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feyascorner · 8 months

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6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it.

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back. Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot.

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @aelieknox @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @bitterbeanren Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added!

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #bg3 #angst

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katethewriter · 2 years

Text

Kinda Like You

from the New Kid series

Summary: Natasha and New Kid find they have much more in common than they originally believed.

Words: 3.5k~

Pairing: Natasha x little!Reader - Wanda x little!Reader - Wandanat x little!Reader(platonic) - Steve Rogers x Reader(platonic) - WandaNat - Wanda x Natasha

Warnings: mentions of child abuse, neglect, abandonment, tough love from Steve, misguided frustrations

A/N: Who wants to learn more about New Kid's past? Well, that's what we're doing today! This chapter is very dialogue heavy, but they are information sharing so enjoy!

“Pick your battles New Kid,” Steve calls from the side of the mat.

Y/n and Peter have been sparring for the past twenty minutes under the watchful eyes of Captain America while a few others filtered in and out. Currently, Natasha and Tony stand nearby, observing quietly as the 12 and 15 year old fight.

Y/n struggles to break out of the hold that Peter has caught her in.

“Tap out, Y/n. If you had followed through with your swing, he wouldn’t have caught you in the first place,” Steve chastises, “yield and reset.”

With a huff, Y/n taps Peter’s arm, and he releases her. The pair turn to face each other and go again.

The girl lunges for Peter. He is able to quickly dodge the attack and circle her. Before she can react, he has her in another hold. She does her best, but knows she is unable to break free. With a glance to the side, she spots Natasha and Tony whispering to each other. Skepticism clear in their faces.

Y/n sighs and taps out again.

“You always have to be thinking about the next move,” Steve walks onto the mat, “expect he will dodge, be prepared and plan for it.” He looks at Peter and nods his head to the side of the mat. The teen walks off, leaving the super soldier and New Kid in the center of the mat. “Reset.”

The girl prepares to fight her instructor, taking a deep breath to focus before the fight.

Steve attacks first, swinging for Y/n’s shoulder. The girl ducks below his arm. As he steps through the swing, she circles him and lands a kick to his back. She reaches for his arm to twist it behind his back, but he turns. With a swipe of his leg, New Kid’s back hits the mat roughly. She grimaces at the pain coursing through her.

“Always watch your feet.”

Suddenly, a scoff can be heard from the other side of the room.

Y/n turns to see Natasha’s stern look and pursed lips. They lock eyes for only a moment before the red head shakes her head and turns to the door. Steve helps the girl to her feet, and she continues to watch the widow leave the gym.

Natasha hates her. She has to. Y/n’s sure of it. Every time the widow watches her train ends this way, with a look of disapproval and a fast exit.

Actually, that is how many of their interactions end.

Natasha walks in while 12-year-old Y/n is learning mission tactics, she exits quickly.

The widow is dismantling a sniper when New Kid is given a tour of the weaponry. She can’t be more than 10. Natasha doesn’t even spare her a glance as she finishes her task.

She passes her in the gun range, she clenches her jaw and leaves silently with a full magazine.

It seems the only time Natasha can stand to be in the same room as New Kid is at mealtimes.

Y/n watches as the gym doors slide closed behind the retreating red head. She wonders what she did to make the woman hate her so and if there was anything she could do to fix it.

Suddenly an arm is entering her vision rapidly. She ducks just in time to miss Steve’s swing.

“Never take your eyes off your opponent.”

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Wanda trails kisses from Natasha’s shoulder to her neck.

“Hey,” the widow chuckles and pulls away slightly, “I am trying to watch the movie.”

The two have been curled up in Wanda’s bed watching movies all day. They’ve been together for over a year, and they’ve learned to savor the little moments they are able to hide from the rest of the world.

Wanda pauses her kisses briefly, “oh come on, you’ve seen this movie a hundred times.”

“Then why did you pick it?” she asks incredulously.

“Because you’ve seen it a hundred times,” the cheeky Sokovian responds leaning up to press her lips to the Russian’s. This time, Natasha doesn’t pull away. She deepens the kiss as the movie goes forgotten.

They lay there, kissing gently, just happy to be in each other’s arms.

…..then there’s a knock on the door.

“Ignore it,” Natasha says quickly before continuing the kiss.

Wanda shakes her head and pulls away, “I can’t. It’s Y/n; she needs something.”

The widow furrows her brows, “how do you know?”

“Her little thoughts are very loud,” the witch smiles, “I can hear them whether I’m trying to or not.”

Wanda rolls out of the bed, and Natasha groans. She pauses the movie, while the younger woman opens the door to greet little Y/n.

From the hallway, Y/n looks up to Wanda with a small smile.

The witch crinkles her nose with a grin and lowers herself to be closer to eyelevel with the girl. “Why hello, sweet girl! To what do I owe this pleasure?” She ends the question with a gentle boop on the girl’s nose.

“Can you help me put this on?” Y/n asks quietly, holding a dress out to display, “I can’t reach the buttons.” She looks down sadly, trying to hide her gaze from the witch.

Wanda quickly lifts the girl’s chin, so she is looking at her again, “hey, it’s always ok to ask for help, mala(little one). I’d love to help you.”

She stands and opens the door further for Y/n to enter. They only make it three steps into the room before the girl spots Natasha sitting on the bed.

Y/n stands still under Natasha’s gaze. Obviously, she has interrupted something. She shouldn’t be here. She can’t ask for help in front of Natasha. Not when it is very clear that the assassin already doesn’t like her. She is overcome with a large wave of nervousness.

From the bed, Natasha watches Wanda welcome New Kid into the room. The sight of her hits the widow like a truck. It’s the youngest Natasha has ever seen Y/n drop.

Natasha smiles to the girl, “Hey New Kid.”

“Hi,” Y/n shifts on her feet uncomfortably, then looks up to Wanda.

The Sokovian smiles and ushers her to her connected bathroom. “Here,” she takes the child’s hand, “lets go in here to get you changed.”

The two of them slip into the bathroom leaving Natasha alone in the bedroom while Wanda helps Y/n change out of her current clothes and into the dress.

All alone, Natasha tries to think of why seeing Y/n had such an impact on her.

The girl looked to be about 6, definitely the youngest Natasha has ever seen her drop. After a minute of thinking it suddenly makes sense.

She reminds her of Yelena.

The bathroom door opens. The pair reenter the room and sure enough, Y/n looks about (if not exactly) the same age as her sister was right before they left Ohio.

The nostalgia brings a lump to Natasha’s throat. She’s able to fight it back, but that proved difficult. When she looks at the girl in front of her, all she can see is her sister. The sister she never saw again.

“Wow! I love your dress!” the redhead beams, “where’d you get a dress that pretty?”

Y/n stands shyly with her folded clothes in her arms, “Clint gave it to me.” Quickly, the little girl thanks Wanda and makes an escape from the room and the gaze of Natasha.

She’s gone before either of them can say anything.

“What happened?” Natasha asks.

Wanda can only shrug.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

“You should go ask Y/n if she wants to watch with us,” Wanda says from her spot on the couch.

Team movie night would be starting in about 30 minutes. Wanda always liked to be the first one there, so she could claim the “cuddliest couch” before anyone else. It also heightens her chances of being first to pick the movie.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Natasha looks at her girlfriend skeptically, “the movies we typically watch aren’t exactly age appropriate. We don’t want to give the kid nightmares.”

Wanda swipes the remote off the coffee table and smirks, “that’s why I will be picking the first movie. Besides, she’s not that little right now. Her thoughts aren’t loud enough.”

The widow sighs, “Why don’t you go get her? I’ll save your seat. She’ll most likely say yes to you. She’s scared of me.”

“She’s not scared of you-“

“We both saw how she was yesterday,” Natasha states, “she froze when I said hello. She’s terrified of me.”

Wanda reaches for her girlfriend’s hand, “she’s just timid and unsure. Once she warms up to you, you’ll see. She’s the sweetest kid. You just got to coax her out of her shell.” She kisses Natasha’s hand before pointing to the door.

“Go, it’ll be good for both of you.”

Natasha makes her way down the hallway until she reaches Y/n’s door. She knocks, but never gets a reply. After a minute, she knocks again, but still hears nothing.

She presses her ear to the door. A sniffle and a whimper float through the air. The widow pushes open the door and taps lightly, “Y/n?” She calls softly not to scare the girl. “You alright?” She pauses to wait for a response. “I’m coming in, ok?”

Natasha takes a cautious step into the room, and she has to pause for a second.

Aside from the array of clothing Clint had given the girl, there is no sign that a child lives in this room. Maybe Y/n prefers it, but it just reminds Natasha of how she grew up in a place where she was punished for being a kid. Every child should have at least some toys, even one who turns back into an adult.

Natasha follows the sniffles that lead her to the bathroom door. “I can hear you crying. Is there something wrong?”

“Something I could help you with?” Natasha taps on the closed door, and it gives under the pressure.

The door slowly swings open and reveals Y/n standing in front of the mirror with red eyes and a brush in her hand. Her hair is tangled into a large mat near the back of her head. The look on Y/n’s face is all Natasha needs to know the poor thing has been trying to brush it out for who knows how long.

The girl sniffles, “I took a nap, and it was like this when I woke up.” Her lip quivers, “it won’t come out.”

The older woman smiles lightly, “may I?” She holds out her hand for the brush. The girl sighs defeatedly and relinquishes the brush. Natasha places her hands on the girl’s shoulders and squeezes comfortingly. She smiles to Y/n through the mirror and begins to silently brush her hair.

Its quiet again. The only sound passing between them is the brush gently dragging through Y/n’s hair.

Y/n looks into the mirror, watching the older woman intently. She feels small, smaller than she is now. Maybe it’s the widow’s intent focus on her hair or her gentle touch or the complete contrast to the woman’s previous demeanor around her, but whatever it is makes Y/n have to fight the urge to drop younger.

She was 7 when she took her nap, and 13 when she woke up in this dilemma. With how she’s feeling right now, there is no way she would be able to pick how small she dropped. So she just fights it until it fades.

Natasha’s soft touch is comforting her more and more with every pass of the brush. It soothes Y/n enough that she can break the silence.

“Why are you helping me?”

The older woman briefly connects eyes with Y/n through the mirror. She smiles and looks back to her work, “because we’re teammates. Teammates help each other.”

The girl chews on her lip, “but you don’t like me.”

Natasha comes to a complete halt, and she looks to Y/n again. Her face is mixed with confusion and concern, “that’s not true, myshka(little mouse). Why do you think that?” She places her hands on the girl’s shoulders in a way she hopes in comforting.

It does comfort Y/n some, but she still feels nervous to answer her. She knows she will have to eventually, so she might as well get it over with. “You don’t want me to be here. You’re always mad to see me.”

Natasha’s face floods with more confusion.

“You always leave whenever I’m around, like when I’m training, and I lose or when you see me in my lessons, especially weapons you get mad….” Y/n pauses looking up to Natasha with big doe eyes, “did I do something wrong?”

“No,” the widow quickly answers, “no myshka(little mouse), you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then why do you hate being around me?”

Natasha sighs and continues brushing out the tangles in Y/n’s hair. She understands why the little girl thinks what she thinks, and she knows why she is wrong. The misunderstanding is entirely her fault. She’s just not sure how to explain it to the girl.

She takes a deep breath to center her thoughts, “I don’t hate being around you. Sometimes I just get upset because you just remind me of my past.” She smiles sadly to the girl through the mirror. “I don’t know how much they’ve told you about me, but I grew up in a place that was not very good.”

“The Red Room,” Y/n states.

Natasha nods, “yes, that’s right. The Red Room was a very bad place. They took little girls from their families and trained them to be killers. They made us learn how to fight, how to follow someone, how to shoot, how to do all of it without being seen…. They even… they made us…they made us fight and kill each other.”

Once the widow is sure there are no more tangles in the girl’s hair, she parts it down the middle and begins braiding to keep her hands busy as she continues.

“I left that place because it turned little girls into weapons. I wanted to join a team that was actually trying to do good. Then I see cute little you training just like we did in the Red Room. The reason I get upset is because it makes me think that we’re no better than them.”

Natasha smiles into the mirror catching little eyes with her own, “that’s why I acted that way. It’s not your fault, myshka(little mouse). I’m so sorry I made you feel like it was or that I didn’t want you here.” She continues her braiding, “I think you’re gonna be good member of this team, once we get you ready.”

Y/n watches Natasha intently while she thinks of what to say, “you and me are kinda the same.”

Though she doesn’t look up from her braiding, the older woman is intrigued by the girl’s comment, “what do you mean?”

“I came from a bad place too,” Y/n explains, “now I’m here, so I can help people.”

“Where are you from?”

“Upstate,” the girl answers matter of factly. She’s not sure how much of her story she should tell. She trusts Natasha, especially after she just spoke of her own childhood. On the other hand, no one knows about how the girl grew up, not even Fury.

Natasha hums, asking Y/n to continue.

“I was engineered,” the girl says as if she is saying ‘the sky is blue’.

The widow freezes, looking up to the girl in shock, “what?”

Y/n suddenly feels small again, but still she continues, “I was engineered in a test tube. Then I was transferred to an artificial womb until I was developed enough to live on my own.”

She twiddles her thumbs, unable to look up at the widow, “They were trying to make a shape shifter like you all thought I was. They tried to alter my DNA, but whatever they did, I think they did it too late. I already had too many cells with my normal DNA. I think that’s why I can only go back. All of me can shift except the cells that came from the ones from my conception.”

Hearing Y/n speak so maturely when she appears barely 13 throws Natasha for a bit. She has to remind herself that Y/n still has an adult brain in there.

“They kept me in their lab,” Y/n continues, “they would do these experiments on me. They would hurt sometimes, a lot of times. They kept trying to figure out where they went wrong. They were trying to fix me.”

Natasha clenches her jaw. She feels a rage she hasn’t felt in a very long time, and she makes a promise to herself that she will never let anyone harm this girl again.

The girl can sense the anger in the older woman, and it has her shrinking in on herself. “Are you mad?”

“Very.”

A breath catches in Y/n’s throat, and Natasha’s thoughts are pulled out of her anger to take in the girl in front of her. The fearful look has returned to Y/n’s face again. The widow kicks herself mentally.

“but not at you,” she reaches a hand out to pick up the girl’s chin, “myshka(little mouse), look at me please. I’m not mad at you. I promise.” She waits quietly until Y/n nods. Natasha smiles warmly, “Good girl. Now, I need you to tell me who had you? What agency?”

Y/n shakes her head, “there wasn’t an agency. It was just my parents… well, the scientists that called themselves my parents.”

“They lived somewhere else, away from the lab. They would go home at night and leave me in the lab.” The girl sighs heavily, “I never left the lab, until I escaped when I was 14. One night after they went home, I broke out of my room. I grabbed as many files about me I could find, and then I left.”

“…and you’ve been on your own since then?”

Y/n nods, “but now I’m here, and you’re gonna teach me how to help people right?” This time Natasha is the one to nod. The girl smiles, “then this much better than the Red Room, and you all are much better than my parents.”

Her words bloom a sense of calmness in Natasha’s chest. She’s just about done with the second braid.

“You know you’re lucky,” the older woman plays with the baby hairs at the base of the girl’s head. She tickles her there until she gets a giggle, “we may not have had good childhoods, but you get a second chance to be a kid.”

Y/n looks up, entirely enraptured by Natasha’s words.

“Not many of us have that chance.” In this moment, the widow can feel a soft spot in her heart that wasn’t there before. A spot that now belongs to Y/n, “its ok to be little around us. I know you’re an adult, but its ok to be a kid. We want you here either way. Definitely me, Wanda and Clint, the rest of them team hasn’t quite caught up yet, but they’re on their way, trust me. You don’t have to hide in your room anymore. Ok?”

Y/n nods with a large grin. She has a new understanding of Natasha. She especially can feel the start of a new friendship. Its hard to believe that just a month or so ago she had no one, no friends. Now, she has three and hopefully more to come.

Being caught stealing by the Avengers might just be the best thing that has ever happened before.

“All done,” Natasha says while she wraps a hair tie to the end of the second braid. She lays the braid down the girl’s shoulder, “what do you think?”

Y/n takes in the sight of her two French braid pigtails and smiles widely. She looks up to the widow who sports her signature one French braid, and she smiles even wider. “Hey, I look kinda like you!”

Natasha chuckles, “yeah, you do New Kid.” She rests her hands on the girl’s shoulders, “there’s about to be a movie night in about 5 minutes, would you like to join us?” She steps into the doorway, outstretching a hand for Y/n to take.

The girl happily takes her hand and follows her lead. As they walk through the halls, their hands swing lightly in between them.

"If you'd like," Natasha proposes, "I could train with you sometime. I'm a much better fighter than Steve anyway." She playfully nudges the girl's side. "I could teach you how to kick his butt."

Y/n smirks, "I think I'd like that."

"Me too."

When the two of them enter the common area hand in hand, they receive more than a few confused glances from the team, except for Wanda who just looks ecstatic. They take their seats. Natasha sits on the couch with Wanda, and New Kid claims the chair nearby.

As the widow settles into her girlfriend’s side, she whispers in Wanda’s ear, “you were right.”

The witch gives her a quizzical look.

“She really is the sweetest kid.”

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A few days later, and New Kid is already doing better. She’s coming out of her room more. She almost always gravitates towards Wanda or Natasha, which is fine by them. Each little interaction with a team member outside of training is making her feel a tiny bit more comfortable around the compound.

It’s not all that much, but a little progress is still progress.

One morning, Y/n opens her door to go to breakfast and nearly steps on a teddy bear sitting in the hallway. The sight of the toy has her itching to drop, but she’s dropped enough recently to control it. She remains her true age as she picks up the bear. Attached to the toy is a note with her name on it.

She fondly holds the bear tight to her chest as she reads the message.

Y/n, Just a reminder that its ok to be a kid. Its ok to want to do kid things. When I was in the Red Room, I wished I had a teddy bear even though toys were strictly forbidden. I thought you might like one too. Since, I’m kinda like you. -Natasha

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

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I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think down in the comments below. Also, if you have any ideas for what you would want to read, let me know!

As always, thank you so much for reading and for all your support. Much love!

-k

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Taglist: @battleg03 @thelittlewolfofaretuza @emiivey @dylanobriens-love @madelineleong @sluttyforfemaleavengers @santana1437 @thatonementallyillsimp @oliveoilpenguiny @you-are-beautifully-gorgeous @charcharslide-3 @anon1412 @universallypoetrycheesecake @mary-jinx @princess-kennys-rats @marvel-fan-2021 @ameeelia07 @kneelforloki @ornorr @prettysbliss @nattyolw @yukonasf @thursdayygrrrl @rach2602@ace-of-gay @casualbisexualfroggo @nyctophiliacatcher @ripofflizzie @chrisevansangel @randomnessbecausewhynot @lizlil @uselessastheginlasagnaa @m-h-r-h

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tgmsunmontue · 24 days

Text

Saga of Solitude 11/21

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version). (Side Hangster, which is ALSO angsty).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003) FIVE (2004) SIX (2005) SEVEN (2006) EIGHT (2007) NINE (2008) TEN (2009)

CHAPTER ELEVEN - 2010

Tom watches the State of Union address and rather than sipping his whiskey he throws it back and pours himself another. Pete is out at the hangar, staying there, won’t be watching. Putting an end to Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. That’s what Obama wants to do. His hands are shaking a little. It’s no guarantee, but it’s a damn sight closer than they’ve ever been before and he thinks about having a ring ready to propose. Or maybe a watch. Both. Maybe both. Bradley might argue that he’s already proposed by buying an old Navy hangar, but that hadn’t been done with the intention of declaring his love and commitment, and more of a way of giving Maverick some roots that were close. He wants something so that Maverick knows where he belongs.

… … …

Bradley knows his time is up. He’s had his wings for a couple of years now, was only here for a few months to assist with one small aspect of training the incoming cohort, but mainly to learn the new EA-18 Growlers. He’s finished the training he came to Corpus Christi for. Glad that while they may have been on the same base he and Jake haven’t been living in each other’s pockets. Jake still has the rest of the year and he’s glad to be leaving. Every time he catches Jake’s eyes on him his resolve weakens and he has to talk himself out of giving in and finding some dark corner to push Jake into and sink to his knees…

His mind goes back to the weekend they spent together almost daily, multiple times a day and he can only assume that Jake’s does as well. He enjoyed it, and if he had a different job or lived a different life he’d definitely be doing more, something, anything, to keep Jake in his life. Instead he’s putting it in the too-hard basket and putting the basket high up on a shelf in his mind so that he doesn’t have to think about what ifs.

“Bradshaw.”

“Seresin.” He watches as Jake’s jaw clenches and releases, his eyes hard as he looks at Bradley, his duffle packed and lying at his feet while he waits for his transport out.

“See you around Bradshaw.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

… … …

Lying in bed with Ice, mostly naked and not because they’ve had sex, but simply ready for bed and lying side-by-side, reading their respective things. Ice, some report that is making the little muscle in his jaw twitch and he wants to set fire to it and simultaneously tell Ice off for bringing work into bed. Hmm. For all he knows this is something he does regularly and it’s only now that he’s here so much that Ice is letting him see all of his habits. That’s okay, he’ll deal with this one as well eventually and he’ll give up on the idea that reading reports is somehow an appropriate bedtime activity. He himself is reading the Navy News, which is mostly dry but does sometimes have some funny anecdotes.

“We’re ending the ban of women in submarines…”

“It’s 2010 Maverick, it’s about time,” Ice snaps and Pete’s eyebrows shoot up. He knows Ice would have already known about the ban lifting.

“Uh… I was just reading it out loud.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. Just… it’s been a long day.”

“Well, while they’re letting women on, they’re also banning smoking. So you know, no after-sex cigarette for anyone.”

Ice’s lips twitch and Pete knows he’s fighting amusement at his words, his stress over whatever it is bothering him slipping away as his attention shifts to him. Just where he likes it. He scrambles up and shifts, straddles Ice’s thighs and grins.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Do I want to know what you’re thinking?”

“Hmm. Probably not. But it’s good. Promise.”

The look Ice gives him is clearly disbelieving and he rolls his hips a little, his half-erect cock rubbing up against Ice’s stomach and pelvis. Ice grunts, shifts and grabs at his ass and Pete grins wider, eyebrows waggling because he’s here and the novelty hasn’t worn off yet.

“Oh. Like that is it?”

“Mmm. All ready to go…”

“Presumptuous of you.”

“Hopeful. Optimistic.”

“You? Never…”

“I had a well thought out plan and thought you’d appreciate my forward thinking…”

“Your dirty talk needs work.”

“Talking about being prepared doesn’t get you hot?”

“Not as much as you naked in my lap does. And that was a terrible double entendre.”

“I’m also not naked…”

“And you said you had this planned out…” Ice tuts, lips twitching with amusement and whatever he’d been thinking about, stressing about, is forgotten now. Good.

“Easily remedied,” Pete says, and he strips off his shirt and throws it over the side of the bed. Then Ice’s hands are on him, running over bare skin and he bends down to kiss him, likes the height difference being in his favor for once. Ice’s hand goes to wrap around them both and he pulls away, because that’s not what he wants.

“No, like this…”

“Oh. God Mav…”

He twists and turns, straddles Ice’s thighs again, but this time his back is to Ice’s chest and he reaches behind and guides Ice’s cock to his ass and then settles back, lips between his teeth as he presses through the stretching burn, because he might have prepped but it’s still a stretch. He focuses on Ice’s groan, the feeling of his hands on his hips and then he’s settled, pressed tight everywhere, inside and out, Ice’s arm around his waist holding him close, his other hand on Pete’s cock.

“Trying to kill me…”

“Why would I do that. You’re far too useful to me like this.”

Ice jerks his hips sharply and his breath is punched out of him, then he’s rolling them and Pete groans, pushes back and down to meet the upward thrust of Ice’s hips. Ice’s hands on him holding and guiding him into a rhythm that works, willing to be taken wherever Ice wants now that he’s where he wants to be. It’s a little overwhelming, how close and intimate it feels despite not being able to watch his face. He can feel Ice’s breath hot against his neck though, his lips and teeth grazing over the sensitive skin.

“Fuck Pete…” Ice says, his hand around Pete’s cock tightens and speeds up and Pete let’s his head fall back, holds himself and just shudders as he comes all over Ice’s hand. He goes boneless, sagging back against Ice, sliding further onto his cock, his body shuddering again.

“Fuck Mav… So good, you’re so good,” Ice says, hand sticky with Pete’s come but now holding him even harder as he drives his hips up, sucks at his neck until he grunts and jerks, and comes. They stay like that, pressed together, filthy and sweaty and panting. Pete keeps his head tipped back onto Ice’s shoulder, sucking in deep breaths, Ice’s arms wrapped tight around his waist, head tucked into the juncture of Pete’s neck and shoulder, like he doesn’t want to let go.

“Love you Pete…”

Pete startles a little, because it’s not something they say often. Not to one another. They do say it, but nowhere as often as they might say it to the girls, or even Bradley. Huh. They probably should say it to each other a bit more often, when he thinks about all the high-stress times they’ve snapped it out with relief or frustration. This is a stark difference, quiet and soft.

“Love you too.”

Ice groans and kisses the side of his neck again.

“Why did you have to mention cigarettes earlier? I’d kill for one right now…”

… … …

He’s serving on a carrier when he hears about the Deepwater Horizon oil rig explosion, and then he sees things firsthand, the controlled burning of the oil, the Coastguard in charge of cleanup and the thick black smoke seems never ending. It apparently takes them three months to stop the oil spilling out but by then the carrier he’s on has moved away. His phone calls and letters with Tamsin are about nothing but the explosion and spill, and she informs him she’s been volunteering with local beach cleanups, despite the fact it’s nowhere near the oil spill.

For the first summer in a long time he doesn’t make it home and he misses Petra’s twelfth birthday. She apparently has a slumber party and his presence isn’t missed, although apparently they’d gone and played laser tag and he’d have been useful there against Maverick, who had apparently taken great joy in shooting them all down until everyone ganged up against him. Tamsin misses him and he knows the others probably miss him as well but Tamsin tells him and it makes him feel like he can tell her the same thing, even when he misses them all equally.

… … …

Combat troops leave Iraq and combat operations cease and he looks at the world map and wonders where they’ll be deploying combat troops to next. Bored combat troops are not a good thing to have lots of and he’s glad it’s not his problem.

… … …

Another fucking explosion at another oil rig and he thinks of the months of oil leaking into the ocean, is so relieved when he hears that nothing from this particular explosion happens, and thanks Tamsin for her stellar reporting abilities. She’s started back at school and he’ll be home soon, this time with Natasha in tow for most of it, although she’s also got plans to visit Christopher and Patrick in San Francisco, now happily married for two years. Bradley has accepted the invitation to go and visit near the end of his leave, allow himself some stress relief before another several months on yet another carrier.

… … …

He gets home and is pleased to find that Petra hasn’t suddenly shot up, and he wonders if she’s going to have Mav’s height like Tamsin has Ice’s. Already Tamsin is the same height as Maverick, something she gleefully points out every time they’re standing even remotely close together. Of course Sarah isn’t a short woman, a couple of inches taller than Mav anyway. He’s not really paying attention as he drives but he sees the for sale sign and then his brain catches up and he’s doing a careful U-turn and heading back toward the partially empty lot where a car, a truck, is parked up. It’s rusted in places, some panels are different colors, but on the large piece of card with for sale is also a number underneath.

He’d been wondering what he was going to do with all the time on his hands with his two months of leave. This would definitely occupy his time while the girls are in school. Melissa, Sarah, Ice and Mav have all been more than happy to pass over taxi-driving responsibilities to him and Natasha for the duration of their leave, and to ferry the girls to all their after-school activities and social engagements. But it still leaves them both most of the day, and there’s only so much working out and then hanging out he can do before he starts getting bored.

“What is there a piece of scrap metal in my driveway?”

“Uh, it’s my new car.”

“What happened to the Audi?”

“Oh, I’m still driving that. Natasha is out at the moment and she borrowed it.”

“So you bought a mobile tetanus death trap to drive around in?”

“Oh, it doesn’t go. I bought it to do it up.”

Ice looks pained and Bradley exchanges a look with Mav, who had helped him arrange the tow to bring the truck here.

“Of course you did. And you thought putting it in my driveway was an acceptable place for it? Why do you think I bought Mav a hangar?”

“Because you love him?” Bradley asks, and Mav is fucking laughing silently.

“To give him a place to store his junk that isn’t my driveway.”

“Ice, please? I want to stay here, not spend three hours a day driving back and forth…”

“Three hours? It should take you four.”

“And yet Mav does it in nearly two. Let’s not think about that okay?”

“Fine. Fine. Just… it’s going to the hangar before you leave.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Come on then, show me this project you’ve decided to work on…”

Bradley takes him back outside and he and Mav proceed to poke and prod while Ice watches with increasing horror.

“Why would you buy a rust bucket? It looks like someone’s driven it into the fucking ocean and left it there to marinate…”

“I wanted a challenge… it’s all superficial rust right?”

“It doesn’t have an engine Bradley.”

“Uh. Yeah. That is a problem.”

“Definitely a challenge. Guess I know what I’m getting you for Christmas.”

“What?”

“A book on car restoration and how to build engines from scratch.”

Bradley laughs, but the jokes on him because he’s pretty sure Natasha already has plans to build the engine herself and leave the body work to Bradley.

… … …

Halloween is a blast. He hasn’t dressed up with the girls in years, Tamsin looks fierce in her Astrid costume, a double headed sword she swings around gleefully. Petra is dressed as a Minion and Bradley is so glad that Sarah and Melissa were all over the costumes, because just sorting himself out was stressful enough. Natasha is totally onboard with going all out. She’s picked Jesse from Toy Story, and has convinced him to go as Woody, which includes shaving his moustache.

“You know it’s this magical thing hair does. It grows back. Come on. I don’t know why you’re so attached to looking like an extra from Magnum PI.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll shave it. Just…”

“You’ll still look good, don’t worry.”

Bradley rolls his eyes, but he does shave it off on the Saturday morning, fully intends to immediately let it start growing back. Not to be left out Mav is dressed as Buzz Lightyear, insisting on coming with them despite all of them really being too old for trick-or-treating with the exception of Petra.

Then it’s Thanksgiving followed very closely by Tamsin’s birthday in the weekend. He’ll be deployed again by Christmas but this is better, his family together is something he’ll aways be grateful for.

… … …

Even if he can’t use the watch to propose it’ll make a nice Christmas gift for Mav. Then the House of Representatives pass a stand-alone bill that repeals DADT and he knows he can’t hold his breath for days it feels like he is, his whole life standing still, caught in time. Then the Senate is voting to repeal DADT and he wonders if now is too soon to ask Maverick to marry him. When Obama signs it into law four days later, just three days before Christmas he knows what he’s doing on Christmas Day as soon as he wakes up.

TWELVE - 2011

#Saga of Solitude #IceMav #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #Hangster

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molinaskies · 1 month

Note

To answer this reblog https://www.tumblr.com/molinaskies/756745213630939136/alexs-prompt-folder-anonymously-or-not-tell

This was extremely difficult to answer considering the amount of MOMENTS that had me melting, like the photos in Chapter 6. But if I had to pick, it would be:

"Who was it who taught Gamma, a non-sentient robot, how to think and feel? Who appealed to Shadow's love and dedication when he was blinded by rage and fury and revenge and pain? Who stepped up to keep Cream and Big hopeful when Metal Sonic kidnapped their friends? Who kept my head on straight when I was all bummed-out over 'mister monster guy'?" I squeeze her shoulders tighter with each question. "Amy, who keeps me fighting every single day?"

Ik this line may not be as deep as later on in the fic (won’t say what for spoilers to others 💅please go read it, it’s better that way).

But my heart was in joy having Sonic tell Amy about her efforts and what she accomplished from literally just being unashamedly Amy, even when it’s not acknowledged often or seen as important as what the other characters have achieved.

And the last line??? 🫠

Sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this one! Thank you for your kind words 💕

I’ve seen some feedback that Amy’s arc in ILYCWM feels “out of character” or “regressive,” in that Amy’s been more confident and productive in recent iterations. I get that, to a degree, but I still completely stand by my decision to delve into Amy’s anxieties the way I did.

I started writing ILYCWM in 2021 as an “in defence of Amy Rose” from Sonic’s perspective. I wanted to showcase how Sonic views Amy, what he appreciates about her, with the overall “point” to prove that he’s always loved her. My original outline was built on the different traits of Amy’s I wanted to highlight: chapter 2 focused on Amy’s silly, adventurous side; chapter 3 focused on her compassion and stubbornness, with hints of a strong desire to prove herself alongside a weakness to (rare) praise; and so on.

Of course, as I kept writing, Sonic’s character arc evolved in a parallel to Amy’s, but it was important to me to build up Sonic’s view of Amy in order to shatter that paradigm with how Amy views herself. That’s where the climax you quoted came from! It serves the purpose of not only showing Amy her value but showing the audience her value.

As for the last line, I’m not sure which one you’re referring to, actually! Depending on when you read the fic, you would have read it before or after the prologue was released (which came about 4 months later). Let me know!

“[…] her shield of optimism shattered in front of me, and seeing the dysphoric state she lives in daily shattered mine. We put each other back together, but we traded a few shards in the process, and I’ve been living the effects of our new mosaic ever since.”

———

“I Love You - Come With Me”

What if when Sonic asks Amy to go with him on an adventure, she says yes? They’ve always been inseparable kindred spirits, but what exactly makes their bond so unique, and where do they make each other stronger?

This is my Sonamy Thesis. This is that story.

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yiiyiiwrites · 5 months

Text

Pope x burnt out, overachieving Kook

She’s got a supportive family, so her downfall from the top felt so much harder. The abrupt drop, she wasn’t expecting. She’s been hiding in her room for half the summer. Too scared to ruin her families image.

The one comfort to her at the moment is a fan account she runs online with another person who she met online. They both love the same sci-fi books, even go back and forth between the direction of the next book. Their admin names hidden beneath their favourite characters.

Little does she know, she’s messaging Pope Heyward. Fellow geek, thats had the same love for the books. They read a few chapters a week and talk about it over the weekend. Character flaws, messages written in a language only the readers would understand.

Mid summer on the hottest day of the year, she reveals hers worries. Pope’s too smart though, he picks up on everything figured out who she is as soon as she shares with him. Before he can reply, she’s logged offline. His response deleting in the face of her absence.

Pope’s been online a bit too much. His friends keep telling him to come outside and away from his room. She hasn’t been online since, he would know. Even if he was with the Pogues he’d be checking the fan account on his phone. Hoping she’d appear online.

She answers the door after the storm, Pope standing under the porch with a bag of groceries in his arms. She thanks him and takes the bag from him. Her gaze wandering to the fan t-shirt and a smile tugs at her lips for the first time in a long time. They exchange a few comments about the book, surface level nothing too detailed. Pope too shy to reveal himself as he stares at the now shut door.

When she pops up online, he can’t help but smile. She mentions the guy who she sparked a conversation with and jokes that it could have been him and she wouldn’t have known. It is an obscure book that wasn’t that mainstream. An old sci-fi from the eighties with a terrible front cover that both made them laugh and want to read it.

It’s not until they bump into each other at the library and go to grab the same book. It’s the new released book and it’s the only one there. Both gripping the book, her neck craning to meet his eyes. The lit phone screen in his hand catches her attention, the fan page glaring at her in the dingy lighting of the rows of books. His reply still in the bubble and not yet sent. It’s then when she realises who he is.

They hang out in the library, laughing at how they’ve been right in front of each other. Numbers exchanged, notes scribbled in the book as they take a turn to read a few chapters before returning it to the other.

It doesn’t stop there though. They make it a tradition. Meeting at the library, picking a book to share between them for the next few weeks. Silent giggles in between the aisles of books and stealthy unwrapping of snacks. The librarian telling them to be quiet even though they’re the only ones left in there.

When Pope introduces her to the Pogues, she easily fits in well. She might be a Kook, but she’s just like Pope. Heated debates between Pope and her cause the other Pogues to bet on who will win.

They both like to play the sci-fi card game (the one from their favourite book), which the others can’t quite seem to understand. She makes up a simple way to play all whilst it can still be played as it’s supposed to. She only plays for trades, lost her expensive sunglasses to JJ who wears them every day now. Traded bracelets with John b and lost her bike to Kie (who refused to take it, she does give Kie rides though so she sits in the front basket).

You can read the other outer banks character prompts with burnt out over achiever kook on my profile. - Yiiyii

#obx fanfiction #obx fic #pope heyward prompt #pope heyward fanfiction #pope heyward #pope heyward x reader #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction

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reniberries · 10 months

Text

BARRACUDA . toji fushiguro

when your search for a job falls short for what feels like the millionth time in a row, you’re just about ready to give up until an odd proposition makes itself known to you.

chapter warnings: underground fighter!toji fushiguro, swearing, hurtful thoughts, lewd comments from men, mentions of drinking alcohol, smoking and drugs, attempted theft

total wc: 3.0k

— CHAPTER ONE . desperate measures

At this point, you wholeheartedly believed that the world was playing some kind of sick and twisted game on you.

It laughed at you, dangling the one thing you truly desired right in front of your face, only to snatch it away at the very last second, like taking a child’s favourite toy from them just as they’ve picked it up.

You were the child, so full of excitement and hope at the idea of starting new, being able to pick yourself off the ground, and the world was the adult who’d come into the room and decided you were undeserving of the toy in front of you. It picked up all that you desired, and placed it on top of a shelf that you were too small to get to.

Try as you might, you simply could not reach it. Well, metaphorically anyway.

In this moment, that’s exactly how you felt, clambering across the couch to reach your phone that had lit up with the notification of an unknown caller. Like every time before, you allowed yourself to feel excited. As though this was the very moment things would start to fall into place, and all the bad memories of the past would fade away as you paved the way for your new life.

And yet, you were let down, again.

The way your face immediately falls alerts your roommate, Sherri, to the conclusion of the phone call, hearing a repeatedly distinctive phrase that she knew you’d come to despise over time.

“I regret to inform you, but…” you’d hung up before the man on the other side had enough time to finish his sentence. The exasperated sigh you released from between your lips held a heartbroken tone, and all you could do was shake your head when Sherri quietly asks if you’re okay.

It hadn’t always been like this. Three months ago you were more than content working a few hours every week as a waitress in a small but well-known restaurant called ‘Alexie’s’, where you’d actually met Sherri, and although the management wasn’t the best at times, and you were sure the chef had a stick shoved further up his ass then you could’ve imagined, it was still something.

The job had given you something to do when you weren’t attending your nursing classes, or writing essays, and it worked like a charm at taking your mind away from your personal life when things went wrong.

Sure, some customers were complete and utter dickheads, expecting five star service and for you to wait on them hand and foot, but the majority of people were nice and the pay was more than worth dealing with some crappy person coming in and demanding you seat them and their eighteen other friends immediately, despite being fully booked.

You were heartbroken when the owner had set up a staff meeting to inform you and everyone else that the restaurant was unable to stay open.

Things had never been this bad before, and honestly, there wasn’t much you weren’t willing to do if it guaranteed you a job. Not when the cost of living had skyrocketed and all but royally fucked you over.

Sherri had been an angel throughout this situation you’d found yourself in, though you were slightly jealous the day she came back from an interview with the local supermarket, telling you how they’d happily hired her on the spot. She had been your rock to stick on while your life turned completely upside down, even going as far as offering to cover next months rent.

But you still needed to feed yourself each week, still needed to pay for the bus fare on your way into college, and even worse, you still needed to pay back the money you owed to your parents.

If moving back into your parents house was an option, you might’ve resorted to it considering how desperate things had become. But that wasn’t an option, and it never would be.

You couldn’t allow that to happen.

Not only was it impossible, seeing as they were living in an entirely different country, but you’d intentionally created that distance in order to get as far away from them as possible. Moving halfway across the world in order to escape them and their overbearing ruling that they held over your head was the first thing you’d done after graduating high school, and you weren’t about to go back on the promise you’d made to them that day.

Telling your mother and father that they would never see you again should’ve been heartbreaking. You should’ve been crying or screaming at them, and maybe, in a perfect world, they would have told you to stay, or that they didn’t want you to leave.

But again, the world was seldom perfect, and after the past few months, you truly were finding that fact out for yourself.

It was Sherri’s sweet voice that snapped you out of your daydream, still clutching your phone to your ear as you kneeled on the couch. “Why don’t we go out tonight? It might make you feel better.”

You let out another sigh, ready to shoot her offer down even though the suggestion was extremely tempting after the dreaded phone call, “Sherri, I can barely afford the bus right now, I can’t—”

She grinned before interrupting you, a sly look that you couldn’t decide if you liked or not.

“You really think I’d suggest that if I didn’t have a plan?” She raised a questioning eyebrow up at your form, “Lukah’s working tonight, do you know what that means?”

With a shrug, you settled back into the couch and pulled a blanket over your knees, staring back at your roommate and waiting for her to continue.

She leaned towards you from the opposite end, “free drinks!” She exclaimed, and moved her hands around as if her point had been obvious from the start.

“Didn’t he just start a new job though? We’ll end up getting him fired if he’s caught giving out free drinks,” Sherri giggled as if you’d said the funniest thing, and then her expression began to shift into something slightly more serious.

She hesitated to reply, and when Sherri got quiet, it could only mean trouble. “Well, the place he started working at, it's not exactly in the most... uh," it was if she was struggling to find the right words to say without scaring you away. "...Desirable of places, so he doesn't think his boss will care much," she finished with.

An eyebrow raised as you stared at her, wordlessly asking the short girl to elaborate. "It's in the Jujutsu District."

Ah, you thought, that would explain why she'd been slightly more reluctant to tell you.

The Jujutsu District was pretty notorious throughout the city, and especially with the younger population seeing as a large majority of clubs and bars could be found spread out around the area. You'd been a couple times, mainly to the small pubs that laid just on the outskirts, as most locals were well aware that it was smarter to stay clear of the place. It was no secret that the kinds of deals that typically went on out there were far from legal, though even the police had deemed the place a 'no-go zone' and were rarely seen patrolling anywhere near it.

But even you couldn't say no to a few free drinks after being so down on luck, and so, within a few seconds of dubiously nodding your head in agreement with Sherri, she was yanking on your arms to pull you away from the couch and into her room.

And within an hour and a half, the two of you had made your way out of the apartment hand-in-hand.

The club was filled to the brim, drenching you in a light sheen of sweat that glistened across your skin. Music blared in through your ears from every direction and created a dull ache that stretched across your forehead. You couldn't put your finger on the name of the song that was currently playing, although it brought an odd sense of déjà vu along with it.

Truthfully, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like going out with your friends. There was something so exciting about getting ready for the club and dancing the night away, smearing shimmery eyeshadow across your lids and lining them with a distinctive wing of eyeliner. The clothing you’d thrown on hugged every inch of your body, but it was hard to care about your slight discomfort when the edge of a glass was lifted to your mouth, lips lined and covered in a colour so signature to your look.

Lukah was a godsend, sneaking both you and Sherri drinks over the counter every time either of you walked up to the bar, and just like Sherri had said, it didn't seem like his manager couldn't give two shits.

Sherri grabbed your wrist after you placed the shot glass back down on the bar, void of whatever liquor Lukah had offered the two of you. Leading you over to the sea of bodies on the dance floor, you could barely hear your roommate when she said "c'mon, my favourite song just came on!"

It was borderline provocative the way you and Sherri danced together. Her back was pressed to the front of your body, arms lifted and wrapped around your neck, and the way your hips swung against each other to the beat of the music was enough to gain more than a little attention from the boys that littered around the dance floor.

Neither of you bothered to entertain those who tried to approach either of you. Either, they came on way too cocky for their own good, or were sporting some serious baby face, and that was enough for you to shake your head, waiting for them to do the walk of shame back to their friends.

One man had come up to Sherri and asked for her number, only to continue bothering her even after she'd told him no multiple times. After the third decline and narrowly avoiding his grabby hands heading for her hand, Sherri twisted her head around and planted a delicate kiss on the corner of your mouth, exclaiming loudly that she "couldn't wait to get home and get you alone," and that was enough for him to briskly walk away.

It was no surprise honestly, as not only did you look and feel beautiful, but Sherri looked like a supermodel in her little black dress and heels. Plus, you could admit that the male attention did help a little in lightening the mood you'd been in before the two of you left the house.

"Do you wanna get another drink?" Sherri shouted over the music.

You shook your head, "I'm gonna get some air, I'll meet you at the bar." She gave you quizzical look, as to question why. You lifted your hand out in front of you, a white lighter and pack of Marlboro Gold's held within it.

Making your way outside was much more difficult of a task than you had expected, shoving your way through the endless amounts of bodies that had filled the club, probably knocking a drink or vape out from someones grasp as you went on your way.

The cold November air caused a shiver to crawl its way over your barely clothed body after you exited the building, and it felt heavenly as it washed away the sweat that had started accumulating across your skin. A flicker of light shone against your eyes, along with the sound of flint sparking from the lighter held in your right hand and a deep inhale.

Several bodies littered outside of the club, some clearly had the same idea as you, cigarettes clutched between their two fingers as they chatted away to their friends, others were still waiting in line to be let in, ID's held out for the large bouncer to take a look at, and there was even a couple who'd clearly had too much to drink, snogging away in a corner as if they weren't in the company of others.

It was quite a surreal feeling, as you leant against the cold brick wall, bringing your hand up to your face to take another inhale of the stick held in them. Three hours ago, you'd almost been reduced to tears, feeling like the world truly had it out for you, yet now, you couldn't help but enjoy the dizzy feeling crawling up your spine, making you sway slightly.

Your problems hadn’t been solved with the sip of an alcoholic drink, far from it in fact. They would still be there to plague your thoughts tomorrow morning, even as you battled the headache you knew was coming, but at least in this very moment, as you let the tipsy feeling encompass your body, you could relax.

That feeling didn't last for long.

Just as you'd closed your eyes, smoke pillowing out from your parted lips, you felt a violent tug on the bag attached to your shoulder.

The stranger takes another pull on your right arm, causing you to drop the half-smoked cigarette onto the floor and the burgundy handbag falls out of your grasp.

“Hey!” Your voice is slightly slurred, an effect of the alcohol you’d consumed minutes prior, however the anger and small hint of fear is clearly heard in your words. It takes you a few seconds to register the tall man running away from you, clad in dark jeans and a hoodie pulled over his head, and your bag clutched in his hands.

Before you even realise what you’re doing, you start running after him. “Hey, jackass!” You repeat, “give me pack my purse!”

Your voice echoes through the street, yet it seems like everyone around you is too far gone to even notice or care.

Discomfort surrounds the heels of your feet, but it doesn’t stop you from giving up the chase as the man turns left into a dark alleyway. You’d chastise yourself later for the self preservation you seemed to lack in that very moment, completely ignorant to the dangerous connotations of following a strange man into a secluded area such as this, in the middle of the night. But that purse has everything you owned at the minute, your phone, wallet and any small amount of cash you currently had, and you couldn’t just let it slip from your arms.

He twists his head to look at you, as if shocked to see that you were actually following him.

It was at this moment that someone stepped out in front of him, and as soon as the thief got closer to the mysterious stranger, they threw their arms out and shoved him down to the ground.

Your bag went flying from his hands and onto the pavement.

Even from where you were standing, you could hear the thief’s harsh intakes of breath, winded from how hard he had hit the ground, and your saviour stepped over the man’s body.

He picked up your bag from the ground, slowly making his way over to you.

Finally, it dawned on you that while he had saved you from losing quite literally everything you owned, that didn’t make him any less dangerous than the man who’d stolen from you in the beginning, and as he stepped towards you, panic started to make its way up your spine.

“Don’t come any closer!” You screamed at him. His steps faltered, but he didn’t stop moving, “I have a knife!” You didn’t, and it was probably pretty obvious that you’d lied as his eyes raked over your body, searching for anything that remotely resembled a weapon.

You could hear him release a small laugh as he came even closer, holding out your purse for you to take. “I believe this is yours?”

Gingerly, your hands clasped around the strap, pulling it towards your chest and releasing a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you said, and began to quickly check that everything was still left inside, untouched.

He watched as you did so, a dark, thin eyebrow raised in questioning.

It was here, as the moonlight lit up his face, that you got a good look at your saviour. He was tall, big enough to feel imposing as he stood several feet away from you, with long black hair that cascaded down his back in a way that made you slightly jealous. He looked down at you with some of the most alluring brown eyes you’d ever seen, almost hazel with the way the street lamps highlighted his face from behind you.

A kind smile lulled you into a false sense of security as he opened his mouth to speak. “What kind of idiot runs after a guy like that in the middle of the night?” His tone was teasing, coinciding with the smirk he wore.

“Well,” you snorted sarcastically, “everything I own is in this bag. If I’d let him take it, I wouldn’t have anything left.” Maybe you should’ve been slightly nicer to the man that had just saved your life’s savings, but at the moment you couldn’t take any chances, not when you were so obviously isolated from the main street that was littered with drunks, druggies and the like.

He laughed at your comment, but shrugged and held out his hands, as if to say ‘there you go’.

You let out an awkward cough, trying to fill the silence. “I’m, uh… gonna go now, my friend is waiting for me back at the club,” you held out a thumb to point behind you, as if he’d know exactly where you’d meant despite the several buildings behind you filled with dancing strangers.

He nodded without saying anything else, and you took that as permission to make your leave.

Just as you’d turned your back on him, started to make your way back towards the club, his voice rung out again and stopped you in your tracks.

“Maybe I could help you out.”

authors note: so, the first chapter of barracuda is officially finished! this is the largest piece of writing i’ve done in a very long time and while i’m probably being overly critical, i do think at some point i will go back and edit it once the series is finished! but, let me know how you feel about this and if you liked it! i am very excited to see where this story goes. reni xx

#reniberries ❤︎#barracuda #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen au #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk au #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #jjk toji #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader

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priincebutt · 7 months

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Hey ho, let's go! Happy Wednesday, chickadees!! Can't believe we've made it to the end of February, if I'm being perfectly honest. Thank you as always to the lovelies @itsmaybitheway , @piratefalls , @wordsofhoneydew , @firenati0n , @getmehighonmagic , @onthewaytosomewhere and @magicandarchery for the tags!! This week, I'm bringing you the beginning of my next chapter of The Story of Us, because I finally feel like writing for it again!! I was in a lil slump, tbh, but I'm bound and determined to finish this piece and I'm very excited for the next few chapters!!

Despite their time spent apart weighing more than their time spent together, being with Henry is like a dream. It’s like Alex has just floated along, directionless despite thinking he’d had it all figured out, until he’d met Henry. He’d always sworn he wouldn’t be one of the ones who allowed his whole personality to be overcome by a relationship, but he gets it now – when someone has the other half of your heart, and that empty space in your chest has been filled with them, it’s impossible not to spend a multitude of moments thinking about Henry. Thinking, dreaming, ruminating on when they can be together again.

London had been unparalleled, and despite the tears they’d shed when he’d had to leave, Alex is glad to have those memories to get him through his ‘Henry dry spell’ as he’s taken to calling it. (Henry doesn’t find it very funny. Nora and June just roll their eyes at him.) And as much as he wants to fly across oceans to stand next to Henry and hold his hand, to catch him when he leaps off the stage every night in a new city, Alex has to focus on the play-offs that are fast approaching.

It just so happens that Henry is in New York for a few days one week for a photoshoot. He’s just been named Spotify’s Global Top Artist of 2023, and Alex, high on the successes of someone who is so important to him, decides to use his day off to drive up to the city to celebrate with Henry.

It’s an easy, quiet kind of rhythm between them now – commenting on each other’s posts, texting back and forth and keeping up a constant stream of communication. When Henry drops ‘You’re Losing Me’ to thank his fans, Alex listens to it on a non-stop loop in the weight room, as he’s driving to meetings, and while he cooks himself dinner that night. When Percy drops an insta story, Henry posing with a handful of raisins and a bottle of wine, a telltale snapshot from the past that claims this secret track was recorded months before Henry’s relationship with James ended, Alex’s heart breaks for him, and he immediately calls Henry, comforts him through the fresh wave of pain the release of this very personal track brings him. They talk on the phone well past midnight that night, and on his drive up the east coast the next morning, Alex is so thankful he’ll be able to wrap his arms around Henry in just a few short hours.

They meet at Henry’s hotel, and paparazzi are already waiting as Alex pulls up to the valet and hands over his car keys, then slings an overnight bag over his shoulder and tugs down his sunglasses, pointedly ignoring the hoard of camera-happy paps who call out to him, asking invasive questions and trying to capture his attention through shocking details they’ve been fed from a friend of a friend who knows Henry Fox personally.

It’s all bullshit, so he ignores it. It’s not their fucking business, and he refuses to give them even an inch, because he knows they’ll trample all over that and steal a mile.

Tags beneath the cut and thanks for reading friends!!

@forever-fixating , @sparklepocalypse , @firstsprinces , @sunnysideprince , @hgejfmw-hgejhsf , @anincompletelist , @zwiazdziarka

#rwrb fanfic #my writing #wip #the story of us au

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beautifulpersonpeach · 1 year

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I definitely want to back up that anon who thinks jimin is still in the kitchen! In truth I think all the boys are and will be for a long time. I see chapter two as the introduction of their solo careers meaning "hey we are gonna be bts but also be ourselves sometimes too" I think every solo moment we've seen is the beginning which I'm for one super excited about. Imagine a wave of brilliant solo work one year and then phenomenal group work the next. Chapter two is barely a year in and it's already a visual and musical feast. I think jimin loves quietly preparing so he can wow us when he feels the time is right and while I too get tense with the constant radio silence I know it's cause he'll blow my mind the second he wants too. I hope people who feel as if Jimin didn't get a chance to show his true might feel comforted in that he will never ever stop wanting to gag tf out of us. And I think the sentiment holds the same for bts.

***

Exactly this. Up until a few months ago I thought this was well understood, seeing as how BTS has operated till now, but clearly I was mistaken.

For posterity’s sake, to beat this dead horse one final time:

Would it be nice for each member’s release to not have any of the issues they’ve had? Of course. But it’s possible to inform the company of said issues, address what we can for issues due to various platform errors not due to the company, while not losing sight of the fact this is only 2023. We’re still only in 2023. As in, we’re literally just one year into Chapter 2, none of the guys are older than 30, and they keep saying they’re in this for the long haul. And this is the same group that has shown over a decade that their plans are most often and best executed in multi-year stints.

It’s bizarre to think a member’s solo career is over or even damaged at all in any real way because of one or more problems that happened during their first solo release. It betrays such a myopic, winner-take-all mentality that you have to be in a very specific headspace to fully buy into.

Jimin is clearly happy and working. He’s not blind and is seeing what is working for other members and what isn’t. They’re all checking out each other’s solo endeavours from time to time, cheering each other on and I’d say making notes on what they too could try, what works and what doesn’t.

If there’s one thing that’s become clear to me over the years, and even more so in Chapter 2, it’s that BTS is a team. A real team. I’ve seen a lot of k-pop groups over the years and there is no group today, present or past, that would reach the heights BTS has if any of the members sought to harm or sabotage or lord shit over the rest, with or without help from the company. None of the BTS members would put up with that shit. Their egos are too big, they’re so obviously their own people, very ambitious and so aware of it that I really wonder if people actually listen to these men when they talk. They know exactly what they’re worth, and they trust that all the other members know it too. If BigHit showed any real favouritism, BTS is the last group to allow that if it’s not something they themselves have already agreed to.

They all know what they’re doing. And if they don’t, then they’re the only people with the tools to figure it out. All the angst and anguish over this or that happening in fan spaces, has no real effect on these men sitting somewhere in Seoul planning out everything they’d like to do as solo artists and as part of BTS.

That’s my takeaway after watching them for as long as I have. I could be wrong, but I’ve not seen anything to suggest that yet. I’m not sure how long you’ve been in the fandom Anon, or what you think about other issues, but it’s nice to see you and the other Anon share this perspective. It’s a view that’s widely accepted in the fan spaces I’m in outside of Tumblr, but one that is sorely lacking in this space right now.

For no reason at all, one Jimin that I hope one day shows up in Chapter 2, 3, or 4:

Sidebar - A friend (who isn’t religious) was asking another friend recently about religion, because she’s now desperate enough to seek divine intervention for Jimin to find blonde hair dye, and to love it again.

We all know his best hair colour is black, but it’s just as true that a solid case has been made for him being a natural blonde.

Okay, that’s it today from my gallery.

That colleague i mentioned the other day, the one that recently got into BTS and now biases Jimin, we’re meeting up this weekend with my other friend, the musician that watched the Grammys with me last year and fell in love with Jimin. That’s an example of two people still finding out about Jimin, falling in love with his music and him as a person, and starting to support him. None of the noise online actually has any real bearing on the impact of real life people still learning about Jimin through his solo music and through BTS, and becoming his fans maybe for life.

If anyone finds themselves feeling overwhelmed in fandom, please zoom out. Please take time away and get some perspective. Everything I’ve said is obvious, none of it is rocket science or gleaned from any special insight. The noise online can suck you in, to prevent that, please detach, go back to their recent and old interviews to hear what they each feel about Chapter 2 and their solo work, listen to all of what Jimin expressed during his promotions, the good and bad. You’d be left with fewer anxieties. At least, that’s the case for me.

Thanks for this, Anon.

#BTS #bts chapter 2 #jimin #park jimin #BTS fandom #fandom behaviour

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katsheadinclouds · 1 year

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chapter 5

Joel Miller x gn!/f!reader

series masterlist - chapter 4

summary: After a few weeks since you last saw Joel, you end up bumping into Ellie. What you don’t expect is to finally reach your breaking point.

rating: mature

chapter warnings: angst, hurt and comfort, anxiety, panic attack, grief, descriptions of violence typical for the TLOU world, no use of y/n, Ellie and Joel are the kindest and caring, everyone needs therapy.

word count: 7.6k

notes: Here we are, at the end of part 1. Thank you everyone who has read so far <3 Like with the last chapter, this is heavily angsty but I promise, it’s only uphill from here! The next chapter will be out in two weeks, as I’m taking a writing break to finish part 2.

divider by cafekitsune

It has been raining for a couple of days. You’re holed up in your house and the walls feel like they’re starting to fall on you. You haven’t seen anyone or heard from anyone and the longer you’re alone, the more you want to just disappear.

Dan released you from stable duty because some teenagers wanted to come take care of the horses for a while and your rotation says that you’re supposed to be working at the community garden next anyway. But that was two weeks ago. And you haven’t been able to leave your home.

You’re not sure how long it has been since you were at the cliffs. You just know that since then you haven’t been able to sleep, being afraid of the nightmares and new panic attacks. You’re afraid of them all the time, bracing yourself for the fall and loss of control. You can feel it simmering somewhere inside, ready to slap you across the face and make you lose yourself. You relive the moment at the cliffs every day and just the thought of the panic you felt is enough to make you hide in your house, behind closed curtains and darkness.

And if communication wasn’t hard enough already, it has now become almost impossible. You don’t like to look people in the eyes and being in crowded places makes your skin crawl. You can’t even imagine opening your mouth and hearing your own voice. The more afraid of your own reactions you’ve become, the easier it has been to just stay at home and not keep in touch with anyone.

You’ve had panic attacks for a long time and you’ve always been able to somehow make sense of them. You’re almost used to the intense fear by now even though it’s not pleasant. The trick was to always reason with the irrational side of your brain.

After being holed up in your house alone, they’ve gotten so much worse. And it’s not even the attack itself, it’s the shame surrounding it. It gnaws in your head, making you think things that you’ve thought to be untrue. Or at least you hope to not be true. And when you’ve tried to calm yourself down, your head has just filled with more chaos, drowning all of your attempts at finding quietness.

This panic attack at the cliffs managed to surprise you, and how different it was from the ones you’re used to. For a long time you just felt your body tensing up, your breathing getting harder that made you light headed and your head spewing fear into your whole body, making it shake.

This new episode wasn’t like the ones when you weren’t able to move and you’re glad that you haven’t had those after getting to Jackson.

But this one panic attack was like going through a night terror and realising that it’s not ending. It just kept on going, it keeps on resurfacing and you can’t let go of it. You’re dreading to experience it again.

The scariest part?

You can’t feel a thing.

It’s like you don’t have a body anymore, just a shell that somehow keeps you alive.

You don’t feel the wind whipping in from the open window. You don’t feel the heat when you keep your hand too close to the stove. You don’t feel water on your skin or if it’s cold or warm when you take a shower.

You don’t feel your feelings like you used to either.

They seem distant and strange because you know how you should be feeling, but those emotions just don’t become reality. You just are, floating through days without really existing in your life right now.

Your thoughts are spiralling once again. You’re certain that you’re not a good member of the community. People must hate you. No one is going to want to share a house with you, no one knows you and even if they did, they’re not going to like living with you and your… problems.

And Joel? He must loathe you. The way you poured your panic attack on him was unacceptable. How could you let him see it, how could you let yourself be so weak?

The town doctor hasn’t been able to help you, how could anything or anyone else help you either? You’re so sure that you’re broken that nothing can change your mind. Maybe they’ll just kick you out and your head will shut up.

Maybe you should just be out of this town so no one has to wonder what is really going on with you.

At least you haven’t been spending their food or supplies since you’ve just been living on water and porridge. Your cupboards and fridge emptied of everything else almost a few days ago.

You’re not sure how long you stare out the window but the night turns into a dull, grey morning. And then even greyer day.

You listen to the drumming of the rain against the roof and it’s almost hypnotising. Something in you makes you want to go out and get your clothes wet. At least you’d do something else than just listen to the incessant sound of your brain beating you up.

You wrap a flannel jacket over the t-shirt that you’ve worn for the past four days and don’t bother changing out of your sweatpants that you’ve had on night and day since you realised all your other pants had to be washed.

It’s almost funny that no one has checked up on you and when you think about it, your brain almost short circuits from the possibilities your negative thoughts throw your way.

You wrote to your doctor that you’re better, that you’ve gotten friends like he wanted you to and that all meetings with him would be unnecessary. You left the note into his post box and since he hasn’t contacted you, it probably worked.

At the same time you left a note to a worker from the community garden. You told her you’re not feeling well and need to take a little time off. Back then you thought it’d be just a couple of days and then you’d show up. But the more time has passed, the harder it is to let them know that you still need time to recover.

Maybe they don’t care about you and your help, maybe that’s why no one has checked up on you.

You press your hands into tight fists until your nails make half-moon shapes against your palms. Once outside you’re met with the freshness of the mountain air. It fills your chest and you cough as your lungs get used to the cold.

You see no one which comforts you to start walking. You’re going to avoid the town centre just in case, but it seems like you’ll be left alone.

You don’t mean to walk for more than a few minutes, but you end up walking to the other side of the town. Your head has been light and dizzy and you don’t know if you can trust your unsteady legs but here you still are, further than you had imagined going.

Your clothes are completely soaked through but you don’t really mind. You can’t feel it anyway, not the cold or the wetness clinging to your skin. And at least now your brain is thinking why the hell you can’t feel a thing anymore instead of all the negative, fictional scenarios it so enjoys creating.

You’re already on your way back home when you hear a grunt and someone cursing under their breath. Your first instinct is to run away, hide, not make any contact. But when you see a girl wet from the rain, pulling on a small wagon filled paint canisters, that’s gotten stuck in the mud, you decide against it.

Ellie.

You approach her slowly, not really knowing what to expect. What’s she doing with all the paint? When she hears your wet footsteps, she looks up and her face lights up.

“Hey!” She looks genuinely happy to see you standing right in front of her. “Can you help me with this? The wheels are shit and I can’t get this fucking thing to move.” Her cursing takes you aback even though it shouldn’t surprise you.

It just seems like other people in town don’t use as much curse words and she is making sure to use all of them to fill that void. You move to push the wagon while she pulls and together you manage to free it from the mud. Ellie wipes some lose, wet strands of her hair from her forehead and she beams at you.

“Thanks! Will you help me take these home as well? I know there are some puddles that I’m not really looking forward to pass,” she waves her hand towards the street and pulls the wagon with her, making you follow her.

She just smiles at you and almost on instinct you walk next to her. You get winded from the faster pace but try to hide it from her. You look at the paint canisters and then at her, who is eyeing you with curiosity.

You hope you lift your brows at her in question but you’re not sure if that actually happens. She seems to understand your question through your expression though.

“I’m renovating a garage for myself,” she tells you and you can hear the hints of pride in her voice. “Yeah, Joel and Tommy have been doing the building, but they’re both out on patrol and I got bored at home. Maria has been around as well, but she wants to be careful with the baby and all, so it’s just me today.” She explains it all slowly, like she’s trying to fill a quiet space between the two of you.

You’re kind of grateful she’s doing all the talking and isn’t pressuring you to speak. You do catch her watching you a few times though when the silence falls on you both and your panting comes through the sound of the rain.

She doesn’t say anything about it, or anything else for that matter, and you keep on going in the heavy rain towards her house. Maybe Joel hasn’t told her about your weak moment at the cliff which you’d be grateful for. That way there’d really only be one person who knows what a mess you are and others wouldn’t know about any of it.

You could just quietly slip away from this place and no one would miss you.

It's weird to notice that you’d like to talk with her, ask her things and hear how she’s been settling into Jackson, but you can’t make yourself talk. Your throat feels tight and your mood isn’t helping. Ellie leads you through a side gate into a garden and you help her pull the wagon to a run-down looking garage.

“Come inside, you can warm up there,” she offers when you look around and take in the backyard of a two-storey house.

It has seen better days, but it also looks inviting, like someone’s making a home of it. There’s a single light in one of the windows, beaming out warmly like a light from a lighthouse. Ellie leads you to a back porch and inside through a mudroom that now works as a laundry room as well. Ellie pulls her shoes off and you follow her example. Your wet socks squelch against the floor.

“I’ll get you something to change into.” You try to huff a no in response but she’s already on her way through the house and you’re left alone to catch your breath.

With your wet feet you make your way into the kitchen. It’s clean except for the few items on counters. There’s a mug and a plate next to the sink and a bowl turned upside down on a towel next to them. A basket full of fresh carrots wait next to the stove. And a pile of clean towels are sitting closest to the door, probably waiting to be put away.

You run your numb hand against the island counter and walk slowly further into the house. The wood floors creak softly and you hear Ellie rummaging somewhere upstairs, her footsteps thudding against the floor. The house looks comfortable and warm, even in this gray and cold lighting.

You look into the living room and see a soft, worn couch, an armchair and a bookshelf. Even your house doesn’t have a bookshelf but this house does and it’s full of books.

You get closer to the titles and recognise a few. You’ve never been much of a reader, but your bro—

Your breathing catches in your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut when your head starts swimming. You grab the shelf with your hands and try to stay up, but your legs seem to buckle at their own accord.

“Hey,” you hear Ellie’s soft voice call you and you whip around, tears making everything around you blurry.

She looks at you with wide eyes, her hands full of clothes. She has already changed out her own wet outfit into a more comfortable one, a hoodie and a new pair of jeans. She comes closer and you clutch your chest, catching your breath.

You try to make yourself calm down but it’s even harder now that your head is laughing at your and you don’t feel any physical feelings happening in your body. She stops and leaves space between the two of you, her face softening even more until a small smile crinkles her eyes.

“I had to raid Joel’s dresser, I hope these are at least a bit more comfortable than those,” she nods at you and you follow her gaze to look at the drenched clothes on you. She’s clearly trying to distract you from your uneasy thoughts.

“You can change in the bathroom over there,” she gives you the clothes before she swings her arm towards a closed door. You walk past her with wobbly legs and make your way to the downstairs toilet.

You wipe at your face furiously once the door closes behind you and you force yourself to think of other things. How the mirror is stained but clearly kept clean. The stacked toilet paper rolls in the corner. Next to the sink there’s a small plant in a clay pot that is cracked and barely holding the soil in. But the plant looks like it’s thriving.

You eye at the dark blue t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants she had given you and start to peel your clothes from your body. They stick to your skin and there’s actual water dripping to the floor when you pull everything off.

You intentionally breathe very slowly, in through your nose, holding it for a few seconds before pushing all air from your lungs through your mouth. Your heart seems to calm down until there’s only that dull, numb nothingness left.

The shirt seems to swallow you and the pants hang loosely on you, but they’re not wet and that’s everything that matters.

Even though you can’t feel the cold, you can still get ill. And that’s the last thing you want at this point. There are a pair of socks as well and you put them on, even though they’re definitely too big on your feet.

This doesn’t seem right, wearing Joel’s clothes when he’s not even here telling you that you can. You don’t know where you stand with him, but he probably doesn’t want to have anything to do with you.

He hasn’t checked up on you either.

In a way it hurts, but you don’t even know the man. It would be best to just forget about him, if it wasn’t for the embarrassment that prickles your skin. You look at yourself in the mirror and don’t recognise the person looking at you through the reflection. Your eyes, your skin, your face, they all belong to someone you don’t know. The clothes definitely hang on your frame loosely and it only adds to your discomfort.

“Well don’t you look pretty!” Ellie smiles when you open the door and carry your wet clothes in your arms. You don’t know what to do with her words, stopping right in your tracks while her smile only grows.

“Let’s hang them up to dry,” she points at the bundle against your chest and leads you to the mudroom where she takes your clothes one piece at a time to hang them on hangers.

“You hungry? Thirsty?” She asks when she’s done and you shake your head lightly.

“Okay, are you ready to paint then?” Her face lights up and you can’t say no to her even though you’d like to.

You should’ve just turned around when Ellie got home and you definitely should’ve been somehow more insistent on not letting her give you dry clothes. You should’ve just left and gone back home. Now it looks like you’re stuck here with Ellie, who wants your help.

She must see the inner battle going on in your head from your face because her smile drops just the slightest.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, just keep me company,” she tells you. She bends to put on her wellies and you move to put on your wet shoes when she throws you another pair of boots. They’re way too big for you, must be Joel’s, but you don’t seem to find any other option either.

When you get into the garage, you’re met with a worksite.

Ellie walks you through it all, introducing you to the unfinished kitchenette, with uninstalled cabinets and sink. She opens the minifridge door and you both look inside like there’s something to see, even though it’s just a couple of empty shelves and an old, yellowed stain at the bottom. She insists she has washed the fridge already. She just needs to figure out how to get the stain out.

She leads you to the bathroom, that now has walls at least. Apparently Tommy and Joel got them up last weekend, even though there’s still work to be done with the plumbing and they also need to find a door and finish the floor.

She walks you to the middle of the room and points where a couch and her desk for drawing and little tinkering are going to go. “I also want a bed in here, if some day I’d actually live here, on my own.”

She paints such a picture with her words, how there’s going to be hanging lights, a few bookshelves, bedside tables, posters, her art stuff. She wants to make this her own space and she’s clearly excited.

You stand still and imagine it all around you, even though now the space seems incomplete and kind of cold. Ellie moves around and pulls the wagon inside, bringing in mud at the same time.

“Maria showed me what to do with the paint when we finished the back wall of the kitchenette.” She points at the fresh white wall behind the waiting cabinets.

“My plan is to paint that wall, where my bed is eventually gonna go. The grey drywall is damn boring.” You look at her unloading the four paint canisters from the wagon to the floor, grunting at the heavy weight.

“Dark green,” she says proudly and takes out her painting equipment. You follow her movements as she opens the canister like she has done it hundreds of times. She pours a small amount into a bowl and takes out a wide brush. When she stands up, she faces you and you see the question on her face immediately.

“It doesn’t have to look perfect, we’re gonna paint it a couple of times. The paint is fucking old anyway, who knows what it’s gonna look like.” Her hands reach out to you with the paint and brush. You hesitate, but when she nudges them towards you, you take them into your weak hands.

“Just start from the corner, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to continue,” she tells you and you look at the darkest corner in the whole room.

You drag your feet against the cement floor to the wall and toe the boots off your feet before you sit down and face the corner. With delicate hands you dip the brush into the rich, deep paint and do a stroke against the drywall.

You spread the colour with a slow drag, carefully painting the wall right above the floor. You lose yourself in the process, watching the wall in front of you turn dark green.

Ellie takes her own brush and bowl and moves to the other end of the wall. She watches you sitting cross legged on the carboard that’s been set on the floor and paint in slow motion.

It’s quiet in the garage except for the rain hitting the roof and her own brushstrokes. Ellie is definitely faster at painting, but it doesn’t surprise her.

Something has happened to you and she can see it a mile away. There’s a dullness in your eyes, dark shadows on your face, you try to avoid looking at her and your trembling body all tell her that you’re not okay.

The fact that she hasn’t seen you since you first got into Jackson and now you look even worse than then makes her worry, but she doesn’t know how to approach that with you. She doesn’t know you and she’s not sure if you even want to talk with her about whatever’s on your mind. You don’t seem to want to talk at all, like back all those months ago.

It's like a puzzle she starts to piece in her brain. Last week she heard Joel talking with Dan from the stables when they went to see Shimmer. He had asked if Dan had heard from you, but he hadn’t. Apparently you’re doing a rotation at the garden but he hadn’t seen you there either when he had gone there to pick up vegetables.

Joel had only nodded at that but Ellie recognised the deep crease between his brows and the way his lips pursed together to be telltale signs of him being worried.

Then there was the time they were here in the garage and Joel had asked how people are housed here, if they have a say in who moves in with whom. Maria had been confused about the question, until Joel mentioned a friend who is going to be moving in with strangers at some point.

Ellie knows Joel doesn’t have close friends here, so him mentioning someone made her look at him in question. He only shook his head to make her not say a word.

Maria eyed him for a long while before she told him that people who come here alone have a say in who they’re going to be living with. Sometimes you got to move in with strangers because living on your own in a big house doesn’t make sense in this community, especially when the housing is limited. So, you have to make friends with people, or at least get to know some of the people in town so it’s easier to integrate into your new life.

And then there was the time when he got home that one evening a few weeks ago, didn’t say a word and went straight to his bedroom. She knocked on his door to offer him some of the leftovers she had gotten from Maria earlier that day.

Ellie remembers that day specifically because Maria had visited Joel that day and asked him to go help at the stables. It felt like there was some hope between Maria and Joel to have a friendly relationship, based at least on the way Maria kind of thought he was coming over for dinner. When he didn’t arrive, she offered Ellie to take dinner home.

Ellie had opened the door of Joel’s bedroom that evening to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, wringing his hands together with a pained look in his eyes. She had never seen him like that. She sat next to him and listened to his laboured breathing, while he tried to calm himself down.

They had stayed like that for a long while until Joel just closed his eyes, cleared his throat, and rubbed his palm over his face. Finally his hand came to rest over his chest, like he was making sure his feelings were staying inside. To make sure his heart was beating normally again. He didn’t mention it and she didn’t dare bring it up. But she did hear him staying up that night, the whole night, walking first around his bedroom and then downstairs.

He clearly couldn’t sleep and she wasn’t able to chase her sleep either when she knew he was in distress. He didn’t say that he had seen you or been in contact with you, but somehow seeing you like this now makes it seem like maybe something had happened to you and Joel knows about it.

Ellie knows she’s staring at you while you work slowly, lost in your own head. You don’t even notice that Ellie isn’t doing anything, just keeping an eye on you.

When your bowl of paint starts to run out, Ellie hands you her own paint bowl and takes your empty one before filling it. She doesn’t use it though. She just waits for you to finish the paint so she can hand you more. You work meticulously, not missing a spot and being careful not to drop any paint on the floor.

“I first said I wanted to paint the wall to look like space, but Maria wasn’t so sure about it,” Ellie tells you, waiting for you to react. But you don’t.

“Maybe someone else is going to move in here at some point…” Ellie copies Maria’s voice and way of speaking. “Who would move here, we live here,” Ellie rolls her eyes.

“I know Joel wouldn’t have said no to anything, he would’ve given me the paint and the brush and watched happily,” Ellie smiles and sadness tugs at her chest. Of course, Joel would let her paint the wall, he would let her do almost anything. The implication is there, but she doesn’t want to admit it to herself.

I swear.

“Except there was this magazine that I found in Bill’s car. Joel knew Bill, he’s dead now though, so is Frank. Anyway, the magazine, it was a dirty one, with pictures of naked men in there… I bet Joel wouldn’t let me paint something like that on my walls,” Ellie chuckles at even the thought of that.

She still remembers the face he made when he realised what she was reading. He was clearly out of his element and the vein in his forehead looked like it was going to pop when she asked why the pages were stuck together. It was such a long time ago. Back then things were so simple.

“I wouldn’t want to either…” Ellie almost whispers to herself before she looks at you and sees that you might’ve not even heard her talking. Your brushstrokes haven’t paused and your face doesn’t look like you’ve registered any of Ellie’s words.

She sighs and stands up, stretching her arms behind her back before setting the full bowl of paint right next to the old one. You don’t notice her or when she leaves to go back into the house.

The clock on the kitchen wall tells Ellie that Joel should be coming home soon. It feels even darker now that it’s raining and Ellie knows Joel went to a longer trail today with someone he hasn’t gone on patrol with before.

Before she can start wondering if the other person is good at killing infected, she hears heavy footsteps on the front porch.

Joel sighs long and deep when he closes the front door after him, taking his coat off and pulling his boots off his feet. She waits for him in the kitchen, sitting on the counter behind the corner. He doesn’t see her at first.

He combs his fingers through his wet hair before he blinks under the warm kitchen light.

“How was it?” Her voice makes him jump. Maybe she should’ve let him know she was there, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity.

“Did I scare you?” She raises her brows and lets out a short laugh.

“No, of course not,” Joel huffs. He washes his hands in the sink and sees the dishes he left next to it.

“Have you had dinner yet?” He asks while he slowly washes the dishes clean and sets them on the towel where Ellie’s now dry breakfast bowl is.

“No, I was kinda waiting for you.” Her voice makes him look over his shoulder. Somehow he has learnt to understand her like he would’ve known her her whole life and instantly he knows that something’s up. It’s also past their usual dinner time, she would’ve taken the leftovers from yesterday if there wasn’t anything on her mind.

“What’s happened?” He leans against the sink, but he doesn’t have time to question her more when she already jumps down from the counter and moves to put on her shoes and go out back into the garage.

Joel follows her but stops when his older boots aren’t there. Instead there is a pair of other, unfamiliar shoes on the floor and when he looks up, he sees a flannel, a t-shirt, pair of socks and sweatpants drying on hangers.

“Who’s here?” His face hardens but Ellie looks so unsure that it only makes him confused. Clearly there’s no danger, otherwise Ellie wouldn’t be this calm either.

“I saw them when I was getting the paint from Tommy and Maria’s house and they helped me get the fucking busted wagon back home. But Joel, something’s not right with them.” Ellie’s voice turns into a whisper like someone else could hear her.

He leans forward and fear creeps into his body. He can feel his skin prickling, cold sweat pushing out on his back, his heart stammering to beat a little faster and his hands clench before he wiggles his fingers in anticipation.

He goes to get his muddy boots from the front door while Ellie waits for him. Her uncertainty is something that he hasn’t seen in a while. It sometimes peeks through, but while they’ve been in Jackson it has only become rarer. She’s finding her footing here, becoming more confident every day.

She leads him into the garage and the rain is finally starting to ease up. Joel was looking forward to taking a shower, having dinner, and sitting on the couch, maybe watch a movie from the DVD stack he borrowed from Tommy last week, finally winding down from the day.

The rain and the cold were one thing but coming across a group of infected at an old suburb that no one had checked in a while was another. Him and Jade had cleared them out, but the few clickers in the mix did make the task harder.

Jade had gone to make an official report about the incident and how the area should be checked over more regularly even though it’s not on any official routes. Still, it was too close to the town and it would be better if areas like that stayed clear rather than someone stumbling across a pack like that by accident.

The last thing they’d want is the group of infected getting bigger until they’re too hard to handle.

He was so ready to relax. He has started having a routine to get himself calm in the evenings, but whatever is in the garage is not helping him. The back of his neck is tight as he expects to see something disturbing.

The funny thing is that he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to expect. A friend of Ellie’s, maybe drunk? Someone from town who wants to snoop around his house? An infected? That wouldn’t surprise him.

Ellie opens the door to the garage and it’s extremely quiet in there. She steps in and lets Joel follow her and right away he sees you. He stops dead in his tracks and even though the door isn’t the quietest (he makes a mental note to check the hinges and oil them) when it shuts, you’re not moving. You’re deeply hunched, painting the wall deep green, like Ellie wanted, and your head is almost leaning against it.

“Should I – “ Ellie starts, but Joel cuts her off by lifting his hand.

“Stay here,” he tells her quietly as he starts to approach you slowly. He says your name quietly but doesn’t get a reaction. It’s like you can’t even hear anything that’s happening around you.

“Hey,” Joel speaks gently and crouches next to you, touching your shoulder with the lightest of fingers. You flinch and draw in a deep breath, the paint brush clattering on the floor.

It’s completely dry and the two bowls in front of you look like they haven’t been touched in a while. There’s no fresh paint dripping from the side back into the bowls and the paint on the wall has already started to dry up.

Joel looks back at Ellie who sways on her tiptoes, waiting to spring into action. Joel takes the bowls and hands them to Ellie, who scoops the unused paint back into the canister.

Joel directs his attention back to you.

“Painting, huh?” He keeps his voice low when he moves the paint brush from the floor and hands that to Ellie as well so she can clean it.

“These look familiar,” he chuckles lowly, recognising his t-shirt and sweatpants on you. The t-shirt hangs from your shoulders and the pants are way too long for you.

“It’s getting late, we should go inside,” Joel tries to direct you, but you don’t look at him. You barely register he’s right next to you.

When he first touched your shoulder, it was like an electric shock. Now you don’t feel it anymore. But he is touching you, gently adding more pressure. You breathe through the numbness, afraid to look up and face him. You’ve been afraid of seeing him because you thought he’d only bring up that shame you’ve felt. The same fear that you felt at the cliffs is squeezing your lungs, your head swimming in memories you don’t want to remember. There’s something else as well, something surprising. You don’t feel shame around him, you feel calmer than you’ve felt in weeks.

He only reminds you of breaking apart.

And here he is now, trying to coax you into action. You can’t, it’s so much worse now than it has ever been. The feeling inside you. Your eyes sting and your head feels heavy, your lungs trying to gasp for air, but it seems impossible. You feel like you’re coming back alive, wires connecting and your own being washing through you in overwhelming waves.

“Ellie,” Joel lets go of your arm and stands up. This is something he doesn’t know how to handle. Ellie is on his side and the look on her face turns more grievous the harder you’re breathing.

“Go talk with Maria, she said there was someone new here, a doctor, who might be able to help. This is too much for us.” Ellie nods and takes off without a second look.

Joel stays with you and feels at a loss. He knows people get broken in this world, he has seen it time and time again. Hell, even he was that person at some point. Maybe he still is.

But he didn’t see himself from the outside. And he directed that pain into voluntary violence, not knowing how to deal with his wounds inside.

He has been the one to turn his back when someone was on their breaking point for so long because there was no way to survive if you lost your control. But then came along Ellie who is one of the strongest people he knows, even at such a young age. She opened something in him, and he doesn’t want to turn his back anymore.

He looks around and tries to find something that could possibly soothe you. There are a couple of boxes that Tommy and Maria brought in and he opens them, finding sheets and towels. They have to do.

He picks up a towel that is soft and worn, but when he holds it in his hands, it feels thick and warm. He approaches you calmly and squats next to you. He wraps the towel around your shoulders and you bend forward with a flinch, your breathing coming out in ragged, painful gasps.

He keeps his large hands on your shoulders and moves them slowly up and down to warm you up but also to let you know you’re not alone. After a while you do calm down, but you’re shaking and he recognises the way your shoulders shudder.

You’re crying, hard.

His knees start to ache and he sits down while he tries not to jostle you. He stays next to you, his other leg bent behind you while the other is crossed in front of him. He keeps on gently rubbing your back while listening you take wet breaths between your tears.

There’s an air of sadness around you. It’s so thick that he feels like it’s being forced down his throat with every sob you let out.

He sees tears dropping in heavy beads onto your lap. He feels like he’s physically trying to keep you here and he tries so hard, but he also feels at a loss. The last time he saw you he was thoroughly broken.

The panic attack only tore open his own wounds. The face that you made when you looked at him afterwards was something he knew he couldn’t wipe away. Like you were embarrassed to show that part of yourself.

He knew he had to get away from there. From you. He knew he wasn’t able to deal with his own emotions after seeing you in such distress. The screams you had let out reminded him of the night when the outbreak happened. What his own daughter sounded like when she took her last gasping breaths.

Why you were hiding your panic attack confused him though. He had already seen you at your lowest, behind the rock and by the campfire. That time at the cliff was somehow different though.

Your breathing suddenly becomes faster. There’s a fear in him that something’s happening to you, that you’re going to pass out or that you’re having some sort of a medical emergency.

He’s ready to pull away and he’s already moving his hand from your back and arm, but you suddenly grasp onto his wrist. Your hands are cold and clammy and your nails dig into his skin. You look up and he sees the terror on your face. The dark circles under your eyes and the hollows of your cheeks trouble him.

“I- I saw h-him,” you gasp out and a fresh wave of tears fall onto your cheeks. Deep creases form between his brows.

“You saw who?” He whispers back, afraid he’s going to provoke your panic even more.

“Him, my b-brother,” you say and your voice breaks.

“Where did you see him?” He tries to stay as calm as he can but his heart hammers in his chest. Where did you see your brother, here? Why hasn’t your brother been with you if he’s here?

“When his head had been cut off,” your voice is shrill through your pained cries. The confession makes him recoil back and he’s staring at your face, unable to form words.

“A-and my sis-sister, I remember. Sh-she got s-shot in the h-head right i-in front of m-me,” you gasp out between your sobs. His throat tightens at your words and he tries to swallow his own panic down.

You keep whispering something under your breath over and over, and he leans forward, holding his hand against your back just a little firmer while you squeeze his wrist in your own.

Not long after the garage door opens and when he turns around, the first one through the door is Ellie. Her cheeks are red and her hair and clothes are damp from the drizzling rain. Tommy follows her and then there’s an older black woman he hasn’t seen before. She looks at the scene in front of her while she’s catching her breath. They all are, clearly after running here.

“She can help them. Diana, she can help,” Tommy speaks with a low voice, but frantically, nodding his head towards the unknown woman. Joel looks at her when she nods her head in agreement and fixes her eyes on you.

“I can carry them,” Tommy tells Joel and he gets closer. Joel feels his skin crawling, like he’s supposed to protect you.

He looks at Tommy with wide eyes and he’s afraid what’s going to happen when Tommy approaches you. He’s afraid you’re going to start screaming, that you’re going to go into shock if he lets go of you.

“It’s okay, we can take it from here,” Diana says from the door and her soothing voice is like honey to the soul.

Suddenly Ellie is on Joel’s side, helping him up from the floor. She keeps holding his hand and he’s not sure why. He’d like to help Tommy or at least stay with you. You need someone you’re familiar with.

But it looks like you don’t even notice who is holding you. You don’t start thrashing and kicking when Tommy picks you up from the floor, still wrapped in the towel. You have your eyes closed; your lashes are wet from your tears. You hold onto the corner of the thick terry cloth and cry with no end in sight.

“I will need to talk with you at some point as well,” Diana points her words at Joel and he’s confused why she’d say that. He’s not the one who needs help, it’s you, you’re in distress.

Tommy is already at the door, ready to carry you out when Joel sees your socks, his socks, on your feet. They look like they’re about to fall off and he takes a step forward, ready to fix them. But Diana notices it as well and pulls them up over the legs of the sweatpants. Joel’s pants. They leave fast and when the door closes with a loud groan, silence envelopes Joel and Ellie.

“Are you okay?” Ellie sounds concerned and he looks at her in the eyes. He has never seen such deep sadness in her gaze before. Just pure grief that radiates in waves.

He must look confused because Ellie reaches up and touches something on his cheek. She strokes it with her thumb and then moves to the other side, her fingers gently wiping his skin. He follows her movements and touches his own face, his fingers brushing something wet.

He looks at his hand, seeing the water on it. Ellie drops her hand and the empathic look she gives him says it all. He lets out a single laugh, almost surprised, when he realises he had been crying. He hadn’t even noticed. He was so focused on you.

“Is this why she wants to talk to me?” Joel’s voice seems to get stuck in his throat, deep and confused.

“Diana?” Ellie’s voice is so quiet that Joel has to strain his hearing. She squeezes his hand once. He nods slowly, wiping his hand on his damp jeans.

“Maybe… She said she’s been dealing with a lot of people who have gone through trauma, maybe this is one of those things as well.” She talks like she’s trying to make sense of the situation for herself too.

Joel doesn’t answer her but lets her pull him back into the house. After a small cough and dropping his old boots on the mudroom floor he promises to warm up dinner for them both. He moves automatically, constantly having to swallow down the lump in his throat, and tells Ellie to busy herself with something while he takes a shower.

“I’m gonna be right down,” he promises her and his feet feel like they weigh a ton when he walks up the stairs.

He leans his hands against the tiles and the warm water falls on his head. His chest feels tight as he looks at the slowly fading imprints from your nails on his wrist.

He closes his eyes as he finally puts together what you were saying to yourself before you were taken away while wearing his clothes.

“I’m alone, I have no one, it was my fault, I’m alone…”

It’s the middle of the night when he walks downstairs to the mudroom. The rain has finally stopped. He takes your clothes and puts them all into the wash bucket. He wasn’t able to sleep, he couldn’t stop thinking about what you had told him.

He washes your clothes carefully. He’s thorough and makes sure that he gets every inch of fabric clean. He hangs them up to dry back on the hangers, listening to them drip on the tiled floors while wringing his own hands together while anxiety swells through his body.

The next update, the prologue for part two, will be up on the first of October! See you then <3

#the last of us fan fiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x gn reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #katsheadincloudswrites #fractured fic

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abeautylives · 2 years

Text

Imperfect Moments - Chapter Nine

Series Masterlist

pairing: Jakexfemale!reader

word count: about 3.5k this chapter

series summary: You’re in love with your best friend. His twin brother hates you. Or does he?

chapter summary: It's a little too soon to be feeling guilt and jealousy, isn't it?

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, language, explicit sexual content, illicit smoking, signs of a panic attack, mention of oral (f. receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, smut directly below the cut

“Don’t stop…”

“M’not gonna stop ‘til you’re cumming all over my cock.” His hand crashes down over your ass before he grips the reddened flesh again.

You’re bent over the edge of his bed, face pushing deeper into the mattress with every pounding thrust, sheets soaking up your sweat and every curse and moan spilling from your lips.

He feels different, somehow softer despite the punishing pace of his hips leaving bruises on the backs of your thighs.

“Tell me you love it,” he grunts through gritted teeth, “tell me how much.”

Whining, you’re near tears when you tell him you love his cock, love the way he fucks you, love him.

I love you, I love you, fuuuck baby I love you so much.

When your cunt clenches down on him, when you cum for him, he fucks his own release into you until you’re both hissing from overstimulation.

He pulls out of you and pushes your body to the bed, lays out flat on his back next to you and catches his breath. Turning your head to him, cheek pressed firmly to the expensive cotton, he rolls his to the side and offers you a cheeky smile.

“I love you more, darling.”

You wake up violently, sitting straight up in your bed. Your breath is hitching in your throat as you run a hand over your face, covered in a cold sweat.

What the fuck. What. The fuck.

Completely parched, you throw your blanket from your body and pad to the kitchen, chug a full glass of tap water before filling another to carry back to your room.

Reaching your bed, you sit back against your headboard and lean your head back. You stare at the tiny, old water stain on your ceiling for what feels like hours, no longer tired and afraid of what you’d see behind your lids if you tried to close your eyes. When they start to hurt, you squeeze them shut so tightly that all you can see is squiggling lines of color before you crack them back open and slide down the sheets.

It’s irrational, but you almost feel sick with it. Guilt.

It was one of those dreams that seems so real that you can smell it. Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you feel a little more grounded when you realize that you can actually still smell Jake all around you, from a couple nights ago.

But the scent clinging to the sheets in your dream had distinctly been that of Josh.

Sleep must have found you eventually, because the sunlight blasting through your window wakes you this time. I really need to invest in curtains. Or at least remember to close the fucking blinds. With a groan, you roll away from the offensive dawn of a new day. You reach for your phone to check the time, it’s embarrassingly late but the clock still says AM so… that’s something.

You already have texts from each twin waiting to be read.

They had chilled out with it over the last week or so, especially Josh. He’d settled back into the occasional brief conversation here and there, but you still talked to him daily. It almost felt normal. This morning, he’s simply reminding you that they’re leaving for Connecticut in a few days and you’d promised to come over for a movie night.

You’re acutely aware that they’re leaving in a few days.

They won’t be gone very long, and they’ve left before. You’ve missed him before and been fine.

But you’ve never had to miss Jake.

He’s been at your apartment almost every night since last weekend, sometimes you eat dinner together and watch tv or a movie, sometimes he’s pawing at your body as soon as he steps through the door. Every time though, he finds his way inside you, fucks you however you need it. He lets you set the pace and he does it perfectly… every time.

Reminiscing over the last time, you open his texts.

Jake K: Good morning 😚

Jake K: Had a dream about you last night

Oh god.

You reply to both of their texts, letting Josh know you haven’t forgotten about movie night and asking him if tonight would work.

You return Jake’s good morning and ignore the one about the dream.

While you’re sitting on the couch waiting for coffee to brew, your phone vibrates on the table in front of you and you smile to yourself when you see Jake’s face on the screen.

“Hello Jacob.”

“Jacob huh. Wanna try that again?” The faux tone of authority is sort of sexy but it makes you chuckle.

“Umm, good morning lover.”

“Mm, good choice. How’d you sleep, sweetheart?”

“Not great, honestly but I’m fine.” You could’ve lied, but the small admission assuages a little bit of the baseless guilt you’re still feeling. “And yourself?”

“You sure you're okay?” In what you’ve found to be typical Jake fashion, he clings to your discomfort and feels the need to soothe it before he can move on. “What happened?”

“Nothing really, woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't fall back asleep. No big deal.” An omission of truth isn’t really a lie… right?

“Missed me too much?”

“Oh yeah, that’s it. Needed you here to wear me out.” Sex is a safe subject that usually distracts him from anything too serious. But of course, it’s not working today.

“Yeah.. heh, yeah I’m good for that. I feel like you’ve told me you haven’t slept well a bunch of times in the past couple weeks. Is that normal for you?”

Contemplating that question for a moment, you don’t answer right away and he fills the silence.

“Is there anything I can do?” The genuine concern in his voice warms you from the inside out.

“What did I do to deserve you?” It’s a thought that escapes on a whisper before you can stop it, you clasp a hand over your mouth as soon as you say it. On the other end of the line, Jake is grinning at his twin from across their kitchen island. Josh is staring at him, confused by the dopey look on his brother’s face, but to Jake it feels like a small victory. Deep down, he knows there is no competition for your affection but he also knows that only two weeks ago you were in love with the man sitting across from him.

“You deserve the world, I’m just doing what I can… Josh said you’re coming over here tonight?” You hadn’t been to their house since the night of the afterparty but movie nights with Josh used to be a regular thing, with Jake lurking somewhere upstairs or joining you in petulant silence.

“I am, but if he tries to make me watch that space odyssey movie again I’m leaving, I swear to god.” After sharing a laugh over your quip, you tell him that you should go and that you’ll see him later.

“Alright sweetheart, see you then. Have a good day.”

Your work day passes quickly but the unsettled feeling in the pit of your stomach does not. You’re not sure if it’s residual guilt or the rising anxiety from having to say goodbye to them so soon, but by the time Josh is pulling you through his front door and into his arms, your stomach is in knots.

You find yourself able to relax, a little, once you’ve had a beer and a half and you’re sitting on the marble countertop of their kitchen waiting on the popcorn in the microwave. Josh had asked if you wanted to smoke before the film and is currently in his room grabbing what he’s promised you is “really good shit”. Jake has kept a respectful distance since you arrived, but this moment alone has him slotting between your legs and begging for a kiss with puckered lips and wandering hands.

When those lips find the tender skin below your earlobe, he murmurs against it, “So did you miss me?” The low hum in your throat vibrates against his mouth. “Tell me how much.”

Oh. Oh no.

Josh saunters back into the room whistling a tune you don’t recognize and Jake immediately puts distance between your bodies, allowing you to release the breath you’d sucked in when he’d said… that.

“Like a couple of horny teenagers, the two of you. You know, it’s weird but I’m kind of getting used to it. No sex in my kitchen though, please.”

“It’s my kitchen too, dickhead.”

“So it is. Reserve your kitchen copulation for Y/N’s kitchen then. Jake, come roll this for us, you’re better at it.” When Josh turns to head into the living room, Jake takes your hands and pulls you down from the counter to press his lips to your forehead before following him. Alone, you take a few grounding breaths.

Get it together, sweetheart.

A laugh snorts from your nose when you subconsciously call yourself Jake’s nickname for you. By the time you make it to the living room juggling three bowls of popcorn, there’s already a soft haze in the air.

“Couldn’t even wait for me, cool cool.” Josh has already started a movie, which thankfully is not the space odyssey one but it is the orange clock one. Another masterpiece that he’s made you watch a hundred times. Normally the two of you would settle in on the couch, or Josh would sit on the floor and lean against it below you. Sometimes you’d get high and he would let you twist his curls around your fingers while he explained the cinematography or sound design, he’d hum under your touch and your heart would flutter. His affinity for physical touch had fooled you a little bit, sucked you in and put you under his spell that he’d cast unintentionally.

Occasionally, Jake would join to watch the movie but whether or not there was room on the couch, he would sit as far away from you as possible in the leather armchair. Watching Josh lead you on.

Tonight Josh has settled onto the floor and Jake is actually parked on the couch with a joint pinched between his thumb and middle finger. When you set the popcorn on the coffee table you look them over before glancing to the armchair.

Don’t be weird. Sit down.

Slipping past Jake’s knees, you take up residence in your usual spot on the couch behind Josh’s head.

“We’ve seen this one, Joshua. A bunch of times.”

Reaching an arm back to request the joint from his brother, he tells you, “I’m very aware of that darling, but Jake said you didn’t wanna watch 2001: A Space Odyssey.” You slap the back of your hand against Jake’s arm in reprimand as Josh takes a hit and holds it, speaking around the smoke in his lungs. “And it’s my turn to choose,” he blows the smoke up to the ceiling, “so I chose this. Enjoy!”

Knowing you’ll enjoy the company and the weed more than the movie, you take the joint when he passes it up to you and let your eyes land on Jake’s as you take a hit and hold your breath. He watches as you let the smoke crawl past your lips before blowing the last of it away and coughing.

He reaches for it as he laughs, “Sounds like you need some practice, sweetheart.” Your eyes roll without any true annoyance, and the three of you complete the rotation a couple more times before Jake licks his fingertips and extinguishes the burning end. He sets the remainder in a clay ashtray that looks like a child made it in art class.

The movie rolls on but you’re paying no attention to it, you’ve relaxed into the couch, reclined against the arm with your legs stretched out and feet resting in Jake’s lap. His hands, that started just placed over your ankle, have been moving over the denim covering your shin. Your body is already buzzing but his hands, alternating between rubbing over your legs to drawing circles there with his fingertips, have you feeling warm and drowsy. You’ve been examining his profile, noting all of the differences between his and his twin’s while he’s zoned out and staring down at his hands.

When Josh asks him to relight the joint and pass it to him, you’re broken out of your daze as Jake turns to grab it. After Josh takes a hit you reach your hand out for it, but instead of passing it to you he grabs your wrist and pulls you forward. You think he wants to say something to you, but as you roll to bring your face nearer his, he takes another drag into his lungs and releases your wrist to wrap his hand around the back of your neck.

Hazy and out of focus, this seems fine. When Josh pulls you in until your lips are almost touching, it feels okay. As his lips part and yours mimic them, he exhales the smoke directly into your waiting mouth. You breathe it in deep and his lips bump against yours as they close. You roll back to the arm of the couch before releasing it, and when the smoke clears… Jake is pushing your legs off of him and standing. This doesn’t feel right, this isn’t fine. Where is he going? Where are you going?

Your body won’t catch up to your brain, you haven’t called out to him or moved to follow as he walks out of the room and disappears.

“Josh…” It croaks out of your throat, dry and quiet and he hasn’t heard you. “Josh.”

“Yeah darling, what is it?” His eyes don’t leave the television.

“Why did you do that?” Why did I do that? “Where did he go?”

“Hm?” He’s not paying attention, has no clue that you’re distressed, no idea that Jake’s even left.

Willing your body to move, you push yourself up from the couch and go to find him. Your movements feel slow but your mind is racing. Somehow you make it up the stairs but when you get there you realize you have no idea which door is the one to his bedroom. You’re pretty sure you know which is Josh’s and which is a bathroom, but that leaves three other doors and you can’t hear anything other than the ringing in your ears.

Where are you? Jake!

“Jake?” It finally squeaks out of you into the silence of the hallway. Shuffling forward, you reach for the handle of the first door you come to but as soon as your fingers wrap around it, it swings open and pulls your body with it. You hit the solid wall of Jake’s chest but he doesn’t move to steady or hold you, just lets you bounce off of him as you stagger back and lift your eyes to his. What you find there is chilled disinterest.

“Jake…”

“Are you lost?” It's clipped and dripping with venom.

“No, no I-“

“Go back downstairs Y/N, I’m sure he’s wondering where you are.”

All you can do is close your eyes and shake your head, hoping to wake up on the couch. This is a bad, weed-induced, anxiety-fueled dream. Oh god, the dream. You can feel the word vomit coming, rising like bile in the back of your throat and it burns as it leaves your mouth.

“I fucked Josh.”

“What?!” Your body recoils when he raises his voice, and you know you haven’t said what you meant to.

“In a dream. I dreamt that I fucked Josh. And, and that’s why I didn’t sleep last night, and I’ve felt so sick over it all day, and I- he, I don’t know why I did that, downstairs, it didn’t mean anything Jake, he doesn’t mean anything-“

“Shut up.” Your mouth snaps closed instantly. “Look at me.” Your eyes open and struggle to focus on his face.

“You had sex with Josh. In a dream.”

You think you feel your head nod.

“And what? You feel guilty?”

“Yes… Jake I’m so sorry, I don’t want him, I swear. Only you-“

His sharp laughter cuts you off, and you stare open-mouthed as he lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. When he drops it, his eyes are warm again and he’s wearing a sympathetic smile.

“That’s dumb. You know that, right?”

Your response croaks from your throat, choked with emotion. “What?”

“Come here, come in here.” Pulling you across the threshold and into his room, he kicks the door closed behind him and leads you to sit on the edge of his bed. Eyes wide, you’re scanning them quickly over the space to take in as much as possible before he cups your jaw and pulls you to look at him again.

“I’m sorry, for getting mad.”

“No, don’t be, I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking, we’ve done that before but, I’m-“ Now that your mouth works again, you can’t seem to stop rushing through your words, but he’s calm and collected somehow and stops them with a simple press of his lips to yours.

“Stop, Y/N… You don’t have to apologize. Just please keep your mouth off my brother, ya know, moving forward.” When you finally giggle, he lets his smile stretch wider before pulling you into his lap and kissing over your forehead. Against the skin there, he whispers, “I know I shouldn’t be jealous of him, but I am still… sometimes. But you can’t help what you dream about.” He pulls away to look into your eyes, make sure you’re hearing him.

“I know… but you don’t have anything to be jealous of. And that dream… I don’t know, it felt so real, I woke up feeling like I cheated on you.” As soon as you say it, you realize how it sounds. Cheated on you? Like he’s my…

“Don’t overthink that, I can see you doing it.” Secretly, he’s reveling in this admission. You can’t cheat on someone if you’re not together, and the fact that you felt that way has to mean that you’re with him. Even if the words haven’t been said. “Let it go, sweetheart. Calm down for me. Do you wanna go back downstairs?”

“No, not yet. Can we just stay here for a little while?”

You’re already in his lap, so when he stands you’re being lifted into his arms and then laid gently against his pillows. As soon as your head hits them you roll and nuzzle your nose into the fabric, taking a deep breath. When he lays beside you, you roll into him and do the same thing at the base of his neck.

“You always smell so good. I wanna eat you.”

“Yeah? You got the munchies now?” He chuckles softly and you feel it rumble through his chest under your palm. His skin there is exposed, as it so often is, and his laughter turns into a sigh when your hand leaves the spot over his heart and runs down over his ribs. His breath hitches when it leaves his ribs and inches down his stomach. His own hand circles your wrist when your fingertips slip below the waist of his jeans. “Hey, we don’t have to have sex just because we’re in my bed. We can just lay here.”

“What if I want to?” His grip on your wrist is loose and allows your hand to slip lower until your fingers meet the soft hair at the base of his dick. Into the skin at the side of his neck you speak softly, “Please? I’m gonna miss you so much when you’re gone. I need you… please baby?”

It doesn’t take much more than that before he’s on top of you, using his teeth to pull fresh marks to the surface of your skin, helping you push his jeans down his hips. When your cunt is in his mouth, he savors it like he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to taste you again. When he’s moving inside you, it’s slow and sweet and overwhelming in the best way. After he cums, pressing kisses into your lips, your cheek, you hold him close and keep him inside you until you both are nearly asleep.

“Am I crushing you?” It’s mumbled into the pillow next to your ear.

“Mmm, no, I could sleep right now. Hungry though.”

“Me too, let’s go raid the fridge.”

You both throw on a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt and sneak down to the kitchen. There’s really no need to keep quiet though - Josh is passed out on the couch and snoring softly. While Jake fixes you something to eat, you pad to the living room to throw a blanket over your best friend. Normally, you probably would’ve placed a soft kiss to his forehead or into his hair but when you’re leaned over him, you realize you shouldn’t. And so you don’t.

The first time you sleep in Jake’s bed, it’s the best night's sleep you can remember in a very long time.

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#greta van fleet #gvf #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fic #jake kiszka #jake gvf #greta van fleet smut #gvf smut #gvf fan fiction #gvf fanfiction

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tomorrowxtogether · 1 year

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TOMORROW X TOGETHER: How K-Pop’s Lost Boys Found Themselves — And Global Stardom

The Umeda neighborhood of Osaka, Japan is a trendy place. In recent years, the entertainment district has become home to a number of top restaurants and luxury stores surrounding the already legendary jazz clubs for which the port city is known. With its wanderable alleys lined with abundant food marts and vintage shops, Umeda is on the forefront of culture – making it the perfect place to meet up with one of the most voguish musical acts currently working.

The members of South Korean pop group TOMORROW X TOGETHER are in Japan smack in the middle of their 2023 “ACT: SWEET MIRAGE” world tour. It’s mid-morning the day before the show when the group rolls into a cozy hotel suite one by one, picking from the mountain of snacks and juices in the corner and bowing politely as they sit.

There’s Soobin, the soft-spoken, painfully endearing leader of the group, who reaches for a small bag of candy upon entering; Yeonjun, who can deliver a wink or a wave with professional precision; Beomgyu, the contagiously cheerful baritone; Taehyun, strikingly smart, with wide eyes constantly monitoring his bandmates; and Hueningkai, the sweet-voiced, hardworking youngest.

During our two hours of individual and group interviews, the members of TOMORROW X TOGETHER (often referred to as TXT) are markedly unguarded — it’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen a K-pop group. Soobin’s hair is still tousled from sleep; Yeonjun is lounging on the couch in a loose-fitting black tank top. More than one member appears to have slid into the hotel slippers in lieu of footwear, and all are bare-faced. It’s a rare level of vulnerability and trust in an industry that values highly intentional aesthetics for its stars. The members appear not as the coiffed performers they can also become, but simply as five young men who just woke up, chatting about a particularly thrilling chapter of their story.

The group’s most recent mini-album, January’s The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION, finds them stepping into new adventures. The album’s closing song, “Farewell, Neverland,” ties together the effort’s concept and styling, inspired heavily by the story of Neverland’s very own Lost Boys. The Lost Boys, notably, are not Peter Pan, a figure alluded to in the song “Devil by the Window” — “Temptation touched my tongue, spread the wings of desire/ He's whispering, ‘Give up, don't you put up a fight.” Rather, the story of the young adventurers surrounding Pan does feel like a better analogy for this moment in TXT’s story: Lost Boys are brave and individually talented, defined by their camaraderie, and, in some tellings of the story, they eventually choose to leave Neverland and grow up.

Asked how they’d explain this new era to fans, Beomgyu points to the lyrics of the The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION anthem “Happy Fools” featuring Coi Leray, with its chorus of, “Even if it’s a little delayed, I’m not afraid/ I’m happy every day.” Says Beomgyu, “I really want to tell them that we once wandered, and overcame this teenage phase, and are still growing. Those are the stories and messages we want to convey.”

K-pop’s Lost Boys are indeed growing up — and blowing up in the process. The quintet arrive in Japan at the top of the steep and steady upward trajectory they’ve been on over the last few years. It began with their 2019 debut, The Dream Chapter: STAR, which introduced the world to a refreshingly joyful sound from a group ready to explore the highs and lows of youth through a different lens than many of their K-pop peers.

While some other groups at the time leaned into rebellion in their lyrics and noise elements in their sounds, TOMORROW X TOGETHER arrived on the scene with hopeful, playful pop. Their very first release, “CROWN,” takes the stress of feeling different and turns it into a strength: “There's a horn rising out of my head/ But I love it/ You became my crown.” Some artists distance themselves from early material, but that first EP’s “Cat & Dog” and “Our Summer” both appear on the set list for this year’s “ACT: SWEET MIRAGE.”

Even the screeching halt of 2020 didn’t prevent the members from building on the momentum from their debut. Although they couldn’t connect with audiences in person, their sparkling pandemic-era release, minisode1: Blue Hour, with its particularly addictive title track, helped the group find a footing in the global market.

By the summer of 2022, they’d stepped onto a yet larger world stage. They became the first K-pop act to perform at Chicago’s Lollapalooza, delivering such a successful set that they’ve already been bumped up to headliner status for 2023. The “ACT: SWEET MIRAGE” tour, which arrived in America in early May, is also an exciting step up from the group’s previous trek, 2022’s “ACT: LOVE SICK.” While the last tour had TXT in theaters that sold out comically fast, this year sees the group upgraded to arenas.

“I can feel that there are literally more MOA in numbers, right in front of my eyes,” Soobin says, referring to the shorthand for the group’s beloved fandom, Moments of Alwaysness. “The scale is bigger — I think it’s flashier.”

“Since we have more MOAs this time, we can have even more fun,” confirms Yeonjun.

The day after our conversation, the members take the stage at the 10,000-capacity Maruzen Intec Arena, where deeply immersive sets, dramatic lighting, pyrotechnics, moving platforms, and dazzling costume changes make for a hypnotic three-hour spectacle. When they return for a recently announced Osaka show in July, they’ll be at the Kyocera Dome, which has more than triple the capacity at 36,000.

Speaking to how the show will translate to their upcoming Lollapalooza set, Taehyun shares, “There’s still time to set some specifics, but you’ll get a lot of hints from this tour.”

”When we were performing for the first time at Lollapalooza last year, I felt a little pressured and worried, rather than excited, because I had to perform in front of a lot of people that don’t know us,” Soobin recalls. “But last year, I saw that people were just there to enjoy, and they enjoyed our show — so now that we’re going back with the title of headliner, I’m not worried this time. It’s also a good opportunity to present ourselves to people that don’t know us, so I think I’m going to enjoy myself even more this time.”

There’s a palpable sense of excitement among the bandmates around that idea of headliner status. “When I saw our name the biggest it could be, I thought, ‘Could this be real?’” says Beomgyu. “When I was performing there last year, I remember thinking, ‘Could there be more people than this?’”

Considering half of their four-year public existence was during lockdowns, TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s ascension has been remarkable. As K-pop has become ingrained in the musical mainstream and the crowd of idols continues expanding, there’s a clear global demand for TXT: Not only are they major festival headliners, but The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION was the group’s first project to land at No.1 on the Billboard 200 albums chart. “I think I got more confident in our next album, and promotions, too,” says Taehyun of this latest achievement.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER formed through the former Big Hit Entertainment, which now exists as BIGHIT MUSIC under the umbrella of HYBE. If those names ring a bell, it could be due to the fact that HYBE is also the company behind BTS — but, although the members of TXT would be the first to heap glowing praise and thanks upon the artists they refer to as their “seniors'' in the industry, the two groups don’t have much in common beyond the offices they all share in Seoul.

HYBE founder Bang Si-hyuk, a businessman with an evident passion for songwriting, oversaw the formation of TXT and even co-penned the lyrics to that first track, “CROWN.” Under the direction of Bang, HYBE grew from a humble underdog running behind the other major K-pop players into an international force. The corporation has been named on Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential Companies list two years in a row now — and TXT’s own story is a major part of that journey.

“It's incredible to see how much they have grown to be incredible artists over the years,” shares HYBE producer Slow Rabbit when reached over email. He calls it “an honor” to have been working with TXT since before they were introduced to the public. “Looking back, it's surreal to think that they were the last group to debut in a small office building in Gangnam before moving into the HYBE headquarters in [the Seoul neighborhood of] Yongsan. It feels like we've been preparing for their success for a very long time, but it's all been worth it.”

As K-pop has broadened its global reach, it’s arguably become more competitive, too. With all the varied sub genres, aesthetics, team dynamics, and performance styles, fans can practically cherry-pick their ideal group. Ask MOA, and they’ll say there are a few things TXT does exceptionally well: There’s an unabashed joy woven into their sound, from the dreamy haze of 2019’s “Our Summer” to the infectious cheer of the dance break in 2021’s “No Rules.” As for their performances, TXT engender a communal feeling through constant engagement and communication with the audience, enticing their fans to join their young crew – if only for the duration of the show.

Since first coming together in 2017, the members have developed a tight-knit dynamic that makes them that much easier to root for, and makes MOA feel like more than just supporters. It goes beyond “fan service,” as TXT is always striving for authenticity in how they communicate with MOA. Beomguy notes the members “get a lot of energy from Weverse,” HYBE’s proprietary communication platform allowing direct communication and media sharing between artists and fans.

TXT’s pixie-dusted team dynamic, immediately discernible, also differentiates them from other K-pop projects. There are some that operate playfully, displaying their rapport through good-natured teasing. Others take a strictly professional approach, reasonably regarding their teammates more as coworkers who clock in, put on great performances, and clock out. TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s relationship could best be described as familial, displaying a reassured ease that stems from years of safety and trust. It’s a camaraderie that begets fearlessness, knowing that members of this brotherhood have each other’s backs.

“When we are on standby behind the LED screen between sections of the concert, I’m so out of breath,” says Soobin. “But when I hear the members’ voices in my in-ears, saying, ‘Hold on, we can do it, we’re almost there,’ they cheer me up and bring strength to me.”

“I’ve started leaning on my members,” explains Beomgyu. “Rather than feeling the strength of just one member, I feel the strength of the team.”

Throughout an incredibly demanding tour, which has a set list of over 25 songs (most requiring intense choreography), that reliance on one another is essential. “The things we have to do every day are not easy,” says Taehyun. “There are challenges on this tour that we can only do as a team.”

Hueningkai, who was only 16 years old when the group debuted, describes his bandmates as his “second family.” “Since we are five different people with five unique strengths, there are so many things to learn from each other,” he says. “I think I learned from Yeonjun how to use the stage as a whole and enjoy it — I don’t think I actually had a good sense of how to do that during the ‘ACT: LOVE SICK’ tour, but I learned from watching Yeonjun.”

Taehyun immediately jumps in, ready to hype up his bandmate: “Since our set list this time is so demanding with a lot of dances, I see Hueningkai and realize that he’s stronger than I thought — he has a lot of stamina.”

The members often spend their downtime with one another, too. Beomgyu shares that they enjoy going shopping and swimming, despite the fact that studio time, rehearsals, dance practices, and press moments already require them to be together nearly constantly. When asked what part of their work they most enjoy, dance practice or recording new music, Beomgyu goes with option C.

“Being home, in the dorm,” he says. Across from him, Soobin nods. “That’s a perfect answer.”

Although they enjoy their spare time, the boys come alive on stage – though the Japanese crowd behaves differently than what an American might find familiar. A concert here, even one at an arena like Maruzen Intec, is treated more like a Broadway show; upon checking in, a staff member explains that there is absolutely no video or photography permitted.

The lights go down and the Twitter meme “not a cellphone in sight” becomes unironic reality; throughout the nearly three hours the members spend onstage, I don’t spot a single mobile device or camera. The staff don’t even feel the need to lock up phones or provide the magnetically-sealed Yondr pouches you might see at certain shows in the US. People respectfully keep their technology tucked away.

I’m told to expect a difference in the way Japanese concertgoers interact with artists compared to crowds I’m more familiar with, and it’s distinct. There’s polite applause and a smattering of cheers between songs, but the audience often quickly falls silent enough that the sound of the members’ shoes squeaking across the stage is audible. While it might not have quite the adrenaline rush associated with a US show – “American MOAs really know how to party during a concert,” according to Yeonjun – there’s something undeniably intimate and sweet about the experience, a personal aspect that’s all too rare in the digital age.

As performers, understanding nuances like this and being able to tailor a meticulously planned show to global audiences requires hard work. The day before the concert, following our chat, TOMORROW X TOGETHER hold an extensive rehearsal in the empty arena. They run through almost the entire show, choreography and all, carefully preparing their comments in Japanese. (The members’ native language is Korean, and they’re also practicing their English, making this the third language they’ve worked with in just a few hours.) The concert’s Japanese lift includes introductions and opening comments, transitions between songs, audience interactions and games, and heartfelt closing remarks. While the bandmates take turns with the phrases, Taehyun diligently watches the monitors, quietly noting errors and helping when someone encounters a linguistic challenge.

In contrast with our time at the hotel, where only an interpreter and single HYBE employee accompany TXT, the arena is a flurry of equipment and criss-crossing staff. Despite their age — even the oldest of the group, Yeonjun, is just 23 — the bandmates move through the backstage maze of scaffolding and string lights like the seasoned professionals they are.

Throughout the days spent with their camp, staff members in their closest orbit speak of the group with utter fondness and pride. When showtime comes, and the same boys who took turns finding their light during rehearsal transform and step onstage in princely outfits, not a hair out of place, it’s easy to see why the people around them find such satisfaction and joy watching this young group of men band together and flourish.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER are similarly diligent in all elements of their career, particularly songwriting. As with past releases, the members were heavily involved with the development of The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION, which isn’t always the case in K-pop. That personal touch paid off in an album brimming with maturity, audible evidence of the group’s continued evolution.

The focus track, “Sugar Rush Ride,” is a high-octane jolt of adrenaline with eye-catching choreography that feels urgent and fresh, a true accomplishment for a group that has conditioned fans to expect top-tier performances. “Devil by the Window” kicks off the album with a throbbing dance beat and pushes the members into their lower registers to deliver lyrics wary of “a wolf in sheep’s clothes” seducing them to “stay when you’re tempted to leave.” “Tinnitus (Wanna be a rock)” is an exceptionally smooth bossa-nova bop delivered with bewitching confidence.

“When I look at the individual members, I see that they are all improving in their own unique ways,” observes Slow Rabbit. “Their songwriting, lyrics, and producing skills continue to mature with each project they undertake. They are constantly striving to get better at what they are good at… They have the confidence to experiment with bold ideas.”

“We’ve been performing a [new] song called ‘Blue Spring’ during our tour,” shares Beomgyu. “We started from toplining and incorporated the lyrics the members wrote, and the entire process was so fun and interesting. In the future, I hope I can write an entire track myself and continue to grow.”

Hueningkai wants to do more songs in the future that have a “band vibe” — think the group’s stellar track “0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You)” featuring Seori. Yeonjun and Beomgyu want to dig into the hip-hop sound they played around with more during their debut era. Taehyun thinks the members would do a great job with a jazz song. He’s also grown to love toplining and lyric writing, and shares that he wanted to lug his production equipment on tour with him (it was, unfortunately, too heavy for his carry-on).

Following an album inspired by one of the most famous stories about fighting the temptation to never grow old, the group is determined to keep developing as they leave their “teenage phase” further behind. It’s only by maturing that they’ll continue to find new ways to explore the wide-reaching experiences faced not just by the group, but the audience growing up with them. Receiving the reactions to The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION has invigorated them and filled them with hope for the next stage of their career.

“I think right now, this moment, is TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s momentum,” observes Taehyun. “All five of us are ready — and we are confident.”

American fans who snagged tickets to the “ACT: SWEET MIRAGE” tour will be taken on a journey through TXT’s discography: the energetic, youthful Dream Chapter; the hard-hitting, sprawling Chaos Chapter; a dip into the playfully bad boy era of Thursday’s Child; and the recently introduced Temptation Chapter. With the setlist weaving in and out of these different periods, we witness firsthand how their various chapters are all part of an epic that’s still being written.

As Soobin mentioned, there are instances between dance numbers where the members are heard trying their hardest to catch their breath, offering the briefest glimpse of the hours of hard work required to pull off such an intense production. Details like the orchestral flourishes added to “Blue Hour,” a new dance solo for Hueningkai, and backdrops that wouldn’t feel out of place in a Disney theme park create an otherworldly, mystical atmosphere.

Eventually, though, the lights come up, the show ends, and the crowd begins to spill out as the streetlights of Osaka flicker on. By morning, the last few scraps of confetti on the arena floor will be the only indicator that the members of TOMORROW X TOGETHER were there. But that doesn’t mean our Lost Boys have returned to Neverland, never to grow up. They have too much still to learn and too many stories still to tell for that.

They’re only flying higher.

#txt #tomorrow x together #230512 #consequence #soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #hueningkai #article

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daboyau · 3 months

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I know that 90% of the people following me are here for turtle content, but I just updated a bnha fic I’ve been writing for six years, so I’m making a post about it. :) The chapter can be found on ao3 here!

There are blood stains on the floor of the bathroom. It started as only one, but they keep increasing the longer he spends locked away in there. Every time Chizome comes home, he lets him out, and they train and they train and they train until Izuku can’t stand anymore. Sharp rocks hidden in the grass cut the bare soles of his feet and the weapons he wields make his hands bleed after so long spent clutching and swinging and throwing and missing and trying again and again until he perfects it. Before he goes back to town, Chizome opens a fresh wound on his arm or his leg, fills his flask, and then leaves Izuku to rot again. It feels like he’s always bleeding these days.

Izuku has spent so much time staring at the bloodstains. They won’t come out, no matter how hard he scrubs at them, but Nikko likes to curl up beside him while he’s cleaning so he keeps trying anyway. He feels dizzy now, staring at the one a few centimeters from his nose as he lays crumpled on the floor, trying to remind his lungs and his throat to keep breathing as he waits for Chizome’s quirk to wear off.

He only really uses it now when he’s coming back or leaving. It’s as good a gauge as any to know when Chizome is on his way to the cabin, Izuku supposes. A bright side, if he’s really determined to find one.

The door bursts open at almost the same time that Izuku’s muscles release from their painful freeze. He gasps for breath and curls into a ball, shuddering as his body fights to regain control of its motor functions. He’d bitten his lip when he’d collapsed. The taste of blood fills his mouth and he swallows a few times, not yet strong enough to stand and spit it into the sink.

“Get up,” Chizome says, and though his voice is rough and tinged with something that scares Izuku, his hands are gentle as he grabs him and hoists him to his feet. “Gather your things and start cleaning. We’re leaving. Tonight.”

Izuku fights to focus his dry eyes, and Chizome’s face finally comes into view. His eyes are burning, the red irises almost glowing from within the sunken hollows of his sockets. Izuku swallows hard, heart hammering away inside his chest as Chizome stares at him with a frightening intensity.

“Okay,” Izuku rasps once he realizes that Chizome is waiting for a response. “What happened?”

Chizome releases him and steps back, running a hand through his hair and heaving a sigh. He’s jittery. His eyes sweep the cabin restlessly, pupils shrunk to pinpricks, tongue darting out again and again to wet his lips. Izuku’s heart is beating so fast it’s making him feel a little dizzy.

“Someone’s on to us,” he says at last. Izuku bristles at how vague he’s being, but at least the panic in Chizome’s eyes makes more sense now. “They’ve been trying to follow me back here. I thought they’d give up after a while, but the bastard’s persistent. It’s only a matter of time before they succeed.”

“Who?” Izuku demands, trying to keep his tone firm and confident despite the way the word breaks on its way out of his dry throat. Chizome doesn’t answer, having already turned away to begin gathering anything within easy reach.

Izuku watches him silently. Exhaustion drags at his limbs, making each bone feel like it weighs a few hundred pounds. He wants to sleep in a bed. He wishes he could remember what kind of sheets his mama used to put on his bed when he was little. He wishes his All Might quilt hadn’t gone up in flames when Chizome had burned their old apartment to ashes.

“I’m going to sleep in the car,” he warns as he walks past Chizome to the kitchen. His legs feel a little shaky, but he does his best to push through it. Chizome’s head turns to follow him, his gaze feeling like needles boring into his skin, but Izuku pretends not to notice. “I don’t want to be all tied up this time. I’ll hide under the blanket if you want me to, but I want to be comfy so I can take a nap.”

“Okay,” Chizome says easily. Izuku breathes a silent sigh of relief as he kneels to search beneath the sink, pulling out every cleaning tool, rubber glove, and spare sponge tucked away beneath it. Nikko sticks her head into the cabinet, nose twitching curiously and ears partially pinned back. Izuku shoos her away.

“We’re out of bleach,” he announces, trying to ignore the prickling along his spine that tells him that Chizome is still watching him like a hawk after a bunny. His body is aching and he feels the muscles in his legs trembling as he rises from his crouch. He hopes it isn’t too obvious; Chizome’s been so unpredictable, and the last thing he needs is for him to decide that it’s a sign of weakness that needs to be trained out of him right this moment. Or worse, think that Izuku is scared of being found and start babying him. That would probably just mean whoever’s coming after them winds up dead and Izuku gets put back in solitary confinement with nothing to do. “I can just use a rag and dish soap, I guess.”

Chizome sighs, long and deep and controlled, like he does when Izuku has said some fundamentally wrong but ultimately inconsequential thing. The rag he’s holding is wrung between trembling hands, tighter and tighter until the scrape of rough material against his blisters and scabs becomes too much. The blue of the rag is stained with dark streaks of blood now, and Izuku worries at his lower lip and hopes that Chizome won’t notice. It’s no big deal. They’ve got plenty of rags. It’s fine.

He tucks the soiled rag behind his back, out of sight.

“We probably don’t have enough hydrogen peroxide to clean the mess in the bathroom, right?” Chizome asks, eyes squeezing shut, mouth going terse with what Izuku can guess is an oncoming headache. He seems fractured today, like the stress of the situation is too much for him to think straight around. Izuku’s stomach hurts.

“No. We ran out last week. No bleach, baking soda, or lemon juice either.”

“Right. Okay. Unless we want to burn this place down, I guess I’d better go to the store.”

“I think burning it down would just draw more attention,” Izuku mumbles, trying not to let how much he wants to roll his eyes be too apparent in his tone. Or how much the mere suggestion makes him sick.

“Yeah, kid. You’re right.” Chizome’s voice is soft, and as he passes behind Izuku the hand that ruffles his hair is gentle. It takes everything he has not to flinch away from the touch.

Tatsui is not a patient man, which means that the last three weeks of staking this asshole’s apartment out have been just short of torturous. He was boring in his predictability, and extremely frustrating in how he always managed to lose Tatsui’s company-issued vehicle during his days off of work. It’s an unmarked model. Nothing fancy, but maybe a bit better maintained than most vehicles seen around town. It’s nothing that should draw any attention, which of course makes it even more suspicious that Yamada’s managed to lose him every time. That was what had finally clued him in to the fact that the asshole definitely knew he was being followed at this point, and recognized the car.

Luckily he has a friend who had agreed to loan him his old piece of shit car in exchange for borrowing his nicer company vehicle. Tatsui’s ass will be on the line if his boss ever finds out, but it was worth it, because he’s finally gotten close enough to find where his suspect’s hideout is.

He grins as he watches the familiar car turn onto a small dirt driveway tucked away in the countryside a few kilometers outside town, the entrance almost hidden by overgrowth. Tatsui passes by and parks on the side of the road a ways ahead, waiting fifteen minutes before turning back around to find the driveway again. He follows it until he finds the small, piece of shit cabin tucked into a clearing at the end of the drive. Yamada’s equally shitty car is parked close by.

Tatsui grins to himself as he pulls his car off the dirt drive and into the surrounding trees, hidden away from any wandering eyes but still able to keep the front door and the car in view. From there, it’s only a matter of time. Once that asshole leaves again for his next shift, he’ll be free to search the hideout for any evidence he might need to make his case against him.

As it turns out, though, he doesn’t have to wait very long at all. Tatsui curses under his breath and slinks further down into his seat as the slam of the front door echoes through the trees. He can feel his blood pounding in his head, and his heart racing as he considers how much could go wrong if he’s caught. If his theory is wrong and he’s caught spying on a civilian, his job will be on the line. On the other hand, if he’s right about this guy being the villain who took down Ingenium, it will mean a fight. If he’s spotted now, he’s screwed either way.

He watches Yamada as he strides to his car. In the perceived privacy of the forest, the man moves like a predator: graceful, strong, and confident. It’s strange to see him in an environment where he doesn’t know he’s being observed. He seems like a completely different person than the quiet, fumbling idiot that he presents himself as in town. The difference only further cements in Tatsui’s mind that he’s onto something big.

Yamada pauses for only one brief moment as he gets to the car. His eyes sweep the treeline, and Tatsui holds his breath, waiting for the man to see him and come storming over. The thought of him pulling a cell phone to report Tatsui to the police or his superior is almost more frightening than the threat of him pulling a knife. At least with a weapon, Tatsui’s suspicions would have merit and his quirk would be useful.

In the end, he’s able to relax a little bit as his douchebag suspect climbs into his car and drives away. What he could have on his agenda so soon after getting to his hideout, Tatsui has no idea. He doesn’t care, either. He’s found the cabin, and its occupant is gone; he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. This is his chance to search the house for evidence, and he refuses to squander it.

#Tgim #My writing #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #akaguro chizome #izuku midoriya

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sk8termikey · 5 months

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Chapter 8 of 21 Questions

better interface on wattpad

It was time for Matt and his brothers to film another car video. This would be entitled WE RATE YOUR PETS (very scary or cute) and although people could guess from the title what it would be about when the video would come out on a Friday, Matt started explaining the point of it:

“Well, actually a fan said ‘rate our dogs’ so Nick said ‘oh my god, let’s rate people’s pets’. And then he put on the Instagram story ‘rate all different types of pets’ so you guys sent your birds, your cats, your dogs, your lizards, your cows, your horses, your mice–”

“YOUR MOM!” Chris interrupted Matt as the latter let out a small laugh and covered his mouth when doing so while Nick widened his eyes in the backseat.

As Matt pulled out his phone to start looking through the pictures of animals they’ve been sent, Chris and Nick warned their viewers that they should not be hurt by whatever they could say about the pets they would rate.

“It’s just like a funny game, we actually love all animals”, Chris clarified in case people would start criticising them for being too harsh and honest during the video.

~~~

The triplets had started rating a couple of animals when the camera cut – funny enough – due to them talking about their new project coming soon:

“We’re interrupting today’s car video to plug Cut the Camera Podcast on all platforms”. Nick was indeed promoting what would be released in a few days as Matt added that a trailer giving a preview to their fans was already out since the beginning of the week.

~~~

After being brutally honest towards every dog that they saw, the mood changed in the car as Nick announced with a frown that the next dog they were about to rate had died recently.

“Rest in peace, Sam.”

The brothers let out an aww when looking at Sam’s picture as they found the dog adorable. Nick was still acting considerate of Sam the dead dog as he concluded:

“Well, I’m happy that Sam had owners that loved him”.

“Me too”, Matt agreed.

However, Chris decided to ruin the sweet moment:

“What if they neglected Sam–”

“No.” Nick immediately stopped Chris from saying more as he knew his youngest brother would just talk shit.

~~~

After rating a horse that they really badly judged, the triplets did a 180° when they came across a picture of a pug and a cat, which they were all enjoying. Although the three were ecstatic while looking at the photo, Matt was the most fascinated out of them as he took the phone to admire the two pets more closely.

“Oh. My. God”, Matt gasped at the picture. “Wow.”

The triplets kept admiring the picture and couldn’t stop smiling at how cute they thought the two animals were.

~~~

“Oh wow…” Matt started as he was frowning at the new picture he was about to show his brothers. “Look at Bernard, who names their pet Bernard?”

“Well, it’s your middle name so you don’t have any right to judge this poor animal Matt”, Nick retorted.

“That’s– that’s a Google search”, Chris immediately reacted as the cat looked weird to him. “Ain’t no way that’s her dog”.

The triplets all started laughing at Chris’s comment. Although the picture was a bit funny, it was still obvious that Bernard was a cat – his owners will probably feel outraged when they hear what has been said about their beloved pet, but then also over the moon that he appeared in car video, and finally amazed at the coincidence that Matt was the one to choose the photo amongst what might have been thousands of others.

“I mean, I thought that was a hamster so–” Nick nervously laughed as he and Chris were just weirded out by the pet.

“I think he’s a cute cat”, Matt said to try and hype up the pet. “It’s just the angles”.

~~~

After having rated a dozen of pets – a certain favouritism towards dogs was to be noticed, Chris chose to end the car video by asking his brothers which animal they would be. As Matt replied that he wanted to be an owl and Nick had no answer to give, Chris announced with a serious face that he would be a serpent as the camera went closer to his face. Then as this is how they usually ended their Friday videos, Matt brought the camera to his mouth and let out a small scream to conclude.

“No but”, Matt started as he turned to face his brothers after turning off the camera. “I wanna know who the fuck names their cat Bernard. Poor thing is not a middle-aged man.”

“Yeah like, did they do that because of you or is it just a coincidence?” Chris wondered.

“Honestly it sounds like a huge coincidence to me”, Nick tried to find the most reasonable explanation. “But in the very little possibility that they did it on purpose, they didn’t choose the best triplet. I think we can all agree that out of our three middle names, Owen would be the least worst for a pet.”

“Well thank you Antonio”, Chris turned to the backseat and gave a genuine smile to his brother. “Bernard, you can suck it.

Thank you for reading. Votes and comments are always appreciated if you like this story :) The story is co-written w @/little_grapejuice on wattpad

#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris #matt #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #nick stuniolo fanfic #nick #nick stuniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #fanfic #versus tour #fanfiction

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kashimos-hajime · 2 years

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—𝟐𝟕 - 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮, 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭... 𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 | 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

pairing: getou suguru x fem!reader

summary: anonymous musician, kogane, had been dropping non-hints of who they were since they first began releasing music to the students of tokyo metropolitan technical college nine months ago to the frustration of everyone ever.

getou suguru, long-time (arguably #1) fan and campus heartthrob with a reputation is determined to find out exactly who they are before he graduates, and he has no idea where to start. that is, until resident idiot and best friend and roommate, gojo satoru, points him in the direction of you, the musical genius behind kogane

word count: 9.3k

a/n: thank you for waiting for this chapter! just a few content warnings before we start! there are mentions of suicidal thoughts, depression, and depictions of grief. i really want to emphasize that things that suguru goes through are not pretty and he did deal with heavy loss, which shows in the flashbacks and even now. please take care of yourselves!

[12:39 PM]

Gojo Satoru met Getou Suguru when he was fifteen. Getou was a new student who tested into the high school of their greater school which was an all-grade educational program from kindergarten to twelfth grade, but one had to test into every new division, so when Gojo Satoru went from middle school to high school, he sat next to a tall boy with long black hair during the exam despite knowing he’d get in by his parents recommendation alone.

The same boy with long black hair would ask if he could sit next to Satoru on the first day of class.

“Getou Suguru,” he introduces himself politely, smiling. He’s tying his hair up into a bun, sweeping hair that falls out behind his ear, and Satoru looks over his sunglasses at the boy. His smile is warm and easy, his eyes gleaming with an eager, sharp glint. “You’re Gojo Satoru, right? We were next to each other at the exam.”

“Yeah. I remember you.” He pulls the chair out and cocks his head. “Seat’s free.”

Satoru only truly began to know Suguru when they were seventeen, standing in a cemetery with snow falling all around them.

“Suguru,” he murmurs, approaching the boy who’s grown taller and skinnier in the years since they’ve met. The row of tombstones Suguru stands between are their silent witnesses, the air still and quiet away from the mumble of the attendees.

It’s only been a few weeks since she died. The funeral process was long and arduous. Riko’s family had invited them both to the private wake and cremation, while a public funeral service was held a week after the fire.

Suguru declined to speak at the public service, so Satoru went up in his place, but none of his words felt right, and they still sit all janky on his tongue even now as he stops by his best friend. Now, the forty-ninth day since Riko’s death, they’ve returned to inter her ashes, and Satoru thought, perhaps a bit foolishly, that because shijūkunichi has finally come, the grief would get easier.

And maybe, for Satoru, it has.

It’s why he feels the need to approach Suguru, who has slipped away to a far off corner of this haunted place, away from the rest of the small crowd gathered. Satoru has always latched on carelessly to whatever Suguru anchors to, but now Suguru is the one drifting, so maybe he has to step up. It makes him feel awkward, and out of his depth, but his best friend is going too far out—far enough that if Satoru waits any longer, he knows that Suguru won’t come back.

Shit, he thinks, sighing. When did everything get so fucked up?

Satoru stops a few paces back, hesitant to completely enter the far off world Suguru has crafted for himself since the fire. “What are you doing over here?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Suguru asks, a bit muffled, except it doesn’t sound like Suguru anymore. It sounds like someone taking hold of his best friend’s body and puppeting his mouth in a droning, lifeless monotone. “Trying to smoke.”

“Smoking at a funeral is classy,” snorts Satoru, walking until he is right next to him. There’s a frantic click, the sound of chattering teeth, and blue eyes fall to his best friend. Suguru’s hands are shaking around the lighter, and Satoru reaches over to steady his hand, clamping his entire fist over Suguru’s so that he can’t keep trying. A cigarette hangs, twitching, between Suguru’s trembling lips. Satoru’s gut drops. “Suguru, you know you can’t do that here.”

Suguru drops his hand away, but he doesn’t keep trying to ignite the butt of the smoke pinched between his teeth. “Why not? Who’s going to tell me to stop? Shoko?”

“Well, no, but…” Satoru struggles to put what he wants to say into words. “You’re the righteous one, Suguru. Preach about the side effects of smoking, and how it’ll kill you if you keep being careless. All the nasty shit like cancer and getting ugly really fast, and…” When did it get so hard to talk to him? “Besides, they taste awful.”

“Awful,” echoes Suguru, putting his cigarette back into his box. “Right. I dunno. I’ve tasted shittier things.” His boots shift in the crust of snow, and he sighs, breath misting. A beat. Then, he tosses the box of cigarettes towards Satoru who snatches it mid-air, tucking it and his hands into his jacket pockets. He glances back to make sure he won’t trip, before he backs up and finds himself a seat on a headstone. Resting his ankle on his knee, Satoru lets his shoulders slump forward.

Suguru sighs, looking up at the sky. “I’m getting hungry.”

“You’ve lost some weight,” Satoru says, peering over his sunglasses. “An appetite is good.”

“I guess that’s true.” Suguru tilts his head over his shoulder, and a faint curve at his mouth makes him only look more tired. “I didn’t eat this morning. I felt too full.”

To be fair, Satoru barely managed to keep a bowl of oatmeal down. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

“We should probably wait for the rest of ‘em.”

“Fuck it. They won’t miss us too much.”

“Kuroi-san might. She brought me those packets of soy milk cartons… and I said I’d get them later.” Suguru looks away again, and Satoru does not feel like he’s sitting two feet away from Suguru. He is sitting across a stormy ocean and his best friend is a speck in the distance, so impossibly far to reach. He could scream himself bloody, and Suguru would not turn around. “She said now that Riko’s dead, there’s no one else who’ll drink them, but she keeps buying the stuff out of habit.”

“She’ll understand. You could give some to your sisters.”

“The twins don’t like soy milk. My parents only buy it for me ‘cause I’m the only one who drinks it. They keep fucking asking me…” Suguru shakes his body out, his hair sliding over his shoulders in dull ripples of black before turning to look at Satoru. “Nevermind, yeah, why don’t we get something to eat.”

Satoru drives Suguru’s car for the first time on that day, and they eat, and drink, and it’s almost normal.

It’s almost untouched by death.

Except everywhere Suguru goes, the air decays, and Satoru breathes every second of it in. Suguru is Satoru’s shadow, but Satoru’s light is fading the longer he looks at his best friend struggling to even think about his next moment. He knows the he doesn’t mean to ruin everything. It’s partly Satoru’s fault, too—every time he looks at Suguru, all he can imagine is Riko and how she’s dead.

They walk the streets, chatting idly about nothing, until a store catches Suguru’s eye.

“Follow me,” he says, grabbing Satoru’s hand, and pulling him into the store. Letting out a surprised noise, he grabs onto his sunglasses and lets Suguru pull him into the store. Suguru grins at all the dispensers and aisles of the different candy, and grabs his wallet, turning to the white-haired boy.

“What are you doing?” he asks, bemused.

“You like candy, don’t you? Sweet-tooth.” Disappearing between the shelves of the convenience store, Suguru picks packets off the shelves, and drops them into a basket he’s snatched. “I’ve been an ass,” he acknowledges, “but you’re sticking by me, so I gotta repay you.”

“I’d stick by your sorry ass even after death,” Satoru says, and means it more than he thinks. Suguru’s smile flickers, and the cracked sternum Satoru has been living with since he got the call of smoke circling the sky at his school, aches like an old knee in the rain. His heart sags. “You’re my best friend.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. I just wanna remind you,” he answers. “And don’t pay for this shit. Pay me back for something that really matters. Not money. I’ve got enough of that to last a lifetime, alright?”

Suguru nods. “Alright.”

What Satoru doesn’t know is that when his best friend goes home that afternoon, he pours the three-quarters full soy milk down the sink, and leaves his house, empty carton in hand.

[FIVE YEARS LATER, AT THE SAME TIME]

“You said your boyfriend was coming?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

“One matcha latté, one iced americano, and one iced vanilla latté.”

“Thank you.” You watch as the server unloads their drinks onto the table, throat too tight to even speak, and you stare at your matcha so you don’t have to look up at the man sitting across from you, watching with an unreadable gaze. It makes you want to squirm out of your skin, to find out what it looks like when he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. “He’s late,” Sukuna observes.

“He had repetoire that ended at twelve-thirty,” you reply. “It’s on the other side of campus.”

“So, he’s a dancer?”

You nod, your phone tight in your hands underneath the table. Struggling not to glance at your screen, you finally look up at Sukuna who takes a sip of his drink. He looks the same. Same pink hair, same chiselled face that’s only grown sharper with age, same cropped length and big build and strong jaw, observant eyes that seem to catch everything, even when it doesn’t look like he’s looking.

Your heart aches, and you cup your drink, hoping the iciness will melt into your burning hands.

“How did you guys meet?” he asks casually.

“School project.”

“Your music stuff, right?”

Another nod. He clears his throat.

“If I thought I’d do all the talking, I would’ve done this over a phone call,” he remarks dryly, and your eyes meet his. He half-smiles wryly, and arches a dark eyebrow. “You used to be really talkative with me.”

“It’s been five years, Sukuna. Don’t you think that that sort of time should allow for some sort of rust?”

“True,” he allows. “Still.”

“Are we just going to keep dancing around the subject?” you breathe softly, and his eyes widen just barely. Sukuna tries to make himself hard to read, but you hate that even now you can see what guilt looks like. He looks away, expression darkening. “Isn’t that why you asked to meet up with me? So we can talk about this stuff?”

“I tried. You insisted that whole time that it was fine. I kept asking you if we were okay, and every time you said that it was water under the bridge,” he reminds you evenly. “That’s what you said.”

“I didn’t mean it. I was trying to fucking cope and not lose you as my friend.” You shake your head just as the door chimes to signify a new arrival. “We were friends, but… Sukuna, I—“

“Sunbeam,” a voice interrupts, and you tear your eyes away to see a familiar shape walking over. He’s dressed in loose clothes, and he carries his gym bag. Sweat sticks to his skin, and you wonder if he ran all the way here as he lets out a breath, shoulders rising and falling rapidly. You scoot over and he slides into the booth with you, kissing your temple. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you whisper, and he scans your expression before smiling and turning to look at the third person at the table. Sukuna’s eyes narrow at the intruder, sizing him up, and you place a hand on Suguru’s leg still pulsing with energy. “Uh, introductions. Getou Suguru, meet…” and the name catches but you swallow and bear it, “Ryomen Sukuna.”

“Nice to meet you,” Suguru says, and his hand clasps on your own comfortingly. Sukuna smiles.

“Nice to meet you, too. (Name)’s told me a little about you. All good things.”

Suguru grins, but it’s not warm like you’re used to. His hand squeezes tighter, and your heart rots at the anger behind his eyes. “I’m sure she’s lying.”

If Sukuna notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“This is yours,” you say, taking the vanilla latté and dragging it over to him, and he thanks you quickly before taking a sip. Your mind is a whirl, any thought you wanted to voice disappearing into fine sand. When Sukuna had texted you to set this meeting up, you had been with Suguru at a park sharing bottles of ramune and street food they had bought, and in between sweet strawberry kisses and the feeling of his hand on your face, you remember when he convinced you that he’d behave well if he came with you, how you let him take your phone to formulate a response with your approval.

You admit, knowing that Suguru’s so protective over you comforts your nerves more than Yuuta would’ve. After all, Sukuna doesn’t know a thing about Suguru, and Suguru has a flair of creating more game plans than needed. They have the advantage.

Suguru will keep you on the straight and narrow. He’ll keep you focused. He’ll…

“Baby,” he whispers in your ear, and you blink, looking at him. He tilts his head. “You feeling okay?”

You quickly nod. “Mhm.”

He observes you for a moment, disbelieving. Then, he kisses you forehead and you force yourself to pay attention to the conversation at hand. Suguru’s gaze flashes between the two of you, and a tug at your stomach forces you to smile at him.

“So, anything you want to talk about?” you ask politely.

“Well, tell me what you’ve been up to for the past few years. It’s been a while.”

“Nothing, really,” you reply. “Just university.”

“Music?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your drink and Sukuna chuckles. “Mostly composing, songwriting, that kind of stuff. I dabble in production.”

“She’s the best in her program,” Suguru says. You shoot him a skeptical look. “What?”

“You’re biased because I’m your project partner,” you tell him but he shakes his head.

“No, I’m not. You just are.”

“Suguru—“

“I believe him,” Sukuna inputs, tearing two pairs of eyes away from each other. “You practiced until your fingers bled for every school event. I remember you would bring your guitar to classes, and I’ve got a few bruises to count for it falling on me.”

“It was an accident every time,” you shoot back, your smile turning more genuine. “And I’m sure the bruises have disappeared by now.”

“A concussion or two…”

“Shut up,” you snap. “You’re always so dramatic. I always wondered why all the girls fell for your mystery when, really, you’re a big crybaby.”

“Says you.”

“(Name) being a crybaby?” Suguru cuts in, voice neutral. He gazes at you, eyebrows arched. “I don’t believe it.”

“She’s a big crybaby,” Sukuna affirms, the corner of his mouth pulling up slightly. His eyes narrow and you’re taken aback by the fondness there. “Every time we watched a sad video or read a tragedy in class, I had to ready the tissues, and that time she cried because someone pushed me down the stairs… or that other time when you thought Kashimo was trying to kill me…”

“He was trying to kill you because his girlfriend broke up with him for you,” you complain, face heating up. Leaning forward, you glare at him. “You showed up to class with a black eye.”

“Badge of honour.”

You shake your head, your lips twitching into a smile before you realize what you’re doing and you blink, drawing back and crossing your arms over your chest. Sukuna notices immediately, and you glance at Suguru who’s staring hard into his vanilla latté. Clearing your throat, you reach for his arm, and your boyfriend glances at you, pasting a smile on immediately at your concerned expression.

“We got all our drinks. Why don’t we get some air?” he suggests, eyes never leaving yours. He reaches to take your hand, and squeezes it tightly. You nod, and the three of them rise together. Sukuna moves to help you with your jacket, but Suguru reaches across you, snatches his wrist, grinning ear to ear—so wide you’re sure his cheeks hurt. You freeze.

“I got it,” he says, on the edge of snapping, and you watch his knuckles blanche.

If it hurts, Sukuna shows no sign of it. His eyes dart to Suguru’s, and there’s a moment of tense silence before the former draws back.

“Right. Force of habit,” the pink-haired man murmurs, his eyes flitting to you. You clear your throat as Suguru takes your jacket, helping you put it on before taking hold of your tote bag and helping it onto your shoulder. You smile, taking hold of your matcha before grabbing Suguru’s hand. He hauls his gym bag onto his shoulder and drains his vanilla latté before scooting out of the booth and following Sukuna out of the café. You pause, and Suguru looks back when he realizes you aren’t following.

You walk up to him, placing a hand on his chest tentatively. “Hey,” you whisper, kissing his lips. His eyes widen at the PDA, but you only flash him a supportive smile. “I like you.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I just don’t know you like he does. I feel out of my depth.”

“You don’t need to,” you assure him quickly. “He knows someone I’m not anymore.” His gaze searches yours, and you step closer. “Suguru, we can leave now. We don’t have to keep hanging out with him. I know it’s not fair to put you in this position and I’d rather cut him off than make you any more uncomfortable than you already are.”

“He makes you happy,” he whispers. You open your mouth to protest, but he shakes his head. “I can tell. Talking to someone who knew you, a different version of you and maybe the person you were born as, I like seeing you so… differently. I wish I could show you what I was like when I was in highschool before Riko died.” He lifts his head to brush his lips against the crown of your head. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not. I don’t have to lie around you.” He dips his head and their mouths slot together. Your eyes slide shut as his fingers brush along your jaw. The feeling of his soft mouth against yours makes everything wipe from your head for just a second until he pulls away, and his knuckle brushes along your face. You feel the beads of his ring against your skin, and you turn to look at his hand.

His counterpart ring sits there, and you take a sip of your matcha latté, smiling.

“You’re so cute,” he mumbles, kissing your temple, and you look up at him. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”

“Okay.” This time, you take the lead out the café and you push open the door to see Sukuna outside, sucking on a vape. He blows out the smoke, and you arch an eyebrow at the device in his hand which he pockets hastily. He notes your judgemental look, and shrugs facetiously.

“Better than cigarettes, isn’t it? You always fought me on that stuff.”

“Whatever. At least it smells better,” you reply, and they start to walk back towards the buildings where you and Suguru have your next classes just in case you need to make a hasty exit. You think of the benches near the studios, and mention that as your destination.

Sukuna agrees. Suguru is silent.

You walk between them, hand-in-hand with Suguru. Their arms swing, and you lean into him as you talk to Sukuna. It’s much easier than everything betrays, and a part of you revolts at it. How can you stand there, listen to Sukuna talk about taking in his younger half-brother after his grandfather died, how that changed his life (when, a bitter part of you comments, you couldn’t), and act like this is all normal?

Suguru wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you hold onto his wrist as they near their destination.

“So, that’s why you and Itadori-kun have different last names,” you comment. “I haven’t met him or Megumi, but I’ve heard a little bit about them.”

“He and Megumi might be applying to university here.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Do you have any siblings, Getou-san?” Sukuna asks casually, and your boyfriend glances over.

“I have two little sisters. Twins. They’re a bit younger than your brother, though.” Suguru’s tone warms. “I have to take care of ‘em a lot, but it’s nice to have people depend on you, y’know.”

“I get that. I’m still new to taking care of him,” the other man admits, scratching his jaw. “But I guess I’m lucky to have skipped the part where he was younger.”

“Or, unlucky,” Suguru murmurs. Sukuna’s eyebrows furrow together, and you’re about to interject when someone saves you from that.

“Getou!” a voice cuts in, and the three of them look to see a woman approaching. A water bottle in hand and dressed in a leotard and a pair of thin joggers, Utahime approaches. She swipes the longer ends of her fringe out of her face back behind her ears and you raise a hand in greeting. “(Name). And, stranger.”

“Sukuna,” you supply, and Utahime eyes the man before turning to your boyfriend. Sukuna just stares back, silent.

“Are you coming to the drop-in tonight?” she asks instead, and you catch Sukuna taking another hit of his vape, blowing it over his shoulder away from you. He catches you staring and you roll your eyes.

“I dunno. I might have plans with the girlfriend,” your boyfriend answers. Utahime glances at you, but you only shrug and she lets out an annoyed sigh. “Why?”

“I’m trying to get a good grasp on who’s showing up. Some of the first years might be there early because they’re afraid of us, and if they’re gonna take up space, I wanna show up with a partner, and see if we can find a corner for ourselves just to make sure.”

“I think there’s a good reason to be afraid,” you say, smiling a little. Utahime huffs. “They see the fourth year with the scary face scar and they think they’re gonna get their asses handed to them.”

“They will if they’re anything close to cocky around me. So?” This, at Suguru.

“I can come for a bit before if you really need the manpower,” he relents. “I’m not really interested in the drop-in this week.”

“Why not?” you ask, sipping on your latté that’s mostly ice by now. “Not your style?”

“Just busy with other things.” Redirecting at Utahime, he runs a thumb underneath his bag strap. “Isn’t it a pas de deux?”

“Yeah. I thought we could partner if you came.”

“I think Choso mentioned he was going,” Suguru offers. “It won’t be too bad if he shows up.”

“I’ll shoot him a text.” Utahime glowers. “I’d rather die than pair up with a first year.”

“I know,” you murmur sympathetically, and she smiles grimly. “You’ll be fine. You’re great at dancing.”

“So are you, or so I’ve heard.” Winking, she takes a quick swig of water. Your mouth drops open, but she moves on to Getou before you can question her. “By the way, some of us were working on the Christmas showcase if you wanna come in early. When I left, Cygnets just started, but if you show up, they can probably shove you into the schedule before class starts.”

“You told her about…” You gesture vaguely and Suguru half-shrugs, looking at everyone except you. “What the fuck, dummy?”

“It was so romantic, I couldn’t help myself,” he says aloofly, but you grab his chin and make him look at you. He grins into your fingers. “What?”

“Dummy,” you repeat, squishing his cheeks. He surges forward to kiss between your eybrows and you screw up your face before he’s pulling back, smug. You let go of him, turning to look at Utahime. “Is anyone working on their projects with the music program?”

“Some fourth years are, but mostly it’s stuff we’ve got from our classes,” she answers. “I don’t think anyone’s doing their project piece.”

“We are,” Suguru says proudly.

“Really?”

“I haven’t even seen it,” you lament. “He won’t let me until it’s perfect.” You squeeze Suguru’s wrist hanging over your shoulder to grab your attention. “You should go practice, y’know.”

He frowns, eyes flicking over your shoulder. “You sure? Our classes don’t start for another forty-five minutes.” You smile, nodding. “But—“

“Trust me,” you whisper. “I really wanna see that dance, and… maybe some things we can only say when we’re alone.” Your stomach cramps in doubt, but you stubbornly ignore it, cupping his face. “I’ll be just fine, baby.” He snatches a kiss from your palm before pulling you close by the shoulders and kissing your hairline. “I’ll text you.”

“Promise.”

“Yeah.”

Utahime clears her throat, and the two look at her. “I’m going back inside with or without you, Getou.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he complains. “Such a pain.”

“I’ll beat your ass.”

“Actually, you cannot do that,” Suguru replies, his hand slipping off your shoulders. You grab hold, and he flashes you one last quick smile, one that spells out every emotion you cannot name just quite yet, and he squeezes your hand, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles before following Utahime. You watch him enter the building. He turns around and waves through the glass doors and you laugh to yourself, waving back.

It’s when he fully disappears that Sukuna speaks, and it nearly makes you jump.

He blows a trail to the sky, and says, “So, you and Getou-san seem pretty close.”

“We’re dating. I’d hope we were close,” you retort, looking to watch the smoke disappear. The weather’s mostly clear, a darker clouds dotting the sky. Sukuna inhales deeply, and you look over at him to see if he’s taking another hit, but he isn’t. “You don’t have to stay with me. Class doesn’t start for a while.”

“I don’t really have anywhere to be. I cleared my schedule.”

“For me?” You intend for it to come out sarcastic, but Sukuna nods seriously. You scoff, heading for the nearby bench. “I was joking.”

“It’s been a long time, and I wanted to get to know you again.” You sit down, and he sits at the end of the bench, leaning forward onto his knees. The distance between them is a canyon. “Now that we’re in the same place, I thought… maybe there was a chance we could go back to being friends like when we were kids.”

Your hands in your lap tighten into fists. “Sukuna, I…”

“I know it’s my fault we grew apart. A lot of things happened between us,” he acknowledges deliberately, slowly, “but we were kids. And we’re grown ups now, and it would be nice for us to be friends again.”

You shake your head. “It’s a bad idea.”

“It can’t be this bad that you even refuse to look at me.”

“No, it can be. I can’t be friends with you. This was nothing but a courtesy between whatever used to be between us,” you tell him flatly. His eyebrows knit together and you clench your fists tighter, trying not to recall the days after where you had laid in bed, listless and afraid for your body. “I don’t understand how you could even suggest that. Did you really have no idea how much you hurt me? Did you even stop to… did you even care half as much as I did about what happened that night?”

“Of course I did, but…” A restrained groan. “You don’t know how many nights I spent replaying that day over and over, knowing it was a mistake, and hating myself for ever hurting you.”

“Maybe it was a mistake to you, but it happened, and all you ever did was run away from it when I just wanted to… to know why.” You glare at him and hope it is as scalding as you want it to be. “I liked you. I had feelings for you, and you just stepped all over them like it was nothing. It may have been years ago but to me, it still… everything inside me still hurts. I feel so ugly all the time because of you.”

At least he has the grace to sound genuinely remorseful and look you in the eye. Too bad you can’t stomach it. You wrench your stare into your lap. “I’m sorry. If I knew about your feelings, I would’ve never done that.”

Your legs go numb.

Your knees feel weak and useless, just bone weights inside your flesh. You don’t think you can stand, despite how much you want to run.

You can only speak. “You didn’t… know…?”

Sukuna’s eyes do not meet yours. He stares at a distant point in the pavement. “Hurting you was the last thing I ever wanted. If I’d known, I’d have been more careful and clear with my intentions, or stopped myself. I thought both of us knew what we were doing, but I was wrong. I normally have good judgement, you know that, but when it came to you, everything felt more uncertain. One thing led to another, and it kept going until I couldn’t stop. I made a mistake, you had no part in it, and—“

“Stop calling it that!” You snap your gaze to his, and his eyes narrow at your outburst, but you don’t care about his judgement anymore. Not at this moment. You hope never again. “How can you keep calling it that? It wasn’t a mistake to me. I thought… I thought you actually had feelings for me, but you just used me.” Shooting to your feet, you turn your face away just in case you start crying and Sukuna gets to his feet slower, his fingers reaching for your wrist. You yank yourself away from him, whipping around and stumbling back, clutching your hand to your chest.

“That’s not what happened.”

“Tell me then. Tell me what happened, because you broke my heart, Sukuna! You tore down everything I ever believed in and washed your hands of it. Of me.” You clutch onto the front of your shirt where your heart feels like it’s spilling out blood between your fingers and step closer to him, teeth gnashing together. “All my friends want me to hate you, you know? And you deserve it, but I can’t. You’re doing so well for yourself, and you seem like you’ve grown a lot, and you’ve always been smart and you have everything you ever wanted, so I should hate you. I’m still stuck here, pitying myself for ever falling for you but I just can’t hate you because I have this stupid hope that maybe something happened, that it wasn’t me, and that maybe you could’ve loved me, too. After all these years, if you’d come even two months earlier, I would’ve given you another chance, and you make me feel stupid! So tell me! Tell me what I did wrong that night!”

“Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Your throat swells shut in pain, and your eyes burn as you grit your teeth. “A part of me just knew that if I went to find you, I wouldn’t have been able to let you go,” he murmurs in a way that feels less like a confession and more like a poison. Cold water dumps over you, and your eyes widen as he sighs, resting his hands on your shoulders. The first drop of rain lands on your nose, and you blink, letting out a confused, mumbled huh, and shrinking back away from him. Suddenly, you feel so small. “You’re too good for me, you know. Look at you. You can’t even hate me.”

The rain comes harder and harder until it begins to mist, and you squint against it as something burns down your face. Your clothes begin to slick against your skin. “Sukuna…”

“You’re an idiot with a big heart,” he points out, smiling at the tears racing down your face and lifting a hand to brush them away. Your face is hot with shame. How can he tell you’re crying? Are you not as unreadable as you want to be? He’s the reason you tried to be like this, and you’re still failing. “My annoying crybaby. I didn’t want to care about you, but you just… kept trying and trying, and how could I help myself?” His tone strains with something older, something born before you ever knew him. It sounds like he’s in agony, but trying to stifle it, and it punches you in the gut. “You know what I learned on that drive home after everything we did together? That I’d ruin you.”

“I could’ve fixed you. I would’ve helped,” you whisper, voice trembling, and he chuckles, the sound cold and warm both. “Why didn’t you let me?”

“Because you can’t fix people, (Name). You can try, but you just can’t. I didn’t want your help back then. I knew what you wanted, and I couldn’t be that.” He brushes his hair back, and it’s so rain-slick the droplets that cling to his hand fall back onto you when he cups your face in his hands. “You couldn’t have fixed me. I didn’t want to be fixed, and the only good thing I could do was leave you alone.” At this, regret flickers over his face like a passing shadow, but it’s gone before you can be too sure, and he glances at the doors of the building. Sukuna chews on his cheek for a moment before finding your face again. “You’re a good person, with a good boyfriend who cares about you. I’m not here to spout shit about how I want you. Any sane motherfucker would want you.”

“You didn’t.”

He takes in your face with that intense stare that used to light a fire in you, and perhaps you imagine the way his eyes glance at your lips, but he only steps back, lets his hands fall away. Your eyes fall to the pavement, and you grimace against the tears that pour down your cheeks.

Sukuna’s breath had smelled like strawberries.

He sounds very far away. “Yes, I did. And I’m fucking insane.”

“No, you’re not.” His eyes brand you where they touch your cheek, but you won’t look up. “You were good to me. Why else do you think I liked you?”

“I don’t know. Still think you’re crazy for that,” he laughs bitterly. “Either way, (Name), I’m here to stay. It’s up to you to do with that what you wish.”

“And if I want you to leave me alone? If I want us to be strangers, and we never speak again,” you demand shakily. “I do have a good boyfriend, and he takes priority over everything—anything—we might have between us.”

“Then… I’ll leave you alone.” It sounds so simple that way, but when you look at him, it is not raining anymore. They are standing in their high school uniforms, and it is sunny, and he is grinning ear-to-ear, and you are smiling, too.

Oh, how you loved him, and how a part of you wants to love him again. This infernal boy, and the years of your youth spent imagining your life with him.

Sukuna stands there, a broken image. Had he always been made of shards of glass so sharp you can feel each point digging into your lungs? Can you only see it now because of the cuts he’s inflicted on you that still ache in the rain? You want to reach out for him, but your hand will bleed. You know it will. So why does he still look like a piece you can fit into your life puzzle? A stained glass mosaic that can only be whole as long as you’re the one with the welding stick?

There is something wrong with him, he knew that, but you wonder if Sukuna ever realized there must be something wrong with you, too, to have a part of you still want him.

He half-turns away, and then, as if remembering something, he stops, and he doesn’t look at you, but you hear him just as clearly anyway, over the pounding heart, the thundering rain. “I really did want you, (Name). I just didn’t know how to love you the way you deserved to be.”

With that, for the second time in your life, Sukuna walks away.

“Hey, you good?” Mei Mei asks as she sits down next to you in class. You glance at her, and paste on a smile as convincingly as you can before nodding. You won’t admit that after he walked away from you, you had sat down on that bench and cried until you wouldn’t burst into tears in a classroom where someone you know could see.

“I just got caught in the rainstorm. That’s all.” Looking out the window, you try not to think about how you’re soaking wet from head to toe, how you should be shivering, but instead your stomach is in knots, and your neck is burning from where Sukuna’s fingers had held you. Your phone buzzes, you glance at your phone screen, and you hate how your heart twists when you see the name that’s waiting for you there.

When class ends, Suguru is already waiting outside, and you eye him warily, hoping your eyes aren’t swollen anymore. You hate the idea of him knowing you’ve cried.

“How are you here already?” you ask, confused. “Your class ends at the same time as mine.”

“I asked to leave a couple of minutes early,” he answers. The rest of your classmates file out behind you, and he takes your arm which is dry and warm, now, and guides you a little further down the hall. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Hey, hey. No. Don’t lie to me,” he urges. “I’m sorry I left you alone with him. It was on my mind during class, and I had to find you.” His tone is so apologetic, so hateful towards himself that you take his arms, rub his biceps but he runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “You didn’t answer my texts. I don’t know what I was thinking leaving you there with him.”

“We just talked about the past and we’re… we got closure. I’m fine. I’m not mad at you, and I’m the one who told you to go, so please don’t feel bad about it,” you say, which isn’t an entire lie. He scans your face, and you cup the side of his neck, slanting your head to press a quick kiss against his mouth. His eyes flutter shut, and he chases after you for another reassuring kiss. His arm curves around your waist, and he’s so warm you can’t help but shuffle into his chest, let him bury you into his body. You rest your chin on his shoulder as he lifts you up a little, swinging you in his embrace.

When he finally sets you down, he settles his hands on your hips and sighs. “I pulled my car around and I can drive you back to your place, if you’d like?” he asks, and you nod, taking hold of his wrists and stepping away. He interlocks their fingers. “I’ll buy you dinner later, too, and bubble tea.”

“You don’t have to—“

“No arguments, baby,” he says, “not today.” Your eyes soften, and you take in his glare, the way his jaw muscle keeps twitching. “I hate that I left you with him.”

“Stop it, I’m happy that you’re with me, and that’s all that matters. You’re a good boyfriend, who didn’t have to go through with all this shit today.” Squeezing his hands, you step closer and loop your arms around his neck. His lips barely brush against yours as you whisper, ‘Thank you.”

“I just want you to be happy,” he breathes, eyelashes dusting his cheeks as he closes his eyes, breathing you in. His palms rest on your hips, and his fingers dig in gently. “I really like you, (Name). I…”

Your heart is a stone in a river. Each current seeps into the cracks of it like silk, smooths the jagged edges, like a cool tide has soothed a burn that long has consumed your body, and you relax against him, fitting your mouth to his. He immediately raises a hand to cup the back of your head, and your eyes close, letting him use his other arm snaking around your waist to turn you around and gently guide you back until your heel hits the wall. Your shoulders follow suit, and his hand at the back of your head cushions your skull against the concrete wall. His entire body presses against yours, so lean and hot against your own you can feel his body heat bleed into your clothes.

You let out a sharp gasp. He pulls back immediately, his gaze full of worry. “Are you okay? Is this okay?”

And for some reason, your day, which has been fraught with nerves, exhaustion, and stress, feels like it’s all been leading to this moment where Suguru has you against the wall, your thoughts quiet and docile, your entire world for once not on guard or ready to attack.

You look at Suguru. He’s so beautiful. So beautiful it nearly hurts to look at him.

“I like you, too, idiot,” you mumble, grabbing the front of his hoodie, and yanking him into your mouth. He lets out a surprised noise but it disappears as he catches himself, his free hand by your ear, planted flat against the wall. Breathless and dizzy, you hungrily feast on his lips, and he gasps into your tongue before slipping his own tongue into your mouth.

Your stomach shivers and clenches, and he tears himself away, panting. Your body yearns for more, and your hands fall to his waist, fistfuls of hoodie twisting in your grasp as he assuages you with one last kiss, and then another, before pulling back.

“You okay?” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your nose. Your eyes fall to rest on his plump pink mouth as you keep his hips close. He moves the hand on the wall to your jaw, and he tilts your head up, dark eyes searching yours curiously. You feel like you’re not quite attached to your body, in some sedated far off land, but it’s a good kind of empty. “If that was your way of lifting my mood, it worked.”

“Partly,” you admit. “I like kissing you, too, so it was an added bonus.”

He chuckles. “Good. I like kissing you, too.”

Suguru kisses the corner of your mouth, and you smile, but it falls away a moment later as you look down at his body, so poised and not moving an inch under your control. You can feel his lungs expanding against your knuckles, the way his abdomen clenches and releases. He’s caging you in against the wall, but there’s not a moment where you can’t slip past him and leave.

What is the word for when an animal is willingly trapped in a cage? Is it domestication, or something far more unexplainable than that?

Suguru’s eyes watch your every movement, and his voice is unbearably tender as he asks after a moment of silence, “Are you alright?”

“I think kissing you was for me, too,” you admit at length, looking back up at him. His eyebrows twitch together in silent questioning. You sigh. “Seeing him doing so well hurts so much. He knows exactly who he is, whether or not he likes it, and I’m still here, feeling like that kid from highschool who doesn’t know what she’s doing. Why can’t I do anything with this feeling?”

“I don’t know, baby.” His thumb strokes your cheekbone. Suguru draws back to give you room, and you step away from the wall. Your hand interlaces with his, and you hold his wrist with your free hand, keeping close as possible to him.

His grip pulses gently as they begin to walk out of the building. Their steps fall into time against the linoleum floors, and your head feels strangely quiet, but not empty anymore, in his presence. All your swirling thoughts, all the trains of what had just happened, the memories replaying over and over like a broken recorder—it all comes to molasses speed.

You feel exhausted.

“When Riko died, I don’t think I was alive for a good year,” he says suddenly as they descend down the steps. Suguru’s one stair in front, holding on as if he’s afraid you’ll fall while he’s ready to catch you. “I didn’t really know what I was doing during that time. The teachers were only understanding because I was a top student, and now, I couldn’t even bother to show up to class, but I was also there on scholarship and scouting, so I had to eventually go back if I wanted to keep going to school there at all. Two weeks after the fire, I started going to class again, but I can’t really recall a single thing they taught me.”

You’re silent as you walk after him, and as they reach the landing, you snake your free arm around his, walking beside him again.

“I’m still trying to figure out who I am, and whether or not that’s something worth becoming, y’know. Five years doesn’t mean shit because I don’t remember half of it,” he continues. “I smoke, and don’t know if I’ll make it to thirty, and who the fuck knows what’ll happen tomorrow.” He shrugs and your eyes flit to his side profile. He stares ahead, relaxed, a relaxed smile on his face. “But… I’ve got good friends, two little sisters to spoil, a girlfriend I love being around.” His head lolls to meet your gaze, and his smile grows. Your cheeks begin to heat up. “If I don’t know if I wanna be alive, they can help.”

Your heart drops. “Suguru.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not suicidal or anything.” He smiles. “My point is, you don’t need to know anything for sure, by the way. We’re young. ’S long as you let me hang around, I’ll help you, baby. I promise.”

And for a second, it’s there.

Three fleeting words that tumble out of your throat, onto your tongue, and lie there so tauntingly. All you’d need to do is breathe life, and look Suguru in the eye, and tell him something you want to say. The impulse lives and breathes like pure fire, a giant crashing swell that overflows inside of you. The overwhelming sensation feels like it’s surrounding everything, every action you make as their arms swing a little, and he fishes an umbrella out of his bag with one hand, and oh… what other word could it be but love?

Or your own fictionalized idea of love. Who are you to know what love is? Maybe you don’t even know what the feeling you crave actually is. Love is a sweet poison, Sukuna taught you that, so why do you feel so full and warm, like you’d never starve in winter again?

You bite your tongue and look away, ignoring how your heart is aching so deeply you feel it in your gut. Oh, this love hurts, too. You think your world is crumbling beneath your feet as you rasp out, “Thank you, Suguru.”

“Of course, baby.” His index finger curls underneath your chin and a soft, gooey kiss guides your body. You close your eyes and let him kiss you, press your tongue against his own gentle one, and he kisses your tongue, your bottom lip, every inch of your mouth he can taste in a slow dance. It feels intimate, weirdly vulnerable, as if you’re standing naked in front of the whole school, but when Suguru pulls away, eyes cloudy and he lets out a breath that puffs against your skin, you don’t feel cold.

You swallow, lips parting as you try to wrap your head around the amount of times he’s kissed you in a span of twenty minutes, but he only smiles.

Tearing his eyes away and wrapping an around you, he kisses your temple, and doesn’t move to touch you further. You can’t help but sneak your own arm around his waist, rubbing your head against his shoulder.

“What do you wanna eat for dinner?” you ask, looking up at him. He pushes open the door to reveal the downpour that nearly overwhelms your voice, but he extends the umbrella, tucking you in close to him and stepping out into the misting torrent.

“I wanna take a nap first,” he admits, “so I’ll be out of commission for a bit. You can do homework until you’re hungry and just wake me up.”

“A nap sounds nice after today,” you sigh. “I just changed my sheets, if you… wanna sleep on my bed with me.” He blinks, and you fight the heat crawling up your face, stubbornly looking at the sidewalk to check you’re not stepping ankle deep into a puddle. “Well, I’m just saying. You always fall asleep on the couch, so…”

“Are you sure? It’s not too soon? Or… I, uhm—”

“Take advantage of it before I change my mind, dummy,” you retort, and he wrangles you even closer, his arm curling around your neck so he can make a teasing kissy noise, cheek to cheek. You make a face, pushing him away and walking into the rain, speeding up your pace. He laughs, chasing after you with his hand outstretched, and you hear his sneakers splat against the pavement as you turn around.

You’re getting soaked, but your smile grows as you grab his hand and yank him so he can shield you from the rain again.

And this time, when he ducks close to your face, he kisses you properly.

The door cracks open, and Maki lets out a relieved breath. Finally. Home and sweet relief after an entire day of nonstop everything.

“(Name), I’m back!” she calls as soon as she enters their apartment. Shuffling her sneakers off in the genkan, she nudges them against the wall so they can have some semblance of organization in their place, but frowns when a pair of black runners that definitely don’t belong to her or her roommate take up a big space. She wrinkles her nose, scowling, but she can’t do anything about it now. You had texted earlier that your boyfriend would be coming over, but that’d been almost six hours ago.

She stuffs her feet into her slippers and sighs, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter and dumping her gym bag on one of the stools. Judo practice had been long and brutal, and she definitely needed a cold shower. Texting Yuuta that she made it back home, she sheds every layer of clothes she can, stripping down to her gym shorts and sports bra to cool down as she begins to walk around the kitchen to put her dirty containers from the day in the sink.

You still have to tell her how the whole Sukuna thing went down, although Maki isn’t sure if she has the mental capacity to deal with it right now. Opening the fridge, she pours herself a glass of water before walking into the hall to see what you’re up to. If Suguru’s over, it usually means you’re both in the living room, but seeing as the entire place is dark, Maki has a strange curdling sensation that migrates up her spine.

A memory haunts her still. Of someone showing up at her house, her fucking house of all places, with a tear-stained face, and dark purple under-eyes, and she hopes to whatever god exists, maybe even a little selfishly, that what she finds won’t be what her brain is already imagining.

The room to your door isn’t closed completely, and she tentatively pushes the door open wider to see your blinds wide open, allowing moonlight and a tiny bit of streetlight to come through, illuminating a forgotten laptop resting at the foot of your bed. The blankets are twisted and her eyes trail up the bed to see two figures entwined tightly. An outline of an arm, strands of hair gleaming silver.

It’s an image that unexpectedly makes Maki’s heart crack, and she bows her head as a soft groan echoes in the room. Gaze snapping back up, she sees one of them shifting and they lift their head lethargically. She’s about to duck out when they reach a long, limber arm to turn on the bedside lamp.

“Maki?” a deeper, hoarse voice calls, and she freezes, eyes darting to a face curtained by messy black hair. Suguru’s squinting against the light, and he clearly’s just woken up (which is probably her fault, but Maki doesn’t entertain the thought). His arm’s trapped under a sleeping you who doesn’t seem to move, but he has you contained in an embrace against his chest. Your face is pressed against the front of his hoodie, and Maki has half a mind to ask how you’re even breathing, but she finds the joking words don’t come out.

“How is she?” she asks in low tones instead. “That meeting. What are your thoughts on him?”

“I’ve a lot to say,” admits your boyfriend. “But, she handled it really well, so I’m keeping it mostly internal.” He leans back down on the pillow, eyes at half-mast. “Sorry. If you want me to go, I can.”

“It’s fine. I don’t have that permission to do that,” she says. “And you’re not doing anything immediately irritating to my being, so…”

“Thanks.” His face scrunches up. “Did you need anything?”

“Did you eat dinner, yet?”

“No. What time is it?”

“It’s nearly a quarter past eleven.”

“Shit,” he groans. He tosses his free arm over his eyes before reaching for his phone at the nightstand, and swiping it on. “Can I get something delivered here?”

“Yeah, fine.” She takes a sip of water, and as he scrolls the phone, the words she’s wanted to say since they’ve started dating begin to bubble. Maki avoids having one-on-one time with anyone who isn’t someone from her friend group, and standing in a room with Getou Suguru is not her ideal way of spending her evening, but… she needs to say this. She might not ever feel like there’s nothing to lose when she says this ever again.

“I had a lot of doubts about you,” she confesses suddenly. Suguru’s eyes, chips of charcoal, find hers again, “because of Sukuna. I hope now that you’ve met him, you understand why every one of us didn’t like the idea of you dating her at one point or another. A part of me still doesn’t because everything you do is too perfect for my liking.”

“I’m sorry?” He frowns and sets his phone back on the bedside table. “I know she’s your best friend—“

“She’s my sister.” Her grip on her glass tightens, the condensation seeping between her skin and the cup. “That’s why if you pull something like Sukuna did, if you do anything to hurt her, I’ll be the first one to know. And you’ll know I know, because you’ll wake up one day with two broken legs, and you’ll never dance again.”

His eyebrows rise infinitesimally, but after a while, he only lets out a soft breath and an accepting smile, and Maki has the premonition of dread that comes when she’s too far out of her depth. She wants to question that look, the way his eyes don’t glimmer with fear, or even any sort of defiance, only a mellowness that comes from death. Leaning in that slant of silver light, Getou Suguru looks like a ghoul, haunting and not quite alive.

But then, he moves like a human, and sinks back into the pillows, turns his back on her, wrapping you in tightly in a full hug again as he speaks, “Good. I’ll deserve it.”

Maki’s stomach chills, and she closes the door behind her.

When she wakes up the next morning to you and him in the kitchen together, she watches as Suguru packs his bag, and scrambles eggs, and butters slices of bread for you to toast. And although she’s never noticed it before, there’s a certain dimness, a fading light in Getou’s eyes that only returns whenever he happens to glance at you.

a/n: thank you for reading! leave a comment/rb and let me know your thoughts. catch ya on the flip side

tags: @thelameless @lucyrocks86 @kentospet @id-rather-be-an-outsider @ys2800 @tuzuis4thwife @pidwidge @xbookmanx @kaitlyn2907 @butterfly-skinnylegend @rumi-rants @bloombb @mykyoon @waterlily502 @hanabihwa @drunkenlion

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