream #villainous #lizardhat #demencia #black hat #op #fics

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